WayBack Machine – EDS Unchecked
What Uncontrolled Hypermobile Ehler’s Danlos Syndrome Looked Like Way Back in 1993. I wrote the
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The Latest Words
The Truth: Single Mom Caring for Mom
Thanx, Y’all. You’re more understanding and supportive, continuously, than I think I could be if I were my friend. I’m not ashamed (much) to admit to a whole helluva lot of tears right now. Lately, I seem to be throwing more pity parties than I’d like. Or at least that’s the way it feels like it looks. In self assessment that’s partially, at least, true. I’m pissed that my “life” is curtailed. If single parenthood
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WayBack Machine – EDS Unchecked
What Uncontrolled Hypermobile Ehler’s Danlos Syndrome Looked Like Way Back in 1993. I wrote the following paper for a college class I was taking back in the early 1990’s. I was supposed to “explain a difficult concept.” This one was pretty fresh on my mind, since I was struggling to understand what had been wrong with my right shoulder for a decade and a half, much less why it couldn’t be fixed. Today, we understand
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Don’t Punish Progress
I saw the full version on a friend’s wall earlier today and had to steal this piece because it rang so true. It was geared toward children and the way we speak to them. “It’s about time.” “Why can’t you do X every time?” “Is that all?” “Your Best?” “You can do better!” How often do we miss the little steps? How often, in our haste toward success, do we forget to recognize the process? Do
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Yes, We Have No Ice.
It was Friday. a Blissful, gleeful Bastille day kicking off a long Labor Day Weekend. It was the culmination of a disastrous few weeks. It was a sign that the many fires in my life, both literal and figurative, were back to simmer and I could look forward to a quick get away before 100 things demanded my immediate and undivided attention again. I tossed my work bag into my favorite chair, marched upstairs and
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American Pie
Today as I crossed my county from Bayside through Farm Land to the Gulf and back again, I had a little head time. Probably one of the only things I miss about commuting to the metro hub “on the other side of the bay,” is my head time. It wasn’t really the vast farmlands of The Midwest, mind you. The houses are only about 5 acres apart, but farmland runs between them and I roll down
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Seuss That!
I’m working an entry and thinking up words. To tell you what’s happened in quick little blurbs. I have a new doc, new meds, and less pain. That would be good, man, if I were still sane. Somehow, I can’t do it. The words just won’t come, unless they are rhyming which just isn’t fun. My daughter’s addicted to one nasty cat. You know the one. He wears a striped hat. His way of speaking
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The Good Hair Day
When most people tell you they’re pulling their hair out, it’s an expression. With the chemo crew, it’s pretty literal. Yet another of those Twilight Zone/Oz moments comes when you realize that not only does your hair HURT, but if you touch it, you’re going to shed worse than a Persian cat in July in Alabama. On top of that, it’s not only a constant pain, but you get tinglie, crawlie feelings that sometimes BITE!
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Dorothy Arrives in Cancer Land
So, how DID I get here? To this strange Cancer Land? Where the language is vaguely foreign and the culture utterly alien–dare I say it? That scary place we all pretend doesn’t exist for fear of contamination and loss of words? We all start somewhere. And if I’m going to go forward from here, I guess I should probably dust this ‘ole blog off and put it to some use. I can’t keep sending out
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