For those of you who remember me, or for those of you who never knew me, I’m writing to let you know that I’m back. It’s been a long two years of surprise packages from the universe. Some of you may remember reminiscences about my divorce, otherwise known as leaving the tenth circle of hell. Dante only wrote about nine, but if you’d met the ex-husband, you would understand how there came to be another one. Not that I have any divine right to invent means of eternal retribution; I’m just pissed off enough to do so. I digress.
This missive is about a return to the blogosphere and what occasioned the lapse in writing. As I said, there were many surprise packages from the universe and the Big C was one of them. Seems there was a large tumor tucked away in my peritoneum that had to be taken out. You know how the doctors are: As long as we’re in there, let’s do a hysterectomy! I’m pretty much done with most of the lady parts, so I consented. The bargain was that I would get to keep my health and my life. At no time did any one discuss with me an option to take the removed vintage lady parts and sell them on the black market so I could obtain enough money for a down payment on a cabin on the North Shore. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Dopey me, I didn’t think of it until after I was well and the damned organs were long gone.
Following the Big C surprise was a series of infections that nearly killed me. Literally. It’s never a good sign when several doctors stand around your hospital bed, stroking their chins, saying, “We just don’t know.” Some of them appeared puzzled; some of them shook their heads for emphasis. Things looked bleak. Some of you may have surmised that your favorite smart aleck writer is a bit contrary. It’s not that I was trying to be oppositional, I just didn’t have the good sense to die.
I figured the docs better fix it because it was getting harder and harder to be taken care of by my children. They descended on me like white on rice and gloried in bossing me around. Often I sat in the only chair I could use and regretted teaching them to think for themselves and to step up when things needed to be done. I have two children that I adore, as well as my daughter’s fiancé, who’ even came from out of state to take care of me as well. Cooking, cleaning, feeding, visiting, laundrying, you name it, they did it. And I loved them all for it. But every time they told me what to do, they had smiles on their faces. Eventually I could do things on my own and I could tell they were disappointed about not being large and in charge any longer. My daughter had even come up with a schedule for friends to sign up to take care of me. Lovely folks all, generous to a fault. Because of all of them, I am well, happy and have returned to a reasonable level of sassiness and sarcasm.
So here I am. Back at this blog. Come back again for further adventures into the psyche of the ridiculous. See you soon.