Living Proof

There's never a dull moment and yet, there seems to be a bit of comic relief when it comes to anything in life with my mom and myself. Unfortunately, she ran into medical fiascos which left her getting a blood transfusion due to a cancerous tumor sucking the life-force right out of her. So, we sent her up to get the good ol' colonoscopy, which left her later that evening schlepping up to the ER due to a sepsis infection. Well, that left her in the hospital for the rest of the week - and what a week that was. Let me backtrack a bit and just say this: I asked her while the EMT crew was carrying her away, "Mom, which hospital do you want to go to?" "Do I have a choice?" "Yes. Your doctors can go to either one." So she picked the ricketiest, oldest, almost abandoned looking hospital there is around. For the love of God, there's moss and vines growing all over the outside of the building, quite similar to The Munsters' house. "I...

They did a census that discovered that 80% of people admitted to self-medicating themselves with alcohol due to stress, and the other 20% lied. About 5 years ago, I did a 90 day "clean out" and went to AA for support. My moderated drinking had turned out to be moderation at first, but I was quite the weekend warrior and I needed it to stop. So, I shuffled into some church basement and sat amongst longtime veterans who have been sober for 20+ years, and some who only were sober for the past 12 hours or so. I remember one lady who befriended me. She was only there for a month or so. She would drink a couple of glasses of wine while she cooked dinner for her family and during dinner, she'd have 1 or 2. I'm sitting there thinking, "Okay, who forced you to come here?" To me, that just seems like nothing. Then I thought, there's approximately 3-4 glasses of wine in a bottle, so…maybe it is something? Maybe she just needs a bigger glass? She was raising 4 kid...

To the best of my ability, I try my hardest to stay away from any doctor offices or hospitals from October to April because that's when I get sick the most. Let's face it - that's when most people get sick the most. Even with all my effort, it seems pointless because I also take my mom to doctor appointments as well. Her appointments don't require much "family care practice" - it's more rheumatologists, pediatrists, cardiologists and of course, ophthalmologists with bad cases of halitosis. "Why doesn't he pop a breath mint before examining his patients," Mom complains, as she stumbles out of his office, dizzy from holding in her breath the whole time. But that's not the point --- I am plagued with sick people in these "non-sick" (thought-to-be) places. Last night, I'm sitting in the waiting room while Mom was getting blood work done by her rheumatologist. She has gout, so she has to check her levels every so often. As I...

It was definitely an odd day today as I headed off to the supermarket after finishing a ton of work. After being sick for almost a week from touching the shopping cart handle and then touching my mouth, I came across a dilemma in the produce aisle: opening the baggies. I swear to you, with my intense OCD, I still sometimes touch my tongue to open those plastic bags up. They're impossible. But after this wild week of sickness and hospitalization --- hell. to. the. no. I saw bright red vine tomatoes and immediately fled to them. I ripped off a bag and yes, started to fiddle with the opening. I'm literally praying in my mind, "C'mon, just open. Open... Open!!!" Some guy across the vegetable stand saw me struggling and said, "They sure make it hard for us." Another gentleman standing near me said, "Here, let me get that for you." He opened it effortlessly. I say my 'thank yous' and rush off like a bat outa' hell into the next aisle. M...

Last Tuesday I went to our local Korean farm market to buy some produce. I just needed a couple of staples and wanted to get the hell out of there. I grabbed one of those little plastic baskets with the metal handles and went along my way. I always keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in my car after shopping so I can literally shower in it after having touched those vile carts. I have protocols I use when shopping: never touch your eyes, nose or mouth while shopping----ever. It's the first rule I have. The germs that are found on shopping carts are the most disgusting ones you'll ever find -- even worse than a toilet. Studies have found that not only flu and cold viruses linger there, but human feces, urine and other bodily fluids from babies have shown up. Usually with the mini baskets, you'll have your typical cold/flu germs on it, so I was prepared, until one lady came up to me and said, "Oh ma'am, can you check me out please?" I stared at her and she stared ...

Every family has their little secrets. Some are 'skeletons in the closet' type of secrets, and some are well, just to hide the little insanities that brew within. I'll start out by saying I love my mom. I'm definitely a "mama's girl", and at the risk of being yelled at, I have to come out and let others know about her little quirks. (I have mine as well which I will list.)  I wasn't going to write about this until I paid her a little visit this morning while my oldest sister was there enjoying coffee and muffins with her. We started talking about how the in laws on my sister's side loves our family and thinks we're "normal", compared to what they have seen. We're quite the opposite and very dysfunctional in a way which I wouldn't change one thing about it. I find it a blessing. It gives us hours of laughter. When I walked inside the kitchen area, mom and my sis offered me a muffin. My mom keeps a pile of little paper plate...

Many parents advise their children to wait to get married and then live with their spouses. It’s “moral” in some cultures and preferable to many. Those old fashioned values are endearing and well, very unrealistic. Living with someone after marriage is the same as buying a car before test driving it. Then as I grew older, and by the time I really wanted to be with someone, my mother would say, “Live with them first!” She would say this especially if she did not like the person I was interested in. She wanted me to see the ‘real’ person I was in love with. She wanted me to see their messy life - (in all aspects). I’m glad she said that because I really did come to find out the one person I fell in love with years ago was a total slob at home. Though I didn’t live with her, I was there 24/7. I would come home before she did and find piles and piles of dirty dishes in the sink. My OCD flared up like an atomic bomb. All I kept thinking was how many rats and cockroaches were hiding behind...

Lately, I’ve been fascinated with the TV show, “ Hoarders: Buried Alive ”, where they show people who store ‘stuff’ in their houses until it practically hits the ceiling. It’s not just ‘stuff’ either, it’s old food left out and tons of garbage that hadn’t been taken out in like over a year or so. They claim they have some emotional attachment to these ‘things’ or ‘stuff’ or ‘crap’, but I say it’s a load of shit.. .literally. What makes a person want to live in a pile of rubbish? You can’t even walk through the room without climbing and struggling around their “emotional attachments”. I don’t mean to poke fun at their mental illness, which is what psychiatrists are calling it --but for someone like me, who has a huge OCD problem (as far as cleaning goes), I can’t understand it. If I see one tiny little strand of cloth from a blanket or other on my carpet, I freak out. It. must. go. My mom kept a super clean house. She cleaned that monster every single day of her life. She’s still ne...

Subconsciously, I am a self-sabotaging anxiety ridden idiot. Other lovely qualities include OCD, hypochondria, periodic episodes of depression and mild dementia. I do it to myself. I get a chest pain that probably stems from the garlic-filled dinner I had the previous night before and officially declare it a heart attack. In the mornings, I buzz around like a lunatic out of breath while noticing I had just drank about two cups of the strongest coffee ever, which brings me straight into a panic attack. After counteracting the effects of the java with a couple of magical ativans, I simply ask myself: is it safe to venture out into the world? I feel too tired. I feel listless and exhausted. And then I have the nerve to say, “I have no idea why I’m exhausted,” followed by a, “It’s another sign of a heart attack.” It’s a vicious cycle I through more than I would like to admit. After one of these lovely episodes, my fridge is filled with nothing but organic greens, veggies, soy pro...