Saturday, June 25, 2011
Good News On the health front, I have been diagnosed with Interstitial Cystitis. The bad news is that IC is a mystery disease, without a clear (or even hazy, as far as I can tell) idea of what causes it, and thus how to eliminate it. But I HAVE moved from Idiopathic pain to a "functional somatic syndrome," meaning a condition with no known medical cause. I figure knowing what the condition IS, even without knowing the cause, is better than not even knowing what the condition itself is. Much like fibromyalgia and irritable bowel, it's an uphill battle with the Medical Establishment to gain understanding and acceptance, and because of that, it's an even bigger battle to gain official disability approval from the various Governmental Departments/Administrations. Experiential wisdom says keeping a daily journal is extremely useful in the hearings that always ensue, so I'm doing that.
News of the Weird I have suddenly begun growing my nails out, keeping them manicured, complete with coloured enamel! Bizarre, given how thoroughly they get in my way when I'm working on any of my projects, but seeing lady fingers at the ends of my hands gives me some strange thrill. Who knew I'd take such pleasure in being so girlie?
Old News Revisited You'd think, as I did, that after so much good health news (no cancer, no polyps, no nothing that has dire consequences), I'd be chipper and happy and reenergized. But that's not the case, at least today (and yesterday, and the day before). Today The Black Dog is back for his dark visit, and with his presence, my vision has dimmed and my view, narrowed. I watched two films this morning, back to back, You've Got Mail and The Color Purple. You've got mail always gets me when the scene in which Meg Ryan's character is leaving her lovely little shop for the last time, and looks back to envision she and her mother twirling as the music swells. Today I realised as I watched that I have absolutely zero memories of my mother and I playing like that. None. Dad, absolutely, but I only remember my mother being angry and/or dangerous. And that, my dears, is very very sad. The Color Purple, on the other hand, causes me to cry at the end because of all the terrible heartbreak that went before for all the characters, and which never had to be except for the misery of the human pattern. I may not care much overall for my own species, but I grieve for the pain we carry and repeatedly deliver one another. Just tears me up.
The photo at the top of this post was taken by my computer a minute ago. Tonight I'm off to a pot-luck for V's sailing buds. I loath these gatherings, always have, always will, but sometimes you have to step and support the one you love. So the yummy, gooey dish of macaroni and cheese is cooked, I'm all cleaned up (the miracle of a good scrubbing, the right clothes, a little curling of the hair and light application of make-up still works! Hallelujah!) and ready when V is. He's not a fan of these affairs, either, so he's dragging his heels.