Archive for the ‘Fiction is Stranger Than Life’ Category
No, there is no “apparently” because I actually do.
My GP called me today as she knows I’m now home from hospital. She wanted to see how I was feeling and then for the first time (I believe ever?) had to ask me the same question twice. Our conversation became a dance entitled: “Tchaikovsky’s WTF?”
Here is how it went. I also believe every patron regrets paying a single cent for the performance. Well, she was very good. Nonetheless, I also believe this was the worst pas de deux in the history of ballet. Ever.
I made my appearance on stage with the most abhorrent jeté I’ve ever done. Due to that, when I landed I did an unintentional sway back. I managed to recover and attempted my tendu. My leg was exactly as high in the air as it should have been. Fantastic! Not so fantastic? It was so out of pose. My knee was so bent and twisted, it looked completely sideways toward the audience while I was facing them. I couldn’t find my foot either.
Okay. Let’s call this “Improvisation.” Not “Car Accident.”
I was hoping everyone was really focussed on my GP doing a wonderful glissade until we became close enough, but not quite enough to embrace. She held my forearm for a brief pause as the music continued.
I whispered, “Hey, what’s up?”
She said, “They didn’t give you antibiotics for the pneumonia on the X-rays?”
I looked at her strangely and even if the audience noticed my expression, it would have been fine for the pas de deux.
We separated and I made my way through a bourrée en dehors. I made the circle a lot smaller than it should have been! However, I really didn’t do myself any favours there. I still had to keep time to meet up again with my GP! I NOW needed to stay on pointe for a lot longer! “En dehors, out the door INDEED!”
I started to wobble. Did I fail to tie my shoes correctly? Are they too loose? Did someone steal my shoes and leave theirs in my own little, storage space? I looked out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe what I saw, but most importantly, my GP was going to rescue me!
She had already done several, massive changements that were not in the initial choreography. They’d never even been considered. I knew what this meant. Her changements were a way of getting her frustration out. Immediately behind me, her arm around my waist for another brief pause. Only a very slow (thank god!) turn. I stretched my right arm out in a simple allongé, palm down. The IV puncture in my arm was killing me!
Again, she spoke, “So they really didn’t give you..?!”
I stopped her. ”They told me the X-rays were just fine!”
Now I know the possible problem. Perhaps?
I was asymptomatic, but my Immune System (that’s pretty messed up already) somehow REALLY kicked into high gear. Did it start beating up on a “soon-to-be-sick” PA? Explanation for 11 days of the extremely high fevers, making me go out of my mind and totally delirious?
Well, I’m symptomatic now. I’ve been coughing and hacking at the barre, in my dressing room, just everywhere. All day and night.
Now, it was time for me to finish the performance. I had no clue what to do as I felt myself start to cough. Shit! Ah, to hell with it.
All they got with Tchaikovsky now booming for my finale was this: a weak échappé demi-pointe, and one more allongé as I could not deal with that needle puncture anymore! I then walked off the stage like a zombie.
Entering the wings as a zombie, I started to hear a lot of applause. I smiled and knew it was for my GP. She dragged me out to bow, and I did–only because I had become a zombie. We were both presented with our on stage bouquets, but I looked down and saw flowers. Red Roses for my GP, White Roses for me.
Someone even brought a very young girl to the stage. Her hair tied in a tight, ballerina bun and she had a beautiful, lace dress on. She was also holding so many White Roses I was amazed they could fit into her tiny hand!
Too shy to say anything, only a smile. A man lifted her up so I could reach the flowers. I leaned close to her ear to thank her and tell her how beautiful she looked. I shook her hand and then the man placed the concert program with a pen into my hand. I smiled back at her and signed it. Now the entire theatre was screaming!
My GP and I took one more bow and exited. I took the young girl’s flowers with me. I’ll be sure to smell them every time I have to take all of these antibiotics I have now.
CODA: With great apologies to Suzanne Farrell, Jacques d’Amboise and George if he was still with us today. Although, if you two somehow read this insanity, you might just dismiss it as, well…insanity!
Well, I’m still extremely disgusted about my behaviour from last night. However, it’s in the past. Get up, try and dust yourself off and climb back up on the mule again.
But had I received a certain document in the mail yesterday, rather than today? On top of everything else? There would have been ABSOLUTELY NO QUESTION PERIOD OF GETTING SO DISGUSTINGLY WASTED LAST NIGHT!!!
