When I look at today’s GOP, I just don’t understand why they are so fired up at tearing down stuff that helps people.
I mean look at them. They want to gut programs that have helped millions:
Social Security (Happy 80th, BTW! Here’s to 100 and more!)
Medicare
Voting Rights
Immigration
.
Have you heard the latest? Donald Trump proclaimed that the 14th Amendment — the one that grants citizenship to anyone born in the United States — is unconstitutional.
That Furball, The Donald, wants to pretend that rights that are in the Constitution are, well, unconstitutional. And the rest of the clowns are falling all over themselves to agree with him!
Ummmmm, do they even have a clue that “Constitutional” means,well, in the fucking Constitution?
Apparently not. Because, you see, these folks just can’t get no … <i?they can’t get no. No no no…</i>
Recently, a close friend/relative was diagnosed with a chronic disease. He’s pretty miserable.
It’s a hard thing to accept, that diagnosis. To find out that you have something nasty that you don’t want, and it’ll always be with you. Gee Willikers, who the hell do you thank for that?
Still, having had a chronic disease for forty years, I’ve learned a thing or two that I can pass along.
I’ve learned that basically, it’s a frog’s life. Yup. A while ago I figured out that living life with a chronic disease simply means you’re a frog.
You don’t look like a frog!
You see, most of the time, life is normal. You hang out in the pond with your family and friends. You eat bugs which is gross, of course. But still, life is good most of the time.
This pond has an all you can eat buffet!
But naturally, life isn’t quite that easy. It isn’t quite that easy if you don’t have health problems. But if you do, well, you have to pay attention to what happens to you. The Devil is in the details. Actually, the devil is in the damn symptoms you probably think aren’t worth bothering with.
You have to watch out for pot. Pots. You have to watch out for pots.
Huh?
Oh surely you’ve heard about frogs and pots!
No? Let me rekindle that image.
Rumor has it* that sometimes someone (an asshole no doubt) puts a poor, unsuspecting frog into a pot of boiling water. The frog (being smarter than the average bear) immediately jumps out. Of course s/he does! It’s painful! If s/he doesn’t, well, we won’t need to worry about that frog’s gender much longer.
Shit! THAT HURTS!
Sometimes with a chronic illness, you get really sick. It’s dramatic, debilitating. It sucks. And generally, the reaction is to JUMP!
Jump! To the phone to call the doctor. Jump! To call the nurse. Jump! To call my husband. Jump! To scream to heaven for my mother (because, in spite of the fact that she is in another realm, when something hurts, I want Mooooooooooooooom!). Jump! To call my sympathetic friends.
Hell, I’ll call whoever will come and help me. Because the water in that pot is too damn hot; I must react. Whatever it takes. I then follow the advice I’m given, and feel better. Much better.
Sadly, it’s not always easy being green. Or having a chronic disease.
You see, sometimes, the frog ends up in a pot of cool, refreshing water. And then, dammit, that same asshole turns on the heat. The results ain’t pretty.
Shit
Twice in the past few years, I’ve found myself hanging out in that stupid damn pot after someone turned on the gas (sometimes literally). In retrospect, it seems idiotic of me.. Me! The expert patient, with 40 years of practice! It seems so obvious. But day to day, really, it is not at all clear that the water I’m in has heated up so much that, well, getting out just doesn’t seem worth the effort.
Because, you see, when you have a chronic illness, there are little things that creep up, little pains that are really nothing. Nothing at all. Certainly nothing to complain about. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to mention to that person on the other side of the bed.
Just as surely, it’s nothing worth calling the doctor about. Nothing even worth remembering during those routine visits. Nope, it’s all good.
But then suddenly, unexpectedly, you realize that that little ache, that pain that started off so mild, that has stayed with you and built up. Day by day. Suddenly it becomes unbearable.
So, I thought of what advice I should give to my poor depressed friend.
Pay attention to your symptoms. If you have an acute problem, jump out of the pot. Call your doctor. Duh!
Pay attention to your symptoms. If something little seems hardly worth mentioning – JUMP ANYWAY!!! JUMP OUT OF THE DAMN POT!
More specifically, call your doctor. Let him or her know what is happening. SQUEAK! I know that’s what mice do, but I’m sure frogs squeak too,when they have to, too. It may be nothing, in fact, it probably is. But mention it anyway. And if it is something, there may be help closer to hand than you think.
The two times I stayed in the pot?
The first time I didn’t want to go on a medicine my doctor thought would help me; I read too much. The day after my first dose of that medication I was nearly pain free. Gradually, I had been barely able to walk, sit or stand. I have a good doctor but I didn’t want to follow her advice.
The second time, I was somewhat less stupid. I was away, and developed a painful skin condition, that started up slowly. It was no big deal. NBD at all. Until, after a couple of weeks, it was. When I talked to my doctor, she made a simple recommendation. I followed it and the pain went away.
I’ve lived with Crohn’s for 40+ years. And you know what I’ve learned? Find a good doctor, and listen to him or her. Then just float along as best you can.
Because except for eating bugs, a frog’s life is pretty damn good.
* When I was looking this up on my bible, Wikipedia, I learned that this whole “frog in the pot” thing may not be precisely true. It may not be that a frog will just hang out until it dies while the water heats up. Fuck you Wikipedia. Way to ruin a good metaphor. Go eat bugs, Wikipedia.
All images are from Google. I leap in your general direction, Google images!
As I mentioned last night, after I rudely posted a link to one of my old blog posts in a comment on Art’s blog, Pouring My Art Out, I started chatting with my blogging buddy Trend, of TrentLewin.com about that piece. I told him that in an exercise for my memoir writing class, I had to write the same story from two different points of view. The link I posted was to the first version of that story. Trend and I figured it would be fun for me to post both pieces.
