Well, well, well...

...happy Thursday or whatever this is.

I try to blog at least every other day. Ya girl has been slacking.

So let's catch up, shall we?

Off to the doc today with GI issues. Bloating. Miserable. Burping. Nauseous. All the fun.

Ethan thinks it's a stomach ulcer (My second! 🥳) and started me on a pill I take four times a day. Cool beans. I'll conveniently fit that in with the three one-week pill planners I have for morning, mid, and evening.

I also have a trigger finger.

Okay. I've heard of trigger finger but never knew what it was. Months ago, I noticed my right middle finger would hitch and then pop back. I assumed it was from overuse. But nay, my good people, stupid finger won't slide into the stupid sheath so I'm stuck with a finger who has had better days.

Good/bad news?

Apparently it's an easy surgery!

Pardon me.

Fuck me.

WHAT???

Yep. Sure. Ethan explained how they go into the finger and clip the nerve, and I'm doing the squirm in my chair because it's a hell of a visual. 

I asked if they did anything with my wrist. He said no. Only the finger.

sigh

Not like I use these bastards to write books or anything. 

My face

So woot for that referral. 

FFS

I want to Google but I so don't.

Kinda like when I had my hip replacement. 

Give me the animated version!

In other, Crystal's body is fucked up, news, I received my handicap placard.

I'm still sitting with this. 

Back in the damn day, I was a work horse. A hoss. Give me the task, I'd bust through it.

From lifting heavy hydraulic arms to working sixty to seventy-two hour weeks to barely sleeping because the kids were in half-day school. 

I did that shit.

And I did it well.

Now, my body is a little bitch most times.

Chronic pain is bullshit. 

Surprise pain is bullshit.

The regular pain is bullshit.

Sharp.

Achy.

Stabby.

Throbbing.

Burning.

PAIN...is bullshit.

Hurts my legs to walk for too long. And for a woman who used to be on her feet in steel-toed shoes for twelve hours at a time, I'm trying to reconcile myself.

Does it help?

Fuck, yes.

I used the placard one day for a WM trip that was too small to have a pickup. Saved my blessed legs and back. Started hurting after I crawled back into my car AFTER the trip. Not too bad during. (I lean on carts.)

Do I feel ten kinds of horrible for having to use it?
Yeah.

Like I somehow need to suffer to prove my fucking disability. 

I suffer enough.

Now.

If the rest of me would calm the fuck down...