And the Bad News is…I’m Feeling Better

Really. I am. Not great, but better. It’s amazing. I’m actually able to eat without a bunch of pain. Can’t eat much, but I can eat.

Which is all really fantabulous news, except that I think that means they won’t take my gallbladder out - even though I’ve had 3 flare-ups in 5 years. (Doctors are leaving Ohio in droves right now as we are a “hostile environment” for them to practice in. As a citizenry, we sue for everything – and win huge settlements). So, I’m feeling pretty pessimistic that a surgeon is going to agree to cut me open based on my desire to eat like a normal person again. We’ll see.

But I’m refusing to worry about it. I think I’m on the tail end of this one, and I’m just happy about it.

In my feeling better, I have become more…um…effusive. Much more willing to connect. Open to dialogue. Capable of creating and maintaining conversation in all situations.

I’m talking SRH’s ear off, folks.

And he’s been sick all this week - first with a migraine and now with a cold.

But I just gotta be me. The old me. The me that was before I was sick all this fall and then couldn’t eat for a month. The me who may hate everyone else in the world but can’t wait to see SRH at the end of the day so that I can tell him how much I hate everyone else.

That me.

That “me” led “us” to the following conversation earlier this week:

Me: Chitter chatter, pitty pat, talk, talk, talk.

SRH: I’m sorry, honey. I’m not really up to talking right now. My head is killing me.

(He emphasizes this by wincing as he looks up past the bill of the baseball cap he is wearing inside so that less light gets in his eyes).

Me: Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I was just saying…blather, blather, mighty pop, jaw jaw jaw. Anyway, you don’t have to respond. I just finally feel like talking. You don’t really have to listen.

SRH: (annoyed grunt)

Me: So, anyway…boom, boom, boom, let’s go back to your room, walla walla , do wah ditty, yak yak yak.

SRH: (forlorn sigh)

Me: And what do you think about that? I mean, I’m sure that…buzz, buzz, heliotrope, icicle, rap rap rap.

SRH: You know what I think? (smiles) I think you’re too pretty to talk.

Me: (speechless)

He gets me every time. Every. Single. Time.

Well played, SRH. Well played.