I knew it. I did. Just hearing a few, vague words from both Non-Arsey Neuro and Sweetie GP. I saw them within the last week or two. What I also saw was the two-and-half-page dictation from my consult with this “Specialist” (oh, he’s special, I won’t argue that!) for my ongoing epilepsy shit.
It’s really quite simple. You’ve all read it here.
1. Patient developed Typical Absence Status Epilepticus of catamenial origin.
2. Patient lost drug used to treat it, subsequently made everything to do with ALL of Patient’s epilepsy worse.
3. Patient has resumed drug but is still having convulsive seizures with a non-convulsive syndrome when she never had convulsive seizures with it from the start.
4. Patient is still gravely ill, cannot perform everyday functions, plus cannot leave her home for days.
What did I know (or was 99.58385% sure) he was going to say? I’m having Psychogenic Seizures. And he DID.
Although, I wasn’t prepared for some surprises! All wrapped up in such pretty paper with shiny ribbons and bows!
He misquoted me! He made me sound like I was a simpering, whimpering idiot! His writing about me even had little tinkle of a bell to hear.
Maybe I’m a little sensitive about all of this. It’s only been going on for years. It’s now at the point where its starting to actually effect and break down other systems of my body. It’s altered my life where I…loss! LOST! I WILL NEVER GET THINGS BACK!!!
I don’t hear any tinkling of bells. I hear him swinging a mallet against a gong, trying to smash it.
So what’s deal with all the tinkling and gonging? Psychogenic Seizures are real. But his tone. And he also mentioned figuring out things quickly, so as not to waste medical resources. I see. Or hear?
GONG! GONG! GONG!
Are you calling me a “malingerer?” Along with everything else you’ve tried to depict me as? Doing so as 3-year-old with broken crayons? Broken because you keep biting and chewing on them?
I understand he wants to do proper testing etc… but I can’t live like this. I won’t live like this. There may be a point when I really won’t live like this. If you catch my drift.
And if you think THAT drift is being a “malingerer?” Well, I actually told my mother straight to her face that I’d off myself. That yes, I would do it if things became so unbearable, I just couldn’t handle it anymore.
You could say that I was “malingering” myself all over my mother, but when I tried to kill myself, ended up on life support in the ICU, she was actually there every step of the way and after. Thus, my mother does not think I am a “malingerer.” She never displayed any emotion to me then.
When I told her about the future? An interesting, also minimal reaction.
She placed her hands flat together and put them to her mouth. She shook her head, ever so slightly. I could see some tears welling up in her eyes but she didn’t cry. I knew the tears were for both of us though. She wouldn’t want me to die, of course. But her tears also acknowledged that if my suffering did become too much, if that was what I had to do, she understood.
Nonetheless, I haven’t reached that point yet. If anything, I feel like committing homicide, not suicide.
Time to have a serious chat with Non-Arsey Neuro. This needs to get straightened out.
Yes, I’m an arsey, little twat but I’m stubborn until I can get answers! And I got it. I knew it all along since how a “particular” liquor is made and its contents.
No, it was always in the back of my mind. And tonight I pushed it. No, I really did. Arsey, little, stubborn twat. But I do want to figure this out and make sure of what’s going on before I see Sweetie GP. Is that just a pathetic excuse or actually valid?
Right now I feel about as sober as a judge who in way days back forgot to put on those dusty, white wigs. Today? I feel about as sober as a judge who forgot to put their pants on.
But I don’t feel sick!
However, that does not to mean I’m going to start running around like a mad woman chugging back vodka all over the place. Even if it may not look it, I do consider it a matter of my health. Just what is going on here that never happened before?
So I’ll try to get more on the ball with more intelligent posts, all of you Twitter gangs and comments and yeah? When I’m more sober. *laughing quite a lot*
I want to write more. Tell you what is happening but not so well. And again, so sorry for not getting back to all who have contacted me in all form.
I’m not looking. I’m not even aware but I am seeing things, feeling things. In situations where such beauty is almost sucking me in.
At times, almost unbearable until I can take the time to process. Or if it’s a lot, totally overwhelming.
Like now. Tonight. Too much beauty for my crazy head to handle. But the world keeps throwing it at me.
Going insane with beauty,
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