Show Me The Receipts, Whitney!

Funny, not funny story here… As I was sitting at the front of my fav store this a.m., I asked the manager why they weren’t having a special hour dedicated to the elderly and the sick. His “corporate” response wasn’t so much my issue vs. the skeptical look he tossed me when I said that I was sick. And it’s not just this man’s quick, dismissive glare that annoyed me, but its everyone’s.

Now, I could start quoting mental health quotes about “not looking depressed” and stuff like that…. but I’ve got something standing on the part of my brain that remembers stuff. …Or so I assume, given the type of medicine I’m taking and the doctor’s initial consult in which she said “this penetrates the brain better.” (And should you want to know the next part of that convo (which I only heard as I removed myself from the meeting) was: “one drug is better for the lungs but this is the one we should use.”

In any event, since I have a full head of hair, and I look like a Thanksgiving float, I will share the mysterious ways that my medicine works- to paint a more accurate picture of LC.

Let’s start with needing to use Swifter Floor Pads on my 47-year-old ass- until I can shower! That’s right… between the dog falling and shitting, and my ass deciding its as good a time as any, I’d say that’s where we differ.

Often, I will be talking to (pick a family member) and forget what it is I was going to say- so then I need to grab a paper and pen to write down the little I did remember … only to forget it again. Also, I’m not talking about menopause memory loss, where its common for women to be forgetful; its more like the early stages of dementia. Now you may be saying, Rochelle, what do you know about dementia? …To which I would reply, but I forgot.

I have multiple “take your pill” reminders so I don’