If God/the universe never gives us more than we can handle, then He/She/it must think I'm freaking Wonder Woman.
(I always wanted to be Wonder Woman. I used to twirl around banging my little jelly bracelets together, but all that ever achieved was an upchuck of my baloney sandwich and oddly shaped bruises that made my mother wonder what the heck I was up to now.)
Tomorrow I am going to visit with my family doctor, who will most definitely call the entire team to rally round the conference table once again in support of the Spinster. I am positively determined to go to transplant in the Fall, so if they tell me to stand on my head and spit wooden nickels, that's exactly what I'm going to do.
(But, in closing, can I just point out that this latest episode of unwellness is coming right on the heels of me being a model patient for the last two weeks? I swear, as God is my witness, I'm going to get a pack of smokes, a bottle of tequilla, and a denim mini skirt and go party my heiney off like it's 1987, and we'll see if I don't feel a thousand percent better than the idiot health nut who has been drinking her filtered water, eating organic crap, and resting herself like crazy for the better part of ten years.)
Besides...I don't think there's enough denim in the world to make this beefy gal a mini skirt, and even if there was...nobody needs to see that.
OK, back to stitching and drinking my filtered water. If I get really crazy, I might even contemplate a little Jello.