A Letter To My Doctor

The last two months have been more stressful than any other time in my life, and I’ve had some shady moments in my past, I promise you.

The fear of not knowing, that gray place called ‘maybe’ has worked its way into my brain to the point of self medicating. Yes, I am an alcoholic (I’m inebriated now), but recently, the fear of not knowing has me soaking deeply into bottles of whiskey unlike anything you may have seen before. I don’t have a large social circle. And the few I do call upon when frightened are beginning to feel exhausted themselves.

I tried to get the CT scans (three times), but every time I was there, they said there was a clerical error and couldn’t be done that day. Fine. I don’t mind. But, I don’t have transportation, I’m agoraphobic and no one had the decency to call and tell me I shouldn’t even bother coming. My final visit they were able to do the chest X rays. “If you can do the X rays, then why can’t you slap me on the slab and do the CT???”

I asked them to add to my notes how pissed I was.

The blood test were scheduled, but my insurance company dropped me (again through a clerical error), and when trying to do the good faith estimate, I was given a PDF sheet of all costs. Not knowing what my order was for, I simply couldn’t pay for the test.

Dr. Pinero recommended I get my medical marijuana card since I don’t care for pharmaceuticals. That’s when they found out I was dead on paper. My social security number no longer exists. I haven’t filed taxes in the last couple of years because I haven’t made any money. They gave me my card, but I can’t go to a dispensary.

It’s ok. I have a friend who has been supplying me with marijuana. He’s not a friend, really, but more family. A good man, whom I have made my living will. But, now I have to find a way to let the IRS and SSA know that I’m very much still here.

The best part of my days are when I’m knitting my own socks while watching Murder, She Wrote. Then dancing to Siouxsie and the Banshees with my headphones on. And a little Nizter Ebb, a touch of Front 242, a hint of Depeche.

The depression evaluation had me asking questions of myself. Is there something in my head that has me clinging to vices, the very vices that are causing health problems? Is that all there is to this? Is this where I am? Is that really what this whole health scare is about? Just something locked in my head that has me in self destruct mode?

I have a definite status in the knitting community, but gave it all up to tend to my husband, to make sure that he had every possible avenue for success, that he wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than making money. He’s never had that sort of graciousness before. He has never had anyone believe in him. So, I tried to keep the house cleaned, the bills paid. And it became too much to realize that my days were filled with doing laundry and dishes and in the process doing nothing for myself.

Do I resent the decision? Of course not. I helped a man elevate himself to a place he never thought he’d be. I helped make another man better. I showed him how brilliant he was.

But, in the process, I pinned myself down. And since then, I’ve not done much for myself. No self care, no grooming, nor even bathing on occasion. I drink all day, stay dirty, and welcome him when he comes home with my heart bursting at the seams knowing I’ve done something good for someone else, but have screwed myself at the same time.

So, how do we fix this?

As Tough as Painted Nails

Well….my mother and sister and I recently got together for a Mother’s Day Extravaganza. We had not been in the same room at the same time for at least 10 years. With this being my mother’s 70th birthday year, we decided to do this massive, girly fest slumber party. Originally, we were to have it at my house. But, the last year has been rough for all of us. I have a cancer scare, my sister has a career scare, and my mother has an aging scare. I thought we’d crawl into our pajamas, order a couple of pizzas and watch a few movies while gossiping….

Oh, no. That’s not what happened at all. My mother decided that if we were going to do this, we were going to do it right. So, she booked us a suite at a swanky hotel downtown where we could spend the evening having nibbles, facials….getting our nails done.

I’m not that sort of groomer. I don’t lather myself with lotion. I don’t do mud masks, I don’t exfoliate, I don’t concern myself with cuticles. But, I was having the best damned time hanging out with my mom and sis that I couldn’t resist! First, the facial.

I have to say I tried everything I could not to LAUGH, but was told not to. They put this slimy piece of cloth on my face. I have no idea what I looked like, but I could see my mother and my sister and they both looked like Leather Face. I kept giggling at the absurdity of it all. After 30 minutes I was allowed to pull that gooey material off my head and asked, “Can I wash my face now?”

There was an immediate plea, both of them leaping out of their chairs. “NO!!!! NO! You have to rub the serum into your skin, down your neck around your ears and let it absorb! You have to let the serum ABSORB INTO YOUR SKIN!!!”

I stood back, frightened a little.

“Okay….calm down. Everyone chill. I know ya’ll take this seriously,” as you would say to a member of a cult.

I complied and rubbed that gooey mess all over my flesh. (Fun fact. No one ever gave me the “all clear” that it was safe to wash my face. It was two days, my friends, before I finally said, “Screw this,” and finally splashed my face with water. I have to confess, my skin was surprisingly taught, though.)

Next up was getting our nails done. They were getting their toenails done. Apparently, it’s open toe season. You know, sandals, flip-flops, the like. My getting my toenails done seemed ridiculous. No one would see my painted digits because I always wear boots, or at least socks. I could walk around this house butt nekked in the summertime, but I still have a pair of socks on….and yes, sometimes my boots, too.

I was so pleased with the way everything was flowing. We were laughing, chatting, sharing, and all done as though it had NOT been ten years since we all three were together. The ambient mood suggested that we did this every weekend. Anyone strolling by would have thought that we normally did this on the weekend. We were so casual about it.

Having my toenails painted would have been absurd. So, I had my fingernails done. Bravely, proudly, for all the world to see. I had the normal questions that most newbies have. “How long will this last?”

“Maybe three weeks or so.”

“SAY WHAT???? THREE WEEKS????” I just assumed it would be gone in a couple of days!

My mom chimes in. “Son, if it bothers you we can always get some nail polish remover and be done with it. But, thank you for at least trying.”

I grimaced, I winced. Man, I have to walk around with this on for three weeks????

I stared at my nails and began to think about the whole trip, the whole weekend. This was the best time I’d had with two of the most important people in my life. No fear of cancer, no fear of career, no fear of aging. The three of us laughing and having fun.

So, it’s been about three weeks and my nail polish has been chipping. My nails are looking….yuck. Kara was over the other day and suggested we go up to Walgreens and get some remover and take it all off.

I looked at my nails, chipped and wrecked of a deep Navy blue and asked, “Once you take this off, should I stick with this color, or find a new one?”

She looked at me with a smiling curiosity.

Throughout the last few weeks, every time I looked at my nails I was reminded of a great weekend with my mom and my sister. We rarely get to see each other, but every time I looked at my nails I smiled with glee at the three of us looking silly while trying to look pretty….(excuse me! Prettier 🙂 )

“Yeah, I think I want to keep painting them. I dunno. It’s weird and beautiful at the same time. Every time I knit I see those painted nails. Every time I draw something, I see those painted nails. So, I guess it’s an interesting version of keeping a good memory around me all the time.” Yes, I am eccentric.

Much to my enjoyment, Kara suggests we make a night of it. “Oh! Next time Phillip is working until 4am, we’ll hang out, order pizza, do our nails, flip through Vogue, watch cooking shows and gossip about people we don’t like…..” (Huge smile on her face!)

“YES! Let’s!”

So, I guess my painted fingernails are an homage to the amazing women in my life. They take care of me, love me for being only me, and are always a phone call or a swag bag weekend in pajamas away.