You came at me with guns a blazing, girlfriend, and sent a very good and much needed warning shot across my rather prodigious bow.
It took me a hot minute, but I finally found a new hat. My mistake with the new hat was that I thought it was going to have to be a 24/7 thing and thus stapled to my forehead. And the one that's there now...i.e., hapless funny screwball idiot spinster fits me so darn nicely that I hated to give it up.
But that hat needs to come off on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and I need to understand that it's OK for a girl to have more than one hat in her wardrobe.
The new hat needs to sit up in the buggy, pay fierce attention to what's going on around her, and quit trying to make light of what has turned out to be a pretty horrific car crash. Dialysis is absolutely no joke, and to minimize it because I thought it would make me feel brave was the wrong thing to do.
The wrong thing to do.
Today, as I type this, I am in the chair with two seventeen guage stainkess steel six inch needles in my arm removing my blood, filtering it through a machine, and returning it. My fluid, mineral, and hemoglobin levels, as well as my blood pressure need to be monitored and calibrated precisely or I go into what's known as a full blown crash.
I've crashed six times so far and did so because I didn't want to stop clowning around, admit that I am positively terrified the moment I walk in the place, and then finally and most importantly...speak the heck up when I felt myself going sideways down the damn drain.
I read and re-read your email a few dozen times yesterday and today, donned my new hat, walked in the door, and took control.
Thank you for the fashion advice, my friend. My prayer is that the next time I get it I won't waste a single second before hearing and taking it to heart.
Blessings on you and your house...