She's feral on purpose. How to set your whole life on fire without even really trying! đ
Pinky swear you can keep a secret?
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Hello, Lovelies, How the hell are you?
Today, you are not going to pretend to have your sh*t together for any stranger on the internet. Hereâs why:
Youâve tried that before and itâs always a complete bust-up.
NoâŚ. Today you are in a state of chronic woolly-mindedness, alternating with plucky Nancy Drew resourcefulness⌠You have your Iâm reasonable cap on as you tap into your innately wise self while on the board conference call. Itâs not a Zoom, (thank GOD), so you are taking it like a teenager, sprawled out across your bed, twirling your hair as you rejigger the âCost of Customer Acquisitionâ and devise beta questions. You know thereâs a way through the unreasonable resistance of the one difficult dude⌠After all, you have a functioning AI mobile app, 3k+ customers who need help, and a GTM (go-to-market) plan that blends the organic with the strategic.
But then⌠it happens. Before you know it, youâre gone. You dissolve like vaporâno more than a wraith. Not a nanosecondâs warning this time.
Two hours later, you awaken face-down in the living room. Blood is everywhere. Itâs like a scene from Dexter. The white shag rug is shot. (Who the hell were you kidding anyway?) Two deep gashes in your neck, one dangerously close to your jugular, where you nearly guillotined yourself on the âOh-look-itâs-deadly! Letâs buy it!â coffee table that you thought was so cute on Amazon.
Multiple facial fractures, a dislocated jaw, broken teeth everywhere⌠You realize for the first time in six months, youâve had a whopper of a Grand Mal seizure. Gaaaaaagh⌠How did this happen? You were being so damn good! Meds like clockwork, total sleep, complete sobriety, all kinds of farm-to-table this and thatâŚ
You text your mom-squad of goddesses. SOS! Iâve nearly decapitated myself on the flokati and need⌠Umm, A LOT of stitches. Can you come over?
Within five minutes, they arrive⌠there is no drama. They are like ninjas, moving fast and stealth. They are no strangers to the ER after 18+ years of children, illnesses, and broken bones.
Thereâs Selenaâa former trauma surgeonâwho now works with VA burn pit victims and who speaks âdoctorâ like nobodyâs business. Nothing gets past Selena. Nothing. And she always shows up. You could be checking into hell for all eternity, and Selena would be there with an eco-lunch sack at the ready, âI packed your meds!â
Thereâs Reneeâthe Formula One getaway driver of the bunch who knows all the entrances and exits and parking to all the hospitals in the city. Renee also has great hair. How does she do that?
Thereâs Alisaâ(yep, there are 2 of us) A Filipina dentist/surgeon, opera aficionado, and who is just SO street-fighter tough. Think Krav Maga but sexy. You want her on your team. Somehow sheâs Salma Hayek meets Audrey Hepburn.
Thereâs CamilleâCam is the funny, sneaky, resourceful one. The French Chef and Art Historian will poison you in your sleep if you cross her, so just (lol) donât. If you do, it will, at the very least, taste exquisite.
Thereâs Marinaâwhoâs technically in Parisâbut she is one of those people who has lived such a full, global life, sheâs taught me how to never panic. Iâm going to talk more about this trick later when Iâm awake, awake. Plus, her steady fount of optimism is like the waters at Lourdes.
So, these women save youâthe way you would save them. Hours pass. Examinations, CTs, then, an unexpected hospital transfer where you are now alone.
You are on every drug you shouldnât be, headed for surgery where you disagree with the post-op plan only because you have been through this exact surgery twice before. But instead of it being a conversation, itâs, âWe donât like your attitudeâno surgery for you, Missy.â
And you are like, âBut, but, but⌠Crip Camp, the ADA film I worked on, Epilepsy is a protected conditionâŚâ Except, you can no longer make âBâ sounds because of all the elephant-like swelling⌠and in the end, you squeak out, âMut, mut, mut, choo ha uh duty uh care.â They look at each other and leave. You are sent back to your room to think about your actions.
They tell everyone that you wish to be discharged.
You write out on big Love Actually cue cards that you do NOT wish that. You wish to be fixed so that you can be a functioning person in the world again.
So, after much apologizing on your part for your attitude, and your advocateâs part, and stopping the drugs that are making you a bit bonkers, they do the surgery. In the post-op process, your maxillofacial surgeon displays his total ingenuityâdoing arts and crafts by your bedside, so you have handmade tools to feed yourself upon arriving home. It is a cinematic moment that shows his Jobsian tinkering curiosity and genius.
At home, you explain what happened to the board, in flashcards on Zoomâagain like that scene in Love Actuallyâonly with much more challenged orthodontia. They had no idea at all.âWe just thought youâd lost the signalâŚâ And, in a way⌠you very much had.
Upon resurfacing more, you find out your dear friend, a fellow writer, has inexplicably passed away. The calculus of this loss makes no sense given your recent lively conversations, and you donât know how to talk about it yet.
Suddenly, you realize your horoscope was WAY off this weekâŚ
WTF Chani?
