|Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
Actually, Bess, I think many good doctors have a feel for both the art and science of medicine.
I need to take my car to the mechanic because it just doesn't feel right. They're gonna laugh in my face. But in the end I will be proven right when the car breaks down, hopefully close enough to get it towed for free with my AAA card. Perhaps this is one of the reasons Ed doesn't "do" the conventional medical treatment bit. If you ignore your feelings, nothing gets looked into. You may not get an answer but when everything breaks down you can always say "I told you so."
I tried posting a comment but can't get it to show up. You may be able to find it if you click on your comments button. Computer talk baffles me.
Sugar, I love ya. And I understand. Hang in there. It'll all work out the way it's supposed to.
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Thursday, June 16, 2005 Some people love logic puzzles. There's great satisfaction to be gained from intelligent analysis of a complex situation. If, by a process of elimination, you can rule out every wrong idea until you eventually arrive at the right one, all well and good. What, though, if you are dealing with factors that are neither consistent nor reasonable? Then, your heart is much more likely to be helpful, than your head. What matters now is not what you think or why you think it. It's your ability to trust what you feel.
Okay. That’s good. I feel like crap. I feel like I have a cyst. I have a doctor’s appointment at 11:30. I feel like a fraud. And I'm taking this feely body to a Science Guy. What the heck am I going to say to him?
I hate it when bodies act like cars. They bloat or hurt or shut down and who knows what is wrong with them. Invariably you have to take them to expensive Left Brain People who work with things and stuff and collumns and tools. You must tell them about little clinking sounds or little twinges that remind you of the last time you had some illness. The 30 minutes before you get to this person, the clinking sounds and twinges disappear so you can’t describe them and they fade immediately from your memory so you can’t even dig up a past description. Is the engine block shaking or just shuddering? Does it always squeal when you turn or only make that sound when you turn left? Except when you drive to the garage and turn left into the driveway. Was the pain sharp or was it just a dull ache? Did it last all night or only wake you 4 times? Where the heck are my keys? Where the dickens is that stupid thermometer?
I don’t understand why cars and bodies aren’t made transparent; like those Visible Dolls that were popular in the 60’s. I remember my sister had an Visible Woman that had to be painted and it snapped together so you could see where all the body parts went. There were two sets of digestive and reproductive organs so you could have a pregnant VW as well. I coveted the little baby part because I loved all things baby, though this baby had a creepy umbilical cord wrapped around its stomach. Still - at least you could have seen if something was wrong with any of the parts. And I want a doctor who uses one of those Star Treck thingys that looks like a PDA and makes a little happy beep to tell the doctor what is wrong. Heck. I want one of my own so I can run it up and down my body and decide if I really need to make this appointment or if I can just sleep through the day. Because every part of my body that has a nerve ending aches to the max and sleep combined with hot baths (yeah - I woke in the night with the shakes and chills, but no thermometer) sounds like the perfect remedy. Only what if it is a cyst - or something even creepier? I want the medical guys to be prepared to schedule me for serious medicine if I’m gonna need it.
So. Since I don’t know what’s wrong - or if there is anything wrong with me - but I feel like the pits. Thank goodness the stars tell me that if I feel it, it is real.
So - who casts charts for ‘98 Nissan Sentra’s?
On a lighter note, I leave you with this fabulous quote from Andy Rooney my sister sent me. Thanks sugar, I really needed this chuckle!
“For every stunning, smart, well-coifed hot woman of 40+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 18-year-old waitress.” posted by Bess | 7:27 AM