Reading: But not writing about it

Since  my last entry on July 10th, I have read 4 (almost 5) books which have been okay to very good to summery good deliciousness and I should be writing about them here, today.

But, I’m not.

Because also in those ten days I have had more health issues, including multiple days of stomach issues, one day so bad my stomach reignited with the sort of horrifying inability to accept anything including water without spasming and sending me to the bathroom within ten minutes so that whatever I’d put in could escape my body. Weeks of that was what seemed to start my decline a few years ago, and, bless, this lasted only one day — but I’ve had minor bouts of it off and on far too often lately, and around 9a.m. this morning it struck again.

The problem with it is that I become terribly dehydrated and so very weak, overcome with that feeling everyone has had now and again where the smallest effort to be made — like walking across the room to get to the bathroom — feels like far too much to accomplish. The entire body is screaming with exhaustion. And even though you KNOW drinking water, juice, whatever, is going to cause you to cramp and another need to trek to the bathroom, you also know that not drinking can land you in the hospital.

There doesn’t seem to be a trigger. There doesn’t seem to be an answer. Like with all my illnesses.

Yesterday my dermatologist called and after six visits, multiple biopsies, blood tests, and who knows what else, there is STILL no answer to this skin condition I’ve had since January — ironically starting the day of the inauguration. Or, maybe, not so ironically.

Long/short; it’s NOT — as they thought for a while — lymphoma, so that’s good news. It may be autoimmune/connective tissue disorder. Not sure. I am unusual, it seems, never before have they seen symptoms presented in this way. So, new plan is to try me on a drug that can cause macular degeneration — which is how both my aunt and mother lost vision (and, in the case of my aunt, touch with reality) — and send me to an opthalmologist and a rheumatologist, only problem being — you guessed it, my sub-par, bottom line insurance is not accepted by any of the doctors with whom they work, or, it seems, hardly any doctors at all. They are searching for one today.

I got a little (meaning, a lot) sorry for myself last evening when all this news was being related to me on the phone (almost 48 hours later than it had been promised, too) and I had awful nightmares and then some other things and —

Look, here’s my whiny truth today: If I followed the advice of those who say “listen to the message the universe is trying to send you” — the message that I am most consistently getting for the last decade or so is; “You don’t really count” and “You don’t deserve decent or even attentive healthcare because you dare to be poor and needing assistance and are NOT an oil company” and just a general sort of, “You’re not QUITE enough, never were, never will be.”

I’ll tell you what I am ENOUGH of, fucking exhausted by all this shit.

So, it’s not fair to write about the books I’ve read at this particular time because I would not be doing them justice, giving them the attention and thought they deserve, because I am too busy devoting all my energy to feeling not good enough and sorry for myself.

I’ll correct this as soon as I can. Love ad Light, dear ones. Going.

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