Tag Archives: illness

a pain in the latitude, same ol’ attitude…my plastic cocktail cup is half full…bartender?

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let’s stretch these rip van winkle fingers and get a few words tapped out on this typing box today. man o man i lost some time again. don’t let your kidneys fool ya, they aren’t just good martial arts targets or models for beans…apparently we really need those things. and like a passive-aggressive (ex)spouse, they wait until they are over-the-top, freakin’ out, foaming at the mouth mad before they speak up.

so, i took my daughter on a little family vacation to san diego. all appropriate elements culminated in a stereotype i hardly have to explain…long flights, lost luggage pieces, shamu splashes, zoo tantrums, toddler vomit, pandas stuffed and real, a hot tub, an ocean, lots of romance, some fuzzy robes and little washclothes folded into special resort shapes. seriously, that washcloth folding thing is an art. no swans at this joint, more functional designs…clearly there are varying schools of thought on towel sculpture. i also learned why they sell really strong margaritas at food stands at the zoo, and why they fall under the “shut up and eat some animal crackers” kids meal selections on the walk up menus. my lisa-simpson voiced bartender at the pool also taught me about something called a “changes in latitude” which delivers in two drinks or less all of the change of attitude one can handle as a “responsible adult” caring for a small child. i watched a ripple of orders rounding the pool as mothers the resort over glommed onto the recommendation. we all smiled knowingly at each other through three kinds of liquor and splash of pineapple juice, mixed so lightly even Mr. Kool-aid is sitting still by the deep end sipping his own.

coming home i had a special brand of layover. my daughter and myself both thank our wonderful travel companion who tirelessly listened to me grunt, shiver and moan my way through Denver International…and helplessly watched me grow pale and slide down the jetway in flames. it could have been worse. my passive-aggressive kidneys held back a lot in the argument…chomping under their breath with me as we muttered to each other, not here, not in public…can we deal with this when we get home? 

a few medical professionals, iv bags and prescriptions later and i’m stretching these fingers, this foggy brain and my to-do list of doom to see where i stand, to get my breath back and my bags unpacked. the thursday clouds outside are packed so tightly with deadlines that they squeeze them out as raindrops and howling tractor-trailer thunder claps. my littlebean is stirring, work is blowing up my blackberry and my morning pill regimen is calling me like a life-alert beacon portending older bones and a 7-day pill organizer.

but here i am, back from the west coast, back from “holiday” and back from the dead. oh yeah…with a kickass new tattoo from Buju in San Diego. never boring, never plain, never perfect, always me. next travel on my horizon is planned for january. we’ll see. the rest of my bones have a pool going to see when my travelin’ bone will scratch out another itinerary. i do have some holidaze coming on…maybe some of my loved ones will head this way instead…anyone wanna try out trish’s guest quarters? if yer scared say yer scared.

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an organic liquid fire…a class B extinguisher i think? shoots wine and pills…

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i think i’ve developed a new phobic condition, undocumented so far in my obsessive research in search of a single case in the general population. like most phobias, its genesis is woven throughout some of the oldest images in my life tapestry. see, i spent a lot of time as a kid, and later as an adult, with some significant and long term health problems. some were obvious, some more mysterious, some likely the culmination and interaction of lots of different dis-eases i stumbled through from childhood on. i suffer little anymore, my toddler seems to have cured a few ailments, and my days of being a “sick person” seem like a different lifetime.

still, as a result of that experience, i’ve developed a phobia regarding hypochondria. now, there are tons of articles and mentions of hyphochondria as a phobia or non-phobic obsession. it’s characterized by a recurrent or consistent fear of catastrophic illness, real or perceived. that’s not what i’m talking about. i’m talking about a phobic fear of becoming a hypochondriac, or even being perceived as one. call me crazy (it’s a big club), but if you know what i mean, you know what i mean. if you’ve ever been a medical mystery for a doctor who would rather make you feel crazy than be wrong, you can probably relate.

and so my whine elucidates its fundamental source, the rock of ages from which the purest drips of my soul drop into moods of all colors, shapes and sizes. i would think that this particular brand would no longer fool me with its tired disguise. i’ve come to the following realization some countless number of times in my life, so why is it still capable of presenting as a sneaky little surprise? i can remember specifically at least three separate occasions where i told myself, if you find yourself feeling this uncharacteristically whiney for no obvious reason, and become a drippy, drawling, mewling complainer who assigns Hal-like intellect and intention to your household trashcan and annoys even yourself…you are getting sick. 

simple enough. the life i thought was going so well just days ago is actually going well. the happy drugs i really need are some simple, old-school antibiotics. i’m once again reminded to listen to my body instead of my mind especially when my body is screaming, UTI! and my mind’s best argument is, nah, you don’t have time for that right now and it could be something else that’s causing three days of fire pee. sorry for the TMI, but the mere absurdity of my internal argument compells me to share.

i’ve ignored this out of a sense of obligation to other things, boredom with the idea in general and some hesitance about my lack of a GP since moving. i’ve ignored it until it’s making me queasy and bringing on a headache. i’m grateful for MinuteClinic and hoping they treat this kind of thing, but there are plenty of places for me to address this issue. my excuses are thin and easily overcome. thankfully this type of illness doesn’t preclude weekend company nor ask that company to risk life or general well-being to entertain me. thankfully i’m an ol’ pro at these…an amazing 37 years experience under my belt…so i can treat, fix and weather them well.

but really, how silly can i be? my whole morning resonates with one big, well, DUH! once again i’m amazed at how capable i am of ignoring what i don’t want to address. i can’t figure out if, overall, it’s helped or hindered me in this life. i mean, sometimes things you ignore do just go away. i’ve seen it. and by the power vested in me by myself, i thought i could command those little bugs right out of reality. out germ! out of my nether regions! out of my imagination! i thought i banished them, sent them off to swim in the Eternal Vat of Imaginary Wine i pretend to drink on this blog. (i swear i really don’t drink that much and that it’s NOT why i get UTIs or kidney stones. i don’t mean to be misleading…i treat all forms of alcohol with equal reverence and try to maintain a healthy balance between them.)

so, pee in a cup, i will. smile over a cup after my recovery, i will. listen to my body as soon as it starts complaining instead of waiting for my mouth to say it louder, i will. rest up a bit, i will. and save the rest of my words for a more creative moment, i will.