Hi Darling Ones,

I did my taxes last night. It was not pretty.

To be fair, my taxes are never pretty. I’m a self-employed freelancer. This means I’m responsible for all of the taxes and social security and other things I probably should know.

Every year my taxes are pretty hefty and while it hurts I always remind myself about the existence of public libraries and then I don’t feel so bad paying my taxes. I love the public library, and a few days a week I rock my What’s more punk than the public library shirt. Public libraries are the best thing about this dumpster fire of a country. I’ve written about my library love before, so today I’ll write about this dumpster fire of a country.

The “health”care system in this country is fucking garbage. Straight up trash covered in barf.

It’s expensive, inefficient, and frequently inhumane.

As you well know I had a stroke last year that left me with limited ability to work. The stroke cost me roughly $21,000, and that’s just the hospital stay part. That doesn’t count follow-ups, prescriptions, and all that jazz. When I was in the hospital I was diagnosed with diabetes. I had to pay $340 out of my pocket to take a “diabetic education” class where a condescending lady saw the I was fat and told me I’d had to stop drinking Coke (I don’t drink soda) and start eating vegetables (which I already did).

Ugh. I still hate that lady.

So I did my taxes last night and my income for 2023 was $5000 less than what my stroke cost. I originally thought it was $3K, but my eyes are bad and I misread a 6 as an 8. Oh, and I still have to pay in $2500.

America!

I’m literally getting by on GoFundMe donations and the fact that I’m really good at being poor. I can’t go anywhere because I can’t drive which makes not spending money even easier. Plus, the only debt I have is medical debt.

We’re supposed to be the greatest country in the world with the best healthcare and that’s a bunch of hooey.

Today, I FINALLY got to make an appointment with a neurologist that my primary care doctor wants me to see. I took the first available appointment. It’s on August 7th.

That’s right I had to wait more than three weeks to make an appointment that’s four months away.

AMERICA!

I hate it here.

Jodi

P.S. I stole the title from the Allen Ginsberg poem “America”. If you don’t know the poem be forewarned that it uses the N-word and other racially insensitive language.

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So, Darling Ones,

I found out they have a word for what landed me in the ER on Friday, “recrudescence.”

Officially the ER doc wrote in my after care summary, “He [the neurologist] suspects likely recrudescence from prior thalamic infarct.”

Both my primary care doc and physical therapist mentioned recrudescence, because like me they’d never heard the word before.

According to my highly scientific and not all full of AI-trash and SEO-garbage Googling, post-stroke recrudescence is the “re-emergence of post-stroke symptoms and deficits after they have initially resolved.” It’s more common than they thought and more likely to strike if you’re female.

Good times.

I also learned it usually happens around four years post stroke and the symptoms last for a few days.

Well, because I’m an overachiever mine happened eleven months post-stroke, and one-week in the symptoms are still going strong.

Knowing this is an actual thing gives me some solace. Even though it’s literally all in my head, it’s not something I made up or something I’m being dramatic about.

What SUCKS and HARD is that it feels like someone pressed rewind and I’m right back where I was in May. My scoop is extra floppy and all my other stroke ticks are back — wiggly legs, swimmy head, and fingertip taps.

Speaking of swimming, I had to use a wheelchair after physical therapy again yesterday. In fact, my therapist made me stop five minutes early even though I wanted to finish the final exercise. OF COURSE I did.

“I have no doubt you could power through it,” she said.
“My goal is to power through stroke recovery so it happens faster,” I said.
“That seems to be working great for you,”she said and then left to go get Sister #4 and a wheelchair.

At least, she give me an A+ for showing up to PT after my recrudescence. And she emailed me this afternoon to see how I was doing. I’m fortunate to have a good care team.

It’s frustrating that I didn’t recognize how far I’d come until I was slammed right back into the bad old days.

I already worked past all this. I was doing better and now I gotta start over. Sure I can do it. I did it before. But, come on, you gotta admit this is NO FAIR, right? Right?

Seventeen ughbarfs and infinity frowny faces,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

I’m not going to apologize for the lack of updates because I am not sorry. Instead, I’m fucking depressed and kind of angry about it. The last two weeks have been a struggle and I’m too damn tired to put on my brave face. It’s a miracle that I can be tired at all because it seems like all I do is sleep.

Sleep is the by-product of the light-headed/panic attack cycle that started last week. It’s awful. The attacks are so bad I literally cannot see straight. The other night I was trying to take two of the “as needed” anxiety pills and I had to have BFK give them to me because I couldn’t tell if I had two or twelve in my hand.,

I’ve been lightheaded is long, I’m not sure I AM lightheaded anymore. The panic attacks still happen, though with less frequency.

Everything is garbage. My tens of thousands of dollars in medical debt is weighing on my mind. So is work, and the stuff I can’t get done. My vision continues to a nightmare and, according to the eye doctor, will be for a few months. My Floppy Scoops are super stiff and heavy.

Also? They’ve been fixing the roof on Supergenius HQ since eight this morning. I’m ready to jump out of my skin from all the banging and assorted racket. However, 1469 days ago I started learning Spanish on Duolingo because some Spanish-speaking roofers were having a grand old time and when I could understand someone asking where the boss was today I felt very smug. Totally worth it.