Six Admissions judges from London’s Central School of Speech and Drama met at the Rathskeller, a bar in New Haven, Connecticut, to discuss the afternoon’s auditions of prospective American students in April 1974.
Google Image
“How did you mates fair? We had four who were bloody awful,” said Nigel, after ordering a pint and sitting down. Nigel, along with Charles and Anna, was one of three judges on the second panel. The others joined their colleagues and smiled at the three members of the first panel already seated at the table.
“There’s one ace in our lot,” said James, speaking for the first panel. “We all agree he should be admitted.”
Anna rushed in: “We had one that was quite memorable.”
The group quickly pushed aside the folders of the rejects; no chat was needed. All six knew the criteria for admission and talent was a prerequisite. They went on to the three applicants who would be offered slots in September’s class.
“Now tell us about this other one” James said opening the folder they’d kept in reserve. “Do we have another offer to make to Elyse?”
“Well, she is,” Anna said, smiling and showing Elyse’s picture, “quite photogenic, I’d imagine she’d be good on film. On the whole, though, delivery of her comedy piece wasn’t good.”
“Her timing,” said Nigel, “was a bit off.”
“It was at first,” added Charles smirking. “But later she showed real promise.”
“Her Juliet speech was spot on. And she looked like Juliet, which always helps,” Anna continued.
“Well, she’s quite young,” said James, “Only 17. She should look the part! Can she sing?”
“She belted ‘Adelaide’s Lament,’ a song that makes me queasy. She performed it well, though, comfortably. She has a strong singing voice that could be developed nicely with additional vocal training.”
“OK,” said Natalie, speaking up for the first time. “It sounds like she did an acceptable audition, but not a stellar one. That makes her borderline in my book. Why was she so memorable?”
“Because,” said James, trying to not laugh over his own punchline as Anna and Charles began guffawing. “Fuck me if, on her way out, she didn’t walk into the broom closet and close the door!”
“She didn’t!!”
“And she stayed inside there,” added Anna, wiping tears from her eyes. “She was in there for eons. She must have not known what to do.”
James went on, “She finally slunk out and said rather sheepishly ‘uhhh, that’s a broom closet.’ She hung her head and walked out the proper door, poor dear.”
“If she’d come out singing and dancing,” chuckled Nigel, “I would have suggested she skip training and head straight for Broadway.”
They added Elyse’s folder to the pile of on the left.
I have a pretty good track record in choosing Presidents. Sometimes, I’m way ahead of the game. I decided in 2004 that I wanted Obama for President.
Obama at the 2004 Democratic Convention (Google Image)
Sadly, I didn’t notice him on the ballot for a while.
This time around, I haven’t been able to decide. Hillary? Bernie? There are things to recommend each of them. So what is a good citizen to do?
Well, today I have my answer. I know who I’m going to vote for. I know who I will work for. I know who will solve one of the major problems the world faces today.
Please join me in supporting the candidacy of Donald Trump:
WINTERSET, Ia. – Donald Trump says if he gets elected president, he would have to change his hair style because he wouldn’t have time to maintain it, as he would be working his butt off in the White House.…[Emphasis added]
The world will be a far, far better place.
* * *
I found this, along with a zillion other brilliant pictures at The Last of the Millenniums. He’s got a gift for finding the really fun stuff.
Perhaps I mentioned it a time or two, but I am something of an impulse buyer. I succumb to all those “buy one, get one free” offers. The “50% OFF!s,” and, naturally, every sale.
Huffington Post Picture. I just don’t get enough opportunities to use it.
The other day, I had to make an appointment for a medical test at a large DC hospital center. Because I am a patient extraordinaire, I have all my tune ups and oil changes done at a major medical center. The hospital version of Jiffy Lube. I like feeling like my surgeons are on the cutting edge, and that my gastroenterologists are qualified to show others just what to put into my orifices. I do not like amateurs poking about where I can’t see them.
But now? Modern healthcare is just getting better and better!
Because there are all kinds of deals available. I can shop for services at my local hospital! How can you beat that? You see, the MBAs have taken over healthcare. So it’s just another consumer good. Right?
In fact, I learned that I can purchase all kinds of pancreatic treatments! Really! Right there at Georgetown! I can even, if I want, sign up for a pancreatic transplant!
But WAIT! There’s MORE!
I can get deep brain stimulation! I’m told while waiting on hold to make my doctor’s appointment, that it can treat (not cure) not just my GI problems, but illnesses, syndromes and conditions I don’t have! Imagine that!
Yup! I can treat not just my depression or bipolar symptoms, but my Parkinson’s Disease symptoms, too. I’m not sure if I have to wait for those to develop first, or if I can just plunge right in and treat em.
Of course, I’m hoping that once my brain has been deeply stimulated, I will come to understand why the MBAs think that someone with poo problems (and who spends way too much time with doctors and getting other treatments for the condition she is waiting on hold about) might enjoy some additional time in the hospital. Because we all know just what a hoot those procedures can be. Not to mention the designer gowns you get to wear. Ammirite?
Perhaps I can organize a girls’ retreat with my besties! Hey girls, this gastric bypass is on me!
I’ve learned that I can have bloodless surgery at Georgetown, too. I’d hate to make a mess.
The kidney tumors I also don’t have? You guessed it. They can be gone in no time. Still gone. Or maybe “Gone again” is the accurate description. How about “Gone with the Wind?” Or is that mixing up body systems?
As soon as the lines open on Monday, I’ll be calling again.
FiftyFourandAHalf 