So Wikipedia tells me that catapult means: to launch a projectile a great distance without the aid of an explosive device. Hmmm.
My first thought was about all the Mythbuster episodes I’ve watched in the past and I wonder how many episodes had a catapult in it?
My next thought is: Someone put me in one of these and catapult me to the moon. I am done.
Please pray for me.
I am shocked with the judge’s decision. I am shocked that living with 2 brain tumors and a rare hereditary cancer syndrome doesn’t call for any compassion, support, understanding, anything.
The “advocate” told me yesterday that in reading the judge’s 23 page report of my denial, I told one of my doctors in January 2014 I was having hot flashes but wanted to work. (I had a hysterectomy the month earlier. I had to endure forced surgical menopause. Of course I had hot flashes! Plus, my brain was a hell of a lot different in 2014 than it is today. It was better then. Things were better then.)
So our trusted government servant made his decision (partly) on what I said over 3 years ago.
I guess I’ve learned to never tell my doctor anything.
You may think getting diagnosed with 2 brain tumors and a hereditary cancer syndrome is bad?
Try getting denied for disability.
This is actually worse.
I try really hard to be brave.
I really try hard to be strong.
You cannot survive without money.
I am broken.
What is the point anymore?
Approval would have helped me avoid filing bankruptcy. That’s now next on my to-do list.
Every time I think about it I begin to cry.
Every thing I am feeling and thinking now is exactly what I feared would happen.
My first thought on today’s Daily Prompt is that song. I mean, COME ON.
Which leads me to…
When I was in middle school, my friends and I thought we were really clever.
When we wrote notes to each other, instead of using our real names we created code names. That way, if a teacher caught us, or if we lost any of them, we would be in the clear!
My code name was Duran Duran. I am totally serious.
Another friend was Thompson Twins and a third friend was Culture Club. (Wait? Or was *I* Thompson Twins? GAH. I have a tin of my old notes from middle school. I am going to go check right now!)
.I sure miss those days.
I hate guilt. It consumes me and eats me up inside.
I have so much guilt about burdening my mom; her being forced to pay for my daily living expenses that I cannot take care of. (In addition to gas, car insurance, etc.)
Accepting my feelings of guilt, or
rationalizing coping with them, or whatever is one of my biggest crosses to date.
But at therapy yesterday Dr. C gave me some perspective I haven’t reached on my own:
She said that guilt results from when you do something wrong.
I didn’t do anything wrong to be diagnosed with 2 brain tumors and a hereditary cancer syndrome. I didn’t cause that. I didn’t make a less-than-desirable choice and am now forced to live with the consequences. I just have a “shitty” brain (her words). And she asked me, “Would you rather have a shitty mom and a good brain?”
No. No way no how no no no. No no no nope no.
I will take all the crappy things in the world because I have the best mom ever.
I got the better end of the deal then. ❤
I will not write my feelings about the “news” and President Trump. I will not write my feelings about what I fear of the future of our country. But one thing I’ve learned lately is: feelings aren’t facts. I wish the fake news networks knew this!
That phrase helps me immensely, especially when it comes to my medical status. I have a growth (tumor?) on my tongue and have a visit with the ENT this week. These growths aren’t new; that’s the whole Cowden Syndrome thing in a nutshell. Without going into too much gritty detail I have seen an ENT before about these things, and he told me I would have to go to the O.R. to have them removed. I am scared. I am terrified, to be very honest. I don’t want any more visits to the O.R. I have to center my attention and energy on what I do know. And in fact, I don’t know anything today. Maybe he can snip it right off?
This new growth is large, again new, and here’s what I find most peculiar about this entire thing: when I was 2 years old I had surgery to remove a “growth” on my gigantic tonsils. My mom just told me the thing on my tongue now looks almost identical to what was on my tonsil over 40 years ago.
Of course not.
I admit I had to look up the definition of qualm.
And, now I can’t figure out how to use it properly.
- I am feeling a lot of qualm this morning
- Are you qualmed today?
- Who’s needs help feeling qualm today?
- The news is on TV. Do you have qualms about that?
UGH. So, I don’t know how to use it in a sentence. I’m thoroughly embarrassed to say that, but that’s OK.
Admitting is the first step to fixing the problem. 🙂
Am I the only one who saw “hospital” first? No? OK, then.
I laugh that I draw that conclusion. But, you can’t blame me. Out of all my hospital stays, many of them weren’t very hospitable. I felt no hospitality whatsoever. 🙂
I could write stories of my experiences, and in fact I have many times.
One of my (many) wishes would be to talk to every JERKY nurse, doctor, technician I have come across since diagnosis and
give them a piece of my mind, tell them off, sincerely ask them why they are in the medical field. If you don’t have one ounce of compassion in your soul, DO A DIFFERENT JOB!
What do I pursue now that my life is such that it is?
Initially my plan was a career in education. But, the brain tumors (and surgeries) have put a kink in that plan.
I know there’s more to my life than stress, financial ruin, depression, despair.
Where do I find the “more”?