Now, onto the doofuses, this week itâs personal.
Doofus(es) of the Week
Now, for our regularly scheduled programming!
Doofus #1: Dr Cleon Yee, Sutter Health: Refused me care and threatened to send me home without surgical interventionâjust broken facial bones, broken teeth, a dangling head, and a dislocated jaw unless I improved my attitude. Is this 1956? You donât have to like me to operate on me. Even though I think youâll find, Iâm super fun at dinner parties and my desserts are aces. But you just had to kick me in the teethâeven when I didnât have any left. And you did it while grinning all the way. A special vein of rage is reserved for sadists like you.
I just tried to subconsciously cut my own head off on a conference call, Cleon. I think I win for balls.
Then, when I arrived home from the hospital, I discovered that during surgery, Iâd somehow acquired a hernia, potential sepsis, and a perforated abdominal wall. Thatâs never happened before. I now have to go BACK in for emergency surgeryâthanks to this ass clownâs harassment during a moment of profound stress.
Alors, Cleon, I am going to go so Jack Smith on your a*s for treating me so wickedly poorly as a midlife female patient who was told not to speak or question the process. From now on, there will always be a new legal motion, a fresh deposition, an extra affidavit, a clarifying letter, an attorney meeting⌠Why? Because you have ensured that there will be time for it all. You see, I have the will of Nietzsche, Cleon. đ
Doofus #2: Slow Dumpers. With the exception of my ex-husband, who is still the smartest, funniest person I have ever known, men have proven a disappointing lot for me. The latest is by far the worst, and women should know about this MO because itâs a genuine time waster and energy suck. "Slow dumping" is essentially the relationship equivalent of "quiet quitting," the term given to those slowly checking out of work. But while the latter might be a way to avoid burnout in the workplace, slow dumping a person has a much darker impact.
Slow dumper, I hope you live with the deep, self-imposed shame of knowing what a gargantuan putz you are. Now that weâve established that thereâs no verifiable moral lucidity in the Universe, you should expect a lifetime slow drip of T-Swifting. An artist has to work things out after all. Given itâs been 9 years, 45 more years of slow dumping recovery ought to do it.
Doofuses #3: My family. Stop calling every single day and trying to force me to move home to your militia-run nightmare of an existence. I am a city person who needs to do post-op therapy near my surgeons, dentists, and speech therapists. And I need to sue Cleon. You are all living in an extended episode of Roy Tillmanâs Fargo and just like Juno Templeâs character Dot, I refuse to participate. Even if it means I die in the street like a bone-tired Dickens character, so be it. I love you, but I canât stand your political ideology, your parenting style, your refusal to read books, or your meat-based diet. And the GOP and evangelical Christianity are for the birds.
Doofus runners-up: Sudden Kissinger A*s-kissers? Or A*s-Kissingers? Iâm with
on this one. Whatâs with everybody suddenly saying nice things about Kissinger? Pretending he wasnât a war criminal? I met him via work back when I was 24 and the world is SO much better off with him NOT in it. Did peopleâs balls up and evaporate?Thatâs Marvelous!
Juno Temple in Fargo - May we all be such tigers when Alt-Right militia types try to take away everything we hold dear. And when youâve escaped once, thereâs no going backâŚ
If I sound a tad bitter from lack of stuffing, bourbon-glazed yams, and pieâI am. But hereâs the thing⌠Coffeeâs bitter and I love coffee. Cranberries are extremely tart-bitter and delicious. Even bitter Dickens characters deserve cranberry sauce.
Beyond marvelous: Boy Genius. Theyâre a touch bitter too.
I really canât wait until my hair turns Phoebeâs color. And I love her tie. Itâs so my jam.
Marvelously tender honorable mention:
For her stunning New Yorker piece on finishing a beloved colleague, Rebecca Godfreyâs book, after her passing.
Finally, that proximity rom-coms are still possibleâŚ
Fun Sock Guy versus Boob Neighbor! Itâs a whole Jane Austen-esque saga! I love that she canât control herself. I wish I werenât wired shut. Iâd word-vomit all OVER a Fun Sock person!
Stay safe, Lovelies, and know that Iâm thinking of you always â xoxo, gotham girl
p.s. A GoFundMe has been established to help cover medical & legal bills since my landlords are now trying to evict me upon coming home from the hospital. If you can contribute, Iâd be ever so grateful.
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Trans "patient" here but was presenting as cis male when I was dealing with major medical issue and I met my own Cleon. For some it's just a doctor/civilian power play. "You will not question me! Do you know who I am?"
May Cleon use his last breath on earth to reverentially whisper your name and pray for forgiveness!
So sorry to hear of your bout with the coffee table. Forgive me for laughing through every last word. As severe as this seemed, I'm not the least bit worried about you. Can say the same of Cleon!
Thinking of you too. Jess said it perfectly below...your writing is absolutely beautiful even when describing such a horrid situation for you. Also, why do I have a feeling a doctor never told a male patient they had an attitude problem and denied them surgery? {insert giant sigh and eye roll here}