Blood From Turnips

Hello my darlings. Welp. It’s been forever and then some. I’ve wanted to come onto this silly blog of mine so many times to say…anything over the last few months, but no matter what I came up with, it paled in comparison with the active sewage fire that is the world as a whole right now. I kept thinking I would hop back in once things normalized to a degree. When it felt right to talk about our lives like it’s not a tiny splinter in a termite-infested national home. There’s something to be said for the acceptance that things are just not going to disappear into that goodnight where we can just shut it all off forever and pretend there’s even such a thing as normal anymore. Or maybe there never was. But. As my blog is my mental dumping ground for all things confessional, the place I work through life, and the place I keep everyone up to date on life things, here I am, unpacking. A few Fizzy Family things to note, really. First up: On October 3rd, I woke up in super not okay pain. Hubs whisked me off to urgent care, I was sent to the ER from there, and I’ve been trapped in bed ever since. I’ve lost 60-ish pounds in about 3 and a half months. I had my gallbladder out. Passed my first ever kidney stone. Was hospitalized for a week, missed my son’s birthday, had to sit out every holiday, and haven’t been able to eat much more than Ensures and soup since that random October 3rd. I’m generally so weak I can’t even sit up in bed to read or write. I’ve had more doctors appointments and tests than I knew existed, I have had many of them twice....

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Doctor’s Orders

Hello my loves! I don’t blog nearly as much as I used to. I miss you guys. The reason I’ve been more silent has a lot to do with my general content. I tend to use my blog as a sort of group therapy session. I purge the feelings, and so love to talk with people who are going through, or dealing with, similar situations. Y’all keep me sane, basically. The end of last year was a nightmare and a half. And you amazing, wonderful, glorious people saddled up and rode the the rescue of my family. Which we will never, ever forget, nor stop appreciating. I was so humbled by the absolute flood of support. I still don’t have words for how you all saved the day. What I wanted to do was come back to blogging and say how great things were going, to show you that your hard work and generosity had fixed all our ills, and I’d be back with stories of shenanigans and hilarity. Alas, that’s not how the year has played out. And as much as I wanted to come here and purge, as is my wont, I didn’t want to keep showing this WOE IS MEEEEEEEEEEEE side to everyone. I didn’t want people to see the dumpster fire that is life. Which makes me feel guilty. I take pride in the honesty I put online. And I love when some bizarre thing I’m dealing with ends up being something a reader is dealing with and we e-hug and squeal and talk each other through the rough stuff. Those kinds of things mean the world to me. But the idea of being known as a perpetual train wreck didn’t seem like a fun idea. So, for the last six months or so, I’ve...

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OCDerailed

Hello my darlings, As per my general luck, I’ve had an interesting year, health-wise. I was diagnosed by with a severe autoimmune disease back in March, and things have been a trip since. (That’s a blog post all on its own, but I’ll get to that another day.) By the way, after the skin cancer scare a few years back, I made damn diggity sure on this diagnosis and went to four specialists to get confirmation. FOUR. So, the treatment for this disease is taking chemo every week. I do this on Tuesdays at 4pm, and spend the next 24 hours curled up in a little ball of misery. Every month or so, they adjust the dose of the chemo, going higher and higher until we can find a level that actually stifles the symptoms. As with many diseases, you can’t really see what’s going on most of the time. A weird bonus of this particular ailment is it causes rashes on my elbows, head, ankles, knees, etc. that can last six weeks or so. My elbows are the most common breakout spot. That, combined with deep ridges in my nails are a visible sign of the disease, and whether or not treatment is effective. At my last appointment, I was told that the chemo should be stopping the rash, and they upped the dose to the highest level for the type of chemo I’m taking. The goal was this should stop the symptoms, and I was to watch for another rash outbreak, and should one occur, let the doc know immediately, and we would switch to a different, injectable form of chemo. So, a month ago, when the rash popped back on my elbows, I knew I needed to call the doc. But, like, I super very much hate needles...

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Vagception

Hello my darlings, I’ve known for some time I would have to write this post, but it’s not something I’ve been chomping at the bit to do. The other day, I posted something that was a way to help me process the horror in Orlando, and I was almost instantly called out for my “allyship.” And it was put in quotation marks just like that. Aside from the fact I didn’t think it was a particularly approriate time to try and pick fights with people who were trying to sort through a fuckton of grief, the lady was super not hip to facts. See, what happened was this woman had seen a Tweet, and jumped to eleven thousand conclusions based on that single Tweet. To her, I wasn’t a part of the QUILTBAG+ community, so I had no right to be commenting on anything. Except I was very clear in an accompanying Tweet, in the same thread, even, that I am, in fact, queer. This isn’t a secret, and hasn’t ever been. I even reached out to apologize to the woman who went high holy roller on my Tweet, accusing me of fetishizing the QUILTBAG+ community, hoping she would see that there was a lot more accompanying the single Tweet she’d called out, if she’d kept reading. But she didn’t reply. She kept Tweeting about the bullshit “allyship” but never acknowledged the apology I’m not entirely sure I was due to give, but I saw her point through the eyes of the isolated Tweet and wanted to make amends. My reality did not match her narrative. She had a point to make, and no amount of pesky facts was going to alter that. I see this a lot on social media. A LOT. Over the last two years, it’s...

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A Close Shave

Hello, my darlings! Do you ever have those nights where you can’t sleep and you start to get a little loopy? The other night, it was around 3am, and I was lying in bed unable to get to a snoozy place. Everyone in the house was asleep, all was quiet, and I’d been tossing and turning for two hours. Hell, even the Puggle was at the foot of the bed, snoring. As I flopped about the bed trying to get comfortable, I thought I felt something odd. The place of this odd is a place generally only seen by my husband and gynecologist. Now, see, here’s the thing: After the skin cancer scare from two years ago, and the luck we’ve been having lately, feeling anything odd on my skin really super freaks me out. My brain spiraled into a worry hole of all the things that could possibly be killing me and how I was definitely going to die because that’s the one thing that’s been missing from the last few months. I flew out of bed and went to inspect to make damn diggity sure there was nothing wrong. And. Okay. I was tired. Like, super tired. But it was 3am and maybe I wasn’t on top of my game. Because when I realized there was some visual impairment in the form of, uh, shrubbery, my idea was to grab an electric razor to get a clearer view of the area. Basically I panicked. Mistakes were made. I quickly realized all was well, there was nothing to be concerned about, I didn’t see a damn thing out of place. Except that now my *ahem* area was looking a little lopsided. And so, even though I haven’t done such a thing in like, fifteen years, there I stood,...

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