She's feral on purpose. How to set your whole life on fire without even really trying! š
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. Hereās why:
Youāve tried that before and itās always a complete bust-up.
Noā¦. Today you are in a state of chronic woolly-mindedness, alternating with plucky Nancy Drew resourcefulnessā¦ You have your Iām reasonable cap on as you tap into your innately wise self while on the board conference call. Itās 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 āCost of Customer Acquisitionā and devise beta questions. You know thereās a way through the unreasonable resistance of the one difficult dudeā¦ 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 thenā¦ it happens. Before you know it, youāre gone. You dissolve like vaporāno more than a wraith. Not a nanosecondās warning this time.
Two hours later, you awaken face-down in the living room. Blood is everywhere. Itās 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 āOh-look-itās-deadly! Letās buy it!ā coffee table that you thought was so cute on Amazon.
Multiple facial fractures, a dislocated jaw, broken teeth everywhereā¦ You realize for the first time in six months, youāve had a whopper of a Grand Mal seizure. Gaaaaaaghā¦ 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 thatā¦
You text your mom-squad of goddesses. SOS! Iāve nearly decapitated myself on the flokati and needā¦ Umm, A LOT of stitches. Can you come over?
Within five minutes, they arriveā¦ 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.
Thereās Selenaāa former trauma surgeonāwho now works with VA burn pit victims and who speaks ādoctorā like nobodyās 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, āI packed your meds!ā
Thereās Reneeāthe 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?
Thereās Alisaā(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 sheās Salma Hayek meets Audrey Hepburn.
Thereās CamilleāCam 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) donāt. If you do, it will, at the very least, taste exquisite.
Thereās Marinaāwhoās technically in Parisābut she is one of those people who has lived such a full, global life, sheās taught me how to never panic. Iām going to talk more about this trick later when Iām awake, awake. Plus, her steady fount of optimism is like the waters at Lourdes.
So, these women save youāthe 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 shouldnāt 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, itās, āWe donāt like your attitudeāno surgery for you, Missy.ā
And you are like, āBut, but, butā¦ Crip Camp, the ADA film I worked on, Epilepsy is a protected conditionā¦ā Except, you can no longer make āBā sounds because of all the elephant-like swellingā¦ and in the end, you squeak out, āMut, mut, mut, choo ha uh duty uh care.ā 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 advocateās 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 ingenuityādoing 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 Zoomāagain like that scene in Love Actuallyāonly with much more challenged orthodontia. They had no idea at all.āWe just thought youād lost the signalā¦ā And, in a wayā¦ 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 donāt know how to talk about it yet.
Suddenly, you realize your horoscope was WAY off this weekā¦
WTF Chani?
Now, onto the doofuses, this week itās 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 interventionājust broken facial bones, broken teeth, a dangling head, and a dislocated jaw unless I improved my attitude. Is this 1956? You donāt have to like me to operate on me. Even though I think youāll find, Iām super fun at dinner parties and my desserts are aces. But you just had to kick me in the teethāeven when I didnāt 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, Iād somehow acquired a hernia, potential sepsis, and a perforated abdominal wall. Thatās never happened before. I now have to go BACK in for emergency surgeryāthanks to this ass clownās 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 meetingā¦ Why? Because you have ensured that there will be time for it all. You see, I have the will of Nietzsche, Cleon. š
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 itās 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 weāve established that thereās 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 itās 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 Tillmanās Fargo and just like Juno Templeās 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 canāt 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? Iām with
on this one. Whatās with everybody suddenly saying nice things about Kissinger? Pretending he wasnāt 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 peopleās balls up and evaporate?Thatās 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 youāve escaped once, thereās no going backā¦
If I sound a tad bitter from lack of stuffing, bourbon-glazed yams, and pieāI am. But hereās the thingā¦ Coffeeās bitter and I love coffee. Cranberries are extremely tart-bitter and delicious. Even bitter Dickens characters deserve cranberry sauce.
Beyond marvelous: Boy Genius. Theyāre a touch bitter too.
I really canāt wait until my hair turns Phoebeās color. And I love her tie. Itās so my jam.
Marvelously tender honorable mention:
For her stunning New Yorker piece on finishing a beloved colleague, Rebecca Godfreyās book, after her passing.
Finally, that proximity rom-coms are still possibleā¦
Fun Sock Guy versus Boob Neighbor! Itās a whole Jane Austen-esque saga! I love that she canāt control herself. I wish I werenāt wired shut. Iād word-vomit all OVER a Fun Sock person!
Stay safe, Lovelies, and know that Iām thinking of you always ā 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, Iād 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}