I am screamingly funny, Puzzle is the cutest and life is a big joke

Well, yes, it’s true….I’ve got a darn cute dog.  We were out today and she got an awful lot of cuteness compliments.  I told folks she always wins those types of contests.  Just joking around.  Saying that I was older than her, you know, she being only six-and-a-half, you can kinda tell that maybe I am a little older than that.

Someone said, “You are only as old as you feel.”

Well, tell that to the insurance companies.  Tell that to the drug makers.  Tell that to Dr. P.

So I walked into my appointment today pretty much knowing what I was gonna hear.  That she is leaving her practice at the big hospital where she works.

So instead of going in there wicked early today, I sat outside the big place and enjoyed the outdoors, me and Puzzle, just hangin’ for a bit.  Yep, that’s about when Puzzle got the compliments.   I’m telling you, she was obsessed about this piece of gum on the ground that someone had spat out, just staring at the darned thing for quite a while.  I know she was thinking about nabbing it.  Dogs love gross stuff.

I do recall that was a topic earlier, at a church get-together.  Someone said her dog had rolled in poop and then she had hosed her dog down.  I believe that started off our conversation.  Now, how weird is that?  The conversation went on to the topic of me, myself, eventually, that is, Julie, and I guess the folks who were there were drinking tea and telling me I am depressed and isolated and never leave the house and stuff  like that.  We have an agreement that we don’t talk about what’s talked about outside of there, but I think the rolling in poop thing is rather universal and…screamingly funny…which is why I think nobody minds me sharing it right now.   And the me part is me, so I can tell you.  And you know already about me hanging around here and not going out, if you’ve been reading this blog for a bit.

So I guess I cried my eyes out.  Which may or may not have been a good thing.   You guys know I think crying is pretty much okay and right and healthy and if you start to cry, you sure got the right to do it and it ain’t against any law.  That’s the cool thing about crying.  It doesn’t hurt anyone to do it, and you can cry pretty much anywhere.  You can cry on a bus, and no one will notice cuz they are busy with their cell phones and ipods.  You can cry yourself to sleep, and the next morning, you might not remember except there will be little goo spots on your pillowcase, and then you’ll tell yourself, “Oh, gee, yeah, some asshole was mean to me yesterday,” or whatever the reason was that you were crying about. Or you will get to your desk and see the damn credit card bill you were crying about and start crying all over again realizing you still have to pay some of it.  Or you might wake up in the middle of the night and feel your dog on top of you and realize, “Gee, what a miracle, I am alive and breathing,” which was pretty much what I said to myself in the middle of the night last night for whatever reason.

Which I did not tell Dr. P.  No, I hardly told her anything, because I got a damn lecture when I finally reached her office. I suppose I never know exactly what to expect from these appointments.  And as I write this right now, I realize she’s gonna come to this site and read these words,  maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. So I’d better be screamingly funny and make it all worth her while.  Yes, Dr. P spoke about me and my writing stuff online.

Oh, Dr. P, I have never called you anything else.  Cuz I know I’d get in trouble if I called you Dr. Poop if that in fact was your real name, but it isn’t.

Dr. P, don’t you realize the hospital is lying to you, covering its ass about the abuse in 2011?  If they in fact had been limiting me to four glasses of water a day due to “dangerously low sodium, due to polydipsia….” which is what you said today….No, this does not add up.  Do you want to know why?

Dr. P, you said you had put me on “suicide watch,” while I was on a medical floor.  Okay, that in the first place was not right, but I am not going to argue that right now.  So I was being watched 24/7, followed constantly, right?  I was too weak to walk on my own, and I never went to a canteen, so I was brought everything I drank by the nursing staff.  If I recall correctly, I inspected everything they brought me.  I made sure everything they brought was calorie-free, so every can of diet ginger ale had to be unopened.  I insisted on this, and if the can was opened already by the nurse, I would not drink it for fear that the nurse had snuck in some sugar or something with calories to fatten me up while I was not looking.  Anyone with a severe eating disorder might have this fear.   I also insisted that the vegetables not have butter on them, but the butter be on the side.  Again, folks with eating disorders are like this.  You folks with eating disorders know this deal well.

So everything I ate and drank was controlled by the nursing staff, Dr. P.  How could polydipsia occur?  If I were drinking too much, they would just have decided to stop bringing stuff, or just said, “Julie, you can’t have any more.”  I remember I came in severely dehydrated and they were very happy that I was finally drinking things.  Upon my arrival, I was immediately given two bags of fluids, rapidly, in the ER.  And if this were true, why was I not told this once?  I was not once told in the psych unit that my sodium was “dangerously low” and I was instead many times told “four eight-ounce bottles of water is protocol for eating disorders patients on this unit” and given no medical reason for this “protocol.”  Once, I was told it was to “prevent edema,” and once, I was told it had something to do with “refeeding syndrome” and I was repeatedly told that this was some kind of torture that I had to endure or like some kind of religious discipline, not drinking water the way I had taught myself at home to stay away from food.

Well, fuck you, all you doctors.  All of you.  Sometime around when I was 27, a doctor named Charles Capers (probably dead, so it doesn’t matter now about fucking liability) never checked my lithium level, and was practicing without a license anyway (no, I had no clue, nor did my parents, who were paying him a fortune probably because he refused to do his fucking insurance paperwork because he couldn’t…with no license, right?) so my kidneys got kinda messed up.  Now, back then, folks, lotsa patients ended up with wrecked up kidneys, cuz a lot of doctors were not particularly careful with lithium.  So lots of us ended up with lithium-induced nephrogenic diabetes insipidus.  That’s what I have.  It means not too much except your kidneys don’t work right anymore.  Permanently.   And folks like us have to drink a lot of water to make up for it.  Do you hear me loud and clear?  Our kidneys spit out too much water.  That’s why I am thirsty a lot more than most people.  The thirst I feel is natural and right and it’s my own body telling me the right thing to do and I’ve done it all my life.  I’ve never particularly thought about it until your fucking hospital decided to torture me by limiting me to four tiny bottles a day.  And yeah, if I’d stayed and not left AMA, I would have shriveled up like…remember that orange in that show…when they were all arguing…Gilligan’s Island?  When they were arguing about vitamin C and who was going to have that last orange? Who was the most important and deserving of that one vital orange, the one that contained Vitamin C, and while they were all sitting there arguing over the fucking orange, it shriveled up into nothing?  Yes, Dr. P.  Julie Greene right there on that fucking psych unit holding her pencil, writing about everything that was happening around her, making sure everything that happened to her got recorded, because she felt for some reason the world should know, would have shriveled up just like that orange.

So who is most important, most deserving of that vital last bit of life?  If you could change one thing in your life, make one thing different, what would it be?  If you could change the world, what would you change?

Imagine: world peace.  If you could only say the words, WORLD PEACE, and this would make this thing, world peace, happen, imagine this.

Now imagine, if you could make yourself happy by saying, “I am happy.”  Imagine that for a moment.

Imagine nobody ever having to live on fucking 844 dollars a month.  Imagine that.  Imagine never being told this is what you “deserve.”  Imagine saying, “There is no bullying in the world.”  And presto.  Bullying no longer exists.  Anywhere.

Wow, I am saying that what you say is powerful, ladies.  Personal is political.

So Puzzle and I came home.  On the bus ride, I made a few phone calls.  Told my minister I was looking forward to doing a bunch of writing.   Told him at least I have a lot to write about.

And folks, I have been denied care by the big hospital because I of liability.  No, not because of any medical reason, but because I will not shut my trap.  And I do not intend to.  Yes, I’ve been denied care because of my words.  Right here.

Never, ever shut up.

I will not back down.

And I don’t want you to, either.




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