Today, I Cried

Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

1549

Abstract

long it’s been since I’ve cried? I mean, cried-cried? Not the teary-eyed, “Oh what a cute puppy!”, commercial-watching type of cry. I mean full-blown cry fest.February 13, 2017.How can I be so sure about that date?Mom died.So yeah, I’m sure. The notification of her passing and in the days beyond I must have cried myself out. There have been other deaths, setbacks, and life’s “little fun times”. But nothing as gut-wrenching as when she died. Today was not the, “pull over the car, you can’t drive like this” kind of cry. It was enough however for me to sit down in Dad’s office chair and tell him what was going on.That’s when I actually shed some tears. So did he. That’s what got me to clean my face up, as they used to say when we were kids and crying. “Clean up your face” was the way to tell a kid back then to stop crying. Makes you wonder why I’m such a stoic now, huh? /sarcasmI told Dad a lot today. Not everything. But until now, I hadn’t said a word. I kept my appointments, made more appointments, and took pills until I drank Pepto because of the heartburn it all caused. And I did it while keeping 99% of it to myself. I no longer can do that.With that being said, last September I stopped taking about 50% of my medication. Until now, I had only told one other person. I actually feel better. I’ve continued to take what I need in order to stay alive. No more, no less. But now a new notion has passed my lips.</

Options

p>I am seriously considering stopping all medical care and treatments. I can’t see the point in it. Once when I thought things would actually get better, I wanted to stay in the game and fight the good fight. But now? I’m tired. Not the tired a nap can resolve. Or a vacation. Or a spa treatment.I am to the bone, to the bottom of my soul, tired in a way that there are no words to describe. Saying “tired” feels like a personal affront. It’s as if the word is demeaning. Undermining.I already wrote, and it has been published in Everything Short Form about how I’ve worked my way through two birthday cakes already. I plan on having more before the end of the month. So there’s that at least.Stopping all treatments won’t expedite my demise. With that knowledge, I really have NO incentive to continue. Take my meds. Eat my cheesecake (when I’m not eating M&Ms) and just be.Write. Read. Yell at the TV. And then write some more. Work on my family tree. And just let that be enough. The only ones getting anything out of me being put through the paces are the doctors, surgeons, specialists, pharmacies, etc. All I’m getting is worse.I’m going to have to call bullshit. #sorrynotsorryThis has been sitting in my drafts for over two weeks. It’s “old news” at this point. But I’m working my way through 74 drafts today so that you all will have something to read while I’m away from my keyboard. ;)</article></body>

It might mean nothing to you, but to me? I’m speechless.

An Open Letter to Those Who Consider Themselves My Friend,

Today I had yet another doctor’s appointment. Today is March 5 and I’ve already had five scheduled for this month. With 14 more before the month is over, along with 1 set of bloodwork, and a repeat CT to be done. And let’s not forget the tentatively set surgery for the 26th. Today included some impromptu x-rays.

Last month was a slow month. I only had 20 for all of February. In order to make up for that, I have appointments scheduled already up into July. Oh, joy. Prior to surgery, it will be not only the repeat CT (the radiologist screwed up their report so the insurance company doesn’t want to pay for the surgery, so, lather, rinse, repeat) but more bloodwork (do I have any left at this point?) and a COVID test 24-hours before.

Today’s visit yielded more bad news. That’s where the tears come into play. Wanna know how long it’s been since I’ve cried? I mean, cried-cried? Not the teary-eyed, “Oh what a cute puppy!”, commercial-watching type of cry. I mean full-blown cry fest.

February 13, 2017.

How can I be so sure about that date?

Mom died.

So yeah, I’m sure. The notification of her passing and in the days beyond I must have cried myself out. There have been other deaths, setbacks, and life’s “little fun times”. But nothing as gut-wrenching as when she died. Today was not the, “pull over the car, you can’t drive like this” kind of cry. It was enough however for me to sit down in Dad’s office chair and tell him what was going on.

That’s when I actually shed some tears. So did he. That’s what got me to clean my face up, as they used to say when we were kids and crying. “Clean up your face” was the way to tell a kid back then to stop crying. Makes you wonder why I’m such a stoic now, huh? /sarcasm

I told Dad a lot today. Not everything. But until now, I hadn’t said a word. I kept my appointments, made more appointments, and took pills until I drank Pepto because of the heartburn it all caused. And I did it while keeping 99% of it to myself. I no longer can do that.

With that being said, last September I stopped taking about 50% of my medication. Until now, I had only told one other person. I actually feel better. I’ve continued to take what I need in order to stay alive. No more, no less. But now a new notion has passed my lips.

I am seriously considering stopping all medical care and treatments. I can’t see the point in it. Once when I thought things would actually get better, I wanted to stay in the game and fight the good fight. But now? I’m tired. Not the tired a nap can resolve. Or a vacation. Or a spa treatment.

I am to the bone, to the bottom of my soul, tired in a way that there are no words to describe. Saying “tired” feels like a personal affront. It’s as if the word is demeaning. Undermining.

I already wrote, and it has been published in Everything Short Form about how I’ve worked my way through two birthday cakes already. I plan on having more before the end of the month. So there’s that at least.

Stopping all treatments won’t expedite my demise. With that knowledge, I really have NO incentive to continue. Take my meds. Eat my cheesecake (when I’m not eating M&Ms) and just be.

Write. Read. Yell at the TV. And then write some more. Work on my family tree. And just let that be enough. The only ones getting anything out of me being put through the paces are the doctors, surgeons, specialists, pharmacies, etc. All I’m getting is worse.

I’m going to have to call bullshit. #sorrynotsorry

This has been sitting in my drafts for over two weeks. It’s “old news” at this point. But I’m working my way through 74 drafts today so that you all will have something to read while I’m away from my keyboard. ;)