I was in a good mood for most of the day because I got to hang with my friend and her adorable baby. She came over and we got some stuff done.
Then I had my visceral appointment which she kindly drove me to and then off to the north where I had my needles in the stomach. Fun times!
This friend actually MAKES all of this fun. She really does!
Though we also got serious and talked about partying and what it means now, and the lack of desire to be around heavy drinking.
Lucky. I feel very lucky I didn’t end up with more of a drinking problem.
We made it just in time for me to get a chai from this little Viennese cafe near my doctor’s office. IT IS THE BEST FUCKING CHAI ever. I could drink it every day and not get sick of it.
My new primary doctor who I rave about all of the time had suggested I use lidocain patches on my stomach to see if they’d help with the pain.
Lidocain is something they’ll inject topically before doing a 2-3 stitch biopsy or other small procedures like shoving the port needle in your chest.
I did try the patches to see if they helped with the GI pain but they only go so far down into the tissue - not all the way to the actual intestines.
But I thought: hmmmm would it come in handy for the procaine treatment “needles in the stomach?” For anyone new to reading here: procaine therapy is a well established procedure commonly found in Europe to improve blood flow in areas with a lot of scar tissue.
It helps my gut “reset” the automatic nervous system. Since I got so sick last winter, I’m determined to stay on top of this by getting it every four months or so.
It makes me feel very woozy. Sometimes I get emotional though not too often. My young doctor said when they practiced on each other in school, several students broke down crying.
I’d never done that one. But today, I started crying thinking about my dad, of course.
I don’t feel great after it’s done. It makes me sleepy and woozy. I was texting with a few people before the procedure. Afterward, I had to warn them: i can’t text, I don’t feel good after needles in the stomach appt.
I got: of course, no problem.
Then I get a text….
This is how frustrating it is to be a marginalized person who already has a really challenging life and when an able-bodied person waltzes in and says super stupid toxic shit and waltzes back to their able-bodied life, and I’m left in bed with the heating pad on my stomach, my eyes barely open. I wasn’t going to write in here, but I felt compelled to get this OUT.
It helps reduce the toxic affect of mistreatment if I write about it and think about how I can better educate people.
I said right away: please, please, PLEASE read up on ableism and how disabled are treated in this country.
This person had said something not terrible if you extract it on it’s own. But when it’s from someone that’s not been helpful at all, voted for T, and has a lot of money but has offered very little support, physically, financially or emotionally, for the past three years, the comment is pretty callous.
It was basically: stop depending on others for happiness.
I mean, really 1990s therapy advice. Plus, this person is the one who told me about the codependency so….
I was as patient as possible but of course, I’m a writer so I’m like: please read articles, here’s one, please understand more about ableism and why what you wrote is not ok.
Then I got a little grumpy toward the end and was like: why don’t you stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine. You have your own shit to work out, I’ll focus on my own.
I did try to explain that by virtue of being disabled I AM DEPENDENT on others for all kinds of things! Benefits! Food! A roof! I can’t FUCKING WORK LIKE A REGULAR PERSON.
I know this person and they would think: JUST GET MARRIED.
NO. I don’t want to. And i shouldn’t have to. There’s a whole thing in this country about disabled people HAVING to get divorced in order to get benefits! I can’t get too far into it because it’s not my story to tell.
But it’s all fucking bullshit. Nobody should HAVE to get married or HAVE to get divorced in order to survive in the 21st century in a country that has PLENTY of resources that a few people are hoarding.
The whole thing is ridiculous. What really irritates me though is when people act like I’M the bad guy for pointing these things out. Or I’m an awful human being for asking for help.
That last one is really hard on me.
It helps me understand what’s happening in the country when people do this - like I’ve said, I learn a lot when people LEARN ON ME, but it also hurts like fucking hell. Writing in here helps mitigate the pain of it. Helps me not walk around stewing about it, but instead, release it.
Ok bestie just called, that will help. Thank fucking goodness for my friends man. Thank fucking goodness.
The outspoken lady,