Check Out My Melody…

 

I have gone over and over the reasons I left the E.R. this past Friday- permanently.   There will never be another chance to comfort the least of these-no, not in that particular place.  I will have other chances, of this I am sure-I truly yearn to be of comfort to those who are nursing their wounds, both physical and mental.  I assume part of my drive is due to the upheaval and pain I have suffered in my own life-but more than that I have always fought for the underdog.

A few weeks ago, we were invited to the house of friends of ours at church.  Delightful couple-I jumped at the chance.  Who’s going to turn down ribs and a swim?  Not this girl.  We were so popular when we imbibed-nary a weekend went by without a party, cook out or pub gathering.  Things change when you find sobriety-and I’ll be blunt-the partiers don’t want to hang out with the sober-not now, not ever.  Now we make friends who don’t need to be drinking to have a good time.  Funny, charming and compassionate Christians, who know a thing or two about persecution and loneliness.  As we arrived at their lovely home, Joyce led me into the living room.  She began speaking of her utter and complete isolation when dealing with groups of women-

“Why?  I don’t understand what I have done.  I was in a book group for THREE years, and not one of those women dropped me a note, asked me out for coffee, or even talked to me at meetings.”  She shed bitter tears, tears I immediately recognized as my own; shed during times when the pain is just to much to handle-why, why would people shun us in this manner?  What was it about us?

“I have prayed about that very question, and God’s answer was sufficient.  He told me that I am not a part of this world.  I am a child of God, and his children are persecuted, alienated and shat upon.  But it’s okay-we have each other.”

At this she smiled, sighed true relief, and calmed her ruffled feathers.

35629396_10155634746322371_593140111768551424_n

This fact was brought home to me the other evening, when discussing my perplexing plight concerning my good friend’s beach house-and the fact that it’s been three years and not one invite extended.

“Honey, I truly think it’s because she likes to party.”

Ouch.

At this point I wouldn’t accept an invitation, to be frank.  I will take the good people God has sent my way.  I will cherish them, as friends should be cherished.

Not being a part of this world has been a daily, and often torturous reality.

And if I am to be honest-from this point on?

It’s my way-my way or the highway.

 

 

The Zoot Suit Riot……..

So, I have been struggling with returning to the local ER, where I volunteer.  Sick since August, with the latest plague offered up at the hands of reckless, inconsiderate patients who A.  cough directly into your face, 2.  Kiss you on the MOUTH and c. get into your personal space without your permission.  I wrote to my boss about my lack of immune health (Lyme disease) and thought that would be the end of that.

I have been down and out since the first day I entered said hospital.  I don’t know what the illness is, as my physician, ((let’s call him Mr. Dippy Dopp)) tells me it is a virus.  I have no faith whatsoever in my doctor-I diagnosed my Lyme disease, after he ignored a swollen lymph node the size of an orange.  I kid you not, he didn’t even ask me to take my pants off, and my groin became bigger by the day.  He also gave me a flu shot the day I visited him, and I’m pretty damn sure you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!  If you aren’t senile, your first question is:  WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO HIM????????  I can answer that-no matter what physician I go to in this little country burg-well, I have to be my own advocate.  Dr.  Dippy Dopp let’s me do that.  He also prescribes my Suboxyne, and I am down from 8 mg. to I/2 mg.  I don’t want to start over, and when I am completely free of the drug that made it possible for me to stay out of prison, I will flee his office like my hair is on fire.

Anyhooser, I wrote to my boss-

So sorry to let you down again.”  Yada yada yada…….I thought if I told her I could only work Fridays, well, she would be put off and, well, case CLOSED. 

I had just read an article about the most dangerous job in the world, for women anyway.  You guessed it-ER Nurse.  Oh the humanity-needle sticks, violence, HIV………the list goes on.  Apparently, it is easier to be killed in an Emergency Room than walking the streets of Isis territory.  If that didn’t scare the life force out of me, nothing would.  Unfortunately, this was her response:

“I completely understand.  You are an asset to this hospital.   See you next Friday.”

I don’t know whether to be flattered or, as in most situations I face-hysterical.  I can tell you one thing:  have mace, will travel.  Oh, and I can’t forget the Zoot Suit…….

