(source)Topic: Write a letter to your health.
Dear Bob (Dysautonomia) and Jeff (my mutant jugular) and Ruprecht (my recalcitrant digestive system) and the rest of the gang,
What can I say guys? It's been fun? Nope that's not it. It's been a blast? Well maybe with you Ruprecht, given how my innards have been the last year and a half. Who knew doing a normal Number 2 some time this century would be added to my bucket list? Certainly not me. But that's as good as it gets for those challenged in the regular poo department.
And you Jeff, well you just never know when to quit. You've embraced your mutant side with gusto and seen reluctant to move out. Like a damn cockroach, I'm pretty sure you'll survive the nuclear apocalypse So here's hoping the Mayans were right and/or the zombies are coming. That way there's a chance one of the walking dead will give me an atomic hickey and rip you right out.
But you Bob, well you were my first, so you'll always be special. You and I go way back to that first collapse at work. That delightful trip to the ER where I was asked 28 times if I was pregnant. Apparently they don't teach the ER doctors what the word 'hysterectomy' means any more. You'd think telling them I was womb-challenged might have been a giveaway, but no. You lead me to my first fun time with IV fluids and being tossed out unable to walk, because they couldn't work out was wrong. Good times. I feel like right about now I should break out in a heart-felt rendition of Memory. But no that's right I'm banned from that now thanks to you. Belt out a tune and my pulse pressure disappears and I tend to fall over, complete with dramatic grasping of chest. It's been one rip snorter of a party with you. Did you know we are coming up to seven years together? No? Typical. I guess you can blame it on the brain fog, though I'd prefer to blame it on the boogie. Seems the traditional gift is copper. What copper thing can I get you? A 7.62mm rimless NATO round, sounds like a promising choice.
Frankly I'm over you and your dodgy mates, Bob. I think it's time we broke up and went our separate ways. I've never really been into the Big Love thing anyway, just way to much work. You and all your brother husbands can pack your bags. If it's all the same with you, I really think it's time for all of you to just bugger off. It's definitely not me, it's you. It's very personal. I don't want to be friends. I want to be foot loose and fancy free. Preferably on a beach somewhere, with hot cabana boys bringing we margaritas with tiny umbrellas, oh and foot massages and....
So see you later fellas.
Hit the road Jack.....and Jeff and Ruprecht and Bob and all the rest.
And don't you come back.
No more. No more. No more.
Day I: Why do I write about my health.
Day 2: Find a quote and use it as inspiration.
Day 3: I don't know about this, but I'd like to.
Day 4: A chronic handbag
Day 5: Health Activist Soapbox
Day 6: And I've done my back, because it's not like I had anything else going on.
Day 7: Setbacks. Vlog time.
Considering all the male names I use for my disorders I thought this Oz classic by the Divinyls, was perfect.