WHY I GHOSTED YOU

Oh my, doesn’t being “ghosted” sound EXCITING!  Damn, if I didn’t know what that means (according to boring old urban dictionary), I’d be like “SIGN ME UP!!  I AM ALL OVER BEING GHOSTED!!!”

It SOUNDS amazing, yes, but actually?

It’s just a much sexier way of saying someone has totally blown you off.

Wait, now I’m confused about which one is a sexier way of saying you are being ignored?

Anyhow.

One thing that has consistently AMAZED ME about my blog:  PEOPLE ACTUALLY READ IT.  Seriously, God Bless you, everyone of you and I LOVE interacting with the wonderful world about my silly musings.  Peak experience for me, really and again:  THANK YOU.

So why did I very abruptly stop doing this about 8 months ago?  Hmmm.  Funny story.

Well, not that funny, but I DID think I was going to actually get to BE a ghost, so THAT might have been a funny story.  For me to have told to my dead relatives.  Because I got sick.

REALLY sick.

Weird, out-of-the-blue, oh-my-god-what-is-happening SICK.

And I spent over 2K in cash (yes, my deductible) trying to figure out why, exactly, I had SUDDENLY and IRREVOCABLY become so damned SICK.

Because it was a mystery.  For months.  And months.

So, when my doctors couldn’t figure out why my limbs were suddenly going numb and I was having trouble breathing and my heart was palpitating and my vision was haloed and my ears were ringing, they did what all good health care professionals should do:  they implied that I was CRAZY.  They suggested that I take medication to mitigate my sudden-onset craziness.  When my capillaries started leaking and I developed dozens and dozens of petachie overnight and my feet turned purple and my hands turned blue, they told me they could find “no objective reason for my subjective symptoms.”

See?  Funny story, right?

Actually, it wasn’t a real doctor who said that, it was a physician’s assistant (my doctor is on vacation a lot, as it turns out), and she didn’t say it, she wrote it in a message on the patient portal, so I could insert a screen shot here, in case anyone is looking for a REALLY nurturing caregiver.

Anyhow.

TURNS OUT (when I finally saw the neurologist it took TWO and a HALF MONTHS to get an appointment with)…I had something called Guillaine Barre Syndrome.  Which explained why my limbs were going numb and I couldn’t breathe.

BUT ALSO (because why stop there?) my Guilliane Barre (which is usually caused by a virus) had been triggered by an EXTREME adverse reaction to an antibiotic I had taken for a simple skin infection.  So in addition to the excellent hallmark symptoms of Guillaine Barre, I also was having neurotoxic reactions and other dire physical manifestations.  Like, a one in a billion response to this antibiotic.

Aren’t I a lucky lady?

So all of this to say:  I stopped posting here (ghosted you) because I was trying my damndest not to ghost you in the literal sense.  Not only were there many days when I was convinced I was dying, there were many days when I would have welcomed it.  No lie.

I wrote a farewell letter to my son, which I would place on my bedside table each night in case he woke up in the morning to find a corpse.  I also wrote out plans for my funeral, including songs for my wonderful musician friends to “play me out” with; I asked that my family spread my ashes on Martha’s Vineyard, my favorite place I have ever been (and if you have not, please go because my creepy ashes are not there to get into your Mad Martha’s Ice Cream.  Yet.)

So what did I learn, when I thought I was dying and not a single member of the medical community had any help to offer me?  Actually, some surprising and amazing things:

1) I am actually not afraid of dying.  REALLY not afraid.  Fear being sick and disabled much more, funny how that works.  Like I said, at the worst point in the illness (they call it a nadir) I kept a note by the side of my bed in case my son came in one morning and found me gone.  But I actually had no fear surrounding it, which is a good thing to know.

2) TV Doctors make all real-life doctors look like uncaring, incompetent amateurs.  So ironically, and a bit humorously, TV doctors are the "truth mirror".

3) Being sick is boring.  REALLY boring.  You wake up each new day and think THIS SH*T???  AGAIN???  It's like eating the same food for 8 months.

4) I now TOTALLY get the old-fashioned days "convalescent hospitals".  In the old days, when you were sick (and rich) you got sent to some facility so no one had to deal with your boring, sick ass and you got fed rich puddings and took lots of naps.  People brought you flowers and hot tea.

We need to bring all that back.

Anyhow.

Before you ask (and you will because you are so awesome!)…

NO, I am not well yet.  Weirdly.  I developed a whole body tremor late in the game that is plaguing me and my left eye and ear will never be the same. 

SIDEBAR:  antibiotics can be poison.  Be careful, please.

NO, I am not well yet.

 

BUT…

I am no longer in imminent danger of “ghosting” you for reals.  I mean, I could get hit by a truck but…I promise I will be an INTERESTING ghost.  Maybe not as interesting as Patrick Swayze, but I’ll do my best.

And I will try to start posting here again more regularly. 

But BOTTOM LINE—I like life.  I like the people I have met and interacted with (which most likely means YOU) and I like the adventures I have had and the family I grew up in and the son I am raising.  I like the sound the floorboard heaters make and the smell of cold air and the way the sky looks at sunset.  I like being alive, but I am not afraid to die.

Best of both worlds, literally.

So, with Thanksgiving right around the corner, let’s be thankful for people both here and “gone” and be thankful for our opportunity to appreciate whatever the hell we are dealt…sometimes we hold them, sometimes we fold them, sometimes we walk away and sometimes we run…but we NEVER count our money while we’re sitting at the table.

There’ll be time enough for counting when the dealing’s done.

Or so we’ve been told.  And I believe.  Blessings to all of you.