Check Out My Melody…

 

I have gone over and over the reasons I left the E.R. this past Friday- permanently.   There will never be another chance to comfort the least of these-no, not in that particular place.  I will have other chances, of this I am sure-I truly yearn to be of comfort to those who are nursing their wounds, both physical and mental.  I assume part of my drive is due to the upheaval and pain I have suffered in my own life-but more than that I have always fought for the underdog.

A few weeks ago, we were invited to the house of friends of ours at church.  Delightful couple-I jumped at the chance.  Who’s going to turn down ribs and a swim?  Not this girl.  We were so popular when we imbibed-nary a weekend went by without a party, cook out or pub gathering.  Things change when you find sobriety-and I’ll be blunt-the partiers don’t want to hang out with the sober-not now, not ever.  Now we make friends who don’t need to be drinking to have a good time.  Funny, charming and compassionate Christians, who know a thing or two about persecution and loneliness.  As we arrived at their lovely home, Joyce led me into the living room.  She began speaking of her utter and complete isolation when dealing with groups of women-

“Why?  I don’t understand what I have done.  I was in a book group for THREE years, and not one of those women dropped me a note, asked me out for coffee, or even talked to me at meetings.”  She shed bitter tears, tears I immediately recognized as my own; shed during times when the pain is just to much to handle-why, why would people shun us in this manner?  What was it about us?

“I have prayed about that very question, and God’s answer was sufficient.  He told me that I am not a part of this world.  I am a child of God, and his children are persecuted, alienated and shat upon.  But it’s okay-we have each other.”

At this she smiled, sighed true relief, and calmed her ruffled feathers.

35629396_10155634746322371_593140111768551424_n

This fact was brought home to me the other evening, when discussing my perplexing plight concerning my good friend’s beach house-and the fact that it’s been three years and not one invite extended.

“Honey, I truly think it’s because she likes to party.”

Ouch.

At this point I wouldn’t accept an invitation, to be frank.  I will take the good people God has sent my way.  I will cherish them, as friends should be cherished.

Not being a part of this world has been a daily, and often torturous reality.

And if I am to be honest-from this point on?

It’s my way-my way or the highway.

 

 

To Me, With Love

We had a groovy day today….out with friends for lunch at the Brickerville Hotel, then antiquing, where I bought myself two snow babies (very unlike me, I collect nothing like this as I am vehemently opposed to dust ridden bric a brac) and they now adorn our bay window. They are placed within eyesight, and their playful antics and rosy cheeks bedevil me. I am in love.

I actually found Kombu Cha at Walmart (no nonsense trip with, praise God, little drama)at a great price, which also pleased me to no end. If you have never heard of Kombu Cha, my next door neighbor turned me on to it last week. I am just learning, but the tea comes in various flavors-and it is chock full of probiotics. I feel so blessed by this knowledge, as I know it was no coincidence that I ended up on this path of organic healing-for the first time in four years I am taking this autoimmune disorder (Lyme) seriously and fighting as hard as I can to take care of myself the way others somehow know to do. I suck at it, to be blunt. But hey, back to the blog.

I got to thinking about my childhood. It wasn’t all tragedy, on the contrary-if the story of my life was a movie, the category would be dark comedy, best way to explain the not-so-horrible early years, where-no matter how I slice and dice it-for whatever reasons; despite ridiculous odds-my father’s alcoholism, and mother’s personality disorder that has apparently scarred me with CPTSD for life-I felt safe, safer there than anywhere I would end up being for the next forty years.

The bible tells us not to fear, despair or give up. Jesus wants us to be fearless in our walk, and comforted not only by Him, but by the beautiful, touching or just plain miraculous things that give us joy in life. He tells us that rather than be depressed or anxious, to leave our troubles in God’s hands-and to contemplate and meditate on the situations, places or people who bring you that peace that surpasses all understanding. In an effort to cut down on my stress, I have been daydreaming lately. If I become anxious (another symptom of my Lyme flare) I try to immediately go to my Lord and Savior, and once I am satisfied that He and I are on the same page? My thoughts turn to the beach, my childhood, our vacations as a family back in the day. But small things too-a heart shaped rock, May apples that spring up in March, the breath taking shades of our backyard finches, the face of my husband when he sleeps. The face of my dog, just a pure gift from God our beloved and loyal pets.

There is no such thing as a coincidence, in my opinion. I am learning to praise Him in the storm, and trust him in the aftermath.

So-
I pray you well. Each and every one of you. Be blessed.

To Sit and Wonder Why….

Okay, men, if you don’t want to hear me rant about how freaking STUPID your asses get when you’re sick, (my apologies to the grown ups, who, you know, can be self sufficient when they are ill) I guess you’d better “step off, George.”

I think most of you know how much I love my husband. And, you know that he was on a recent trip, that I have a horrible temper when pushed to my last nerve ending, and that I am in recovery. All of that being said? I AM GOING TO WRING HIS FREAKISHLY LARGE NECK!!!!


SERIOUSLY??????

So, last night went like this: I have been sick for weeks, but I haven’t taken time to rest, at all. As a matter of fact I am working at the house and errands per usual, and still fighting the war against my anxiety. Yesterday? All I wanted, all I really wanted was for my husband to come home and take care of stuff around the house. The constant letting in and letting out of the cat population, feeding said cat population, taking care of Jesse are things that can tax a person who is one horse hair’s ass from dropping over completely. Things took a terrible turn for the worst when my husband announced, at 4 p.m. that he was going to bed.

Not before causing a huge argument, of course. You see, when Dwain is sick? It is in my nature to pamper and care for, but sorry amigos, this time? Oh this time I was livid. So the poor thing puts himself to bed, and leaves me, ON THE COUCH, to fend for myself.

If you knew what shape my couch was in, you would be screaming ASSHOLE at the computer screen, trust me. That’s right folks, I slept on the dilapidated couch (oh, we have new furniture a friend gave us months ago, but it’s still in the garage. Insert frowny face.

I awoke to a screaming Maine Coon in my face. Jesse was crossing his legs, poor baby. Animals everywhere, a freaking herd of animals-crying at me, giving the evil eye, What the hell is going on around here? The mew. There was not enough Calgon on planet earth to take me away. So, I am sitting here and it’s nearing noon, and I feel badly-as angry as I am with him, I still love him, still care) and I make him a pity egg sandwich. I reclaim my seat on the couch, he is walking down the stairs-I would have brought it up-one at a time.

“What fresh hell is this? read my thought bubble.

You’re brunch is on the table,” I mutter between clenched teeth.

He comes to the living room, and I am hopeful. I can sneak upstairs with a good book and rest in my oh so comfy bed-but hark, I hear the sound of an invalid, what is he saying?

“I’ll eat that sandwich tonight for dinner. I’m going to bed.”

Color me RED.

The Zoot Suit Riot……..

So, I have been struggling with returning to the local ER, where I volunteer.  Sick since August, with the latest plague offered up at the hands of reckless, inconsiderate patients who A.  cough directly into your face, 2.  Kiss you on the MOUTH and c. get into your personal space without your permission.  I wrote to my boss about my lack of immune health (Lyme disease) and thought that would be the end of that.

I have been down and out since the first day I entered said hospital.  I don’t know what the illness is, as my physician, ((let’s call him Mr. Dippy Dopp)) tells me it is a virus.  I have no faith whatsoever in my doctor-I diagnosed my Lyme disease, after he ignored a swollen lymph node the size of an orange.  I kid you not, he didn’t even ask me to take my pants off, and my groin became bigger by the day.  He also gave me a flu shot the day I visited him, and I’m pretty damn sure you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!  If you aren’t senile, your first question is:  WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO HIM????????  I can answer that-no matter what physician I go to in this little country burg-well, I have to be my own advocate.  Dr.  Dippy Dopp let’s me do that.  He also prescribes my Suboxyne, and I am down from 8 mg. to I/2 mg.  I don’t want to start over, and when I am completely free of the drug that made it possible for me to stay out of prison, I will flee his office like my hair is on fire.

Anyhooser, I wrote to my boss-

So sorry to let you down again.”  Yada yada yada…….I thought if I told her I could only work Fridays, well, she would be put off and, well, case CLOSED. 

I had just read an article about the most dangerous job in the world, for women anyway.  You guessed it-ER Nurse.  Oh the humanity-needle sticks, violence, HIV………the list goes on.  Apparently, it is easier to be killed in an Emergency Room than walking the streets of Isis territory.  If that didn’t scare the life force out of me, nothing would.  Unfortunately, this was her response:

“I completely understand.  You are an asset to this hospital.   See you next Friday.”

I don’t know whether to be flattered or, as in most situations I face-hysterical.  I can tell you one thing:  have mace, will travel.  Oh, and I can’t forget the Zoot Suit…….