Come To Think Of It

Deedly dee, diddly doo..............

I am bouncing around like a blow up doll in a hurricane. Lack of focus, lack of discipline.............it's called being human. 

Let's see - I had my first "real" post-prostate cancer checkup a month ago. Anti-climactic. All signs are good - but I am still a woman. Talked to Dr. Fingerprobe about hot flashes - still getting them - I was told it could go on for another year. Thankfully dresses are cooler than pants in the summertime. Testosterone is coming back, but still a long way to go. PSA is very low, which is good.

Seems like everything in this process has gone on a lot longer than I expected. But what the hell - what's life without challenges, threats, and annoyances.

Slept in my bed Friday night for the first time since February. Figured I'd give the CPAP monster a test under battle conditions. It was a complete bust.

I have been uncomfortable in the bed for quite a while - even though we spent $250,000 on a space-age mattress a while back. Hoped that good CPAP sleep would overcome that. Nope. Back hurt, hip hurt, shoulder hurt. Very little sleep. Back to the recliner Saturday night, which I really don't mind. I am very comfortable there. Very comfortable.

No discernible improvement in sleep quality using the CPAP monster - which I have been doing coming up on a month now. I asked a friend of mine who is a CPAP devotee how long it took for him to get a good night's sleep. He said "Not long." As Scrooge's fiancee Belle said to him "Oh Ebenezer, what a safe and terrible answer." My friend's circumspect response leads me to believe it could be 2026 before I wake up refreshed.

Got an appointment in a week to see Dr. Mobility so I can get my fucking knee checked out. Again. The good doctor, not the quack who operated on me. I need answers - it is painful, unstable, annoying, and hampering my ability to play professional soccer on the U.S. Women's National Soccer team.

I am looking for another therapist. My brain is even more unstable than my knee.  I need a therapist with grit - touchy feely bounces off my psychoses like a red rubber ball. I need a doc who is willing to use his fists. I have been even more honest than usual as I shop around. Speaking of crippling self-doubt, and fear of imminent death threatening to provide a sobering coda to an essentially meaningless life.

Strangely enough I have found no takers yet.

Given all of the above, I am somehow feeling somewhat confident about finding solutions to the disasters I have orchestrated over the last 69 and 1/2 years.

Where the hell that's coming from I do not know.

I should be sitting in a bar drinking double Crown Royals with a beer back, shitting on weak and helpless patrons, laughing at vulgar jokes and singing Rolling Stones songs at the top of my lungs.

Come to think of it...................