Anyway, I got nothing good to say. I’m miserable, lonely, and depressed. Pathetic.

I gave myself today as one last day to wallow. Tomorrow I gotta try something else because being cranky isn’t helping my mood or my condition.

A poor, unfortunate soul,
Jodi

The post Stroke Me Day 58: Poor, Unfortunate Soul appeared first on I Will Dare.

Dear Darling Ones,

I’m not doing very well. I’ve fallen into a swamp of seasonal/situational depression and I haven’t found my way out of it yet. I’m labeling it depression though that doesn’t feel right. Mostly I’m cranky all the fucking time and out of sorts. I don’t know how to get back into sorts. Nothing I try is working. Patience seems to be the only cure for what ails me and there’s nothing I hate more than being patient.

Thus far I have tried not saying anything because I have nothing nice to say; shouting my displeasure to friends and the universe; eating a lot of ice cream; tons of masturbation; French fries; healthy salads; not showering; showering; naps; throwing myself into work; ignoring work tipped over on the couch reading a mystery; cookies; and Hawaiian Punch.

Nothing works. You know how Pigpen has that cloud of dust that follows him around? That’s me, but my cloud of dust is on the inside and it’s not dust it’s rusty thumbtacks and thistles.

Some lovely things have even happened.

I got a sweet text from my niece. The “I thought of you” message is my favorite genre.

I started planning the return of the Annual Minnesota State Boys High School Hockey Tournament party with BFK. The Hockey Tournament starts next week, and some place deep inside this excites me.

Neko Case wrote about Sinead O’Connor and teased that she’ll be writing about “Emperor’s New Clothes” specifically next week.

As soon as I click publish I’m going to make cheddar, bacon, scallion waffles and eat them while watching the season premiere of my favorite TV show, Top Chef.

All this and yet, my insides are still a floating cloud of pokey things. I know this is temporary. I know it. I know it. I know it. However, that doesn’t make this kind of mood easier to bear. It’s a fucking drag and I hate it.

Impatiently yours,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

There have been unceasing levels of crankiness in the air around me for like a week now. I’m not entirely sure what my problem is. Maybe my uterus is preparing to shed its lining, which will make me super angry. Maybe it’s the cool but humid and cloudy weather. Maybe I’m grouchy for no reason and I’m trying to tie it to various reasons to distract myself from the grouchiness.

My plan was to come here and list all the things I am grouchy about. Actually, my original plan was to growl all things I’m grouchy about at BFK, but she had to cancel CSA this week.

While I was blitzing Disney emojis on my phone and waiting for dinner to roast in the oven, Instagram told me Jason Isbell was live. While I try to avoid Instagram lives like the plague*, the only time I clicked on one it was Jason Isbell and his daughter singing all her favorite songs (mostly Beatles). So I clicked again.

It seems Mr. Isbell is also having a cranky day. He said he was mad about everything and so decided to take a few minutes before his show in Mobile, Alabama to list some things he was grateful for. Since there are worse things a human being can do than copycat Jason Isbell, I thought I’d give it a shot to see if it made me feel any better.

• My family, of course. This week, specifically, my stunning niece, Jaycie, who turned twenty-four on Monday. She has delighted me endlessly for two dozen years, but right now mostly because her favorite author is Joan Didion.
• While I’m much like that very funny tweet that said “I don’t dream of labor” when the tweeter was asked about their dream job, I am grateful I have enough work to keep me out a cubicle and in Supergenius HQ.
• Donuts.
• My new pants that are a size smaller than my old pants. This has nothing to do with weight loss and everything to do with acknowledging the actual size of my body (it’s not as big as I think it is).
• The Sadness Garden.
• All the things I have. Someone wrote somewhere recently “Remember when you wanted all the things you have now?” And I kind of took that to heart. I kind of wish it would extinguish some of the want I have in my heart for other things, but at least I’m more appreciative of what I have.
• Rock & Roll.
• Rock & Roll. It’s so important I had to list it twice.
• Wendell, the vengeance demon. I took the picture above today when I was laying on the couch in the hope of taking a nap. Wendell jumped up and tried to help. Darling Ones, I did not nap.
• My friends, of course. They’re only this far down on the list because I didn’t want to be totally fucking obvious. Last night Wolfdogg said, in response to my Jayhawks’ list, “I could live in that moment Gary and Mark harmonize on ‘It’s hard to sing with someone…'” And, same. Really. Also, for the record, it is very easy to sing with Wolfdogg and I have done it about 827,183,184 times during our seventeen-year friendship.
• The Library. I’ve read 135 books so far this year. I’ve purchased, I think, six books so far this year. The library is the greatest place on earth.
• Twitter.
• Mobile deposit. I still get paid with paper checks sent through the mail.
• Cheese curds. I spend an embarrassing sum of money on cheese curds every few weeks (Ellsworth Garlic Cheese Curds are my jam). I call it my “nacking cheese,” because when Nolan, an estranged Tibble, was little he called snacks “nacks.”
• I Will Dare dot com. It’s the best thing I’ve done with my life so far.

Are you grateful for anything good?
Jodi

 
*I say this as someone who actually, factually has tried to avoid the plague.

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