Thoughts at the End of Everything

I wrote this back in 2011, just a few days before my first major surgery. I was very sick at the time; Crohn's disease had ruined my guts to the point where my body had all but stopped accepting food. At 96 lbs (I'm 5'7", so you can imagine how serious it was), my body had started to "eat" itself, consuming the fat that's supposed to protect your bones and organs. My surgeon was considering putting off a conference because she wasn't sure I'd make it until she got back. Keep in mind that I was a lot younger, a lot more naive, and it was a whole different world back then. If I were to write the same piece again today, a few things would definitely be different. 

So, I had a wicked scooter accident last Wednesday.

I already shared some of the aftermath on Facebook and Bluesky — you know, the blood, the bruises, the slow-sip soup life (though let’s be honest, I’ve always been an obsessive soup sipper even at the best of times). But I realized I never actually told the whole story. And honestly, this one begs to be told.

Waiting Room Chronicles: The Jaw, Dr Longtime, and the Charlotte County Karen

Today was a whole damn journey, and I lived it with my face morphine-seasoned and my soul vibrating on the neurospicy struggle bus headed straight for Not Today Satan Drive.

A Brand New Day...

I meant to make this post yesterday, on the proper Solstice, but things happened and I kinda got waylaid.  Here's the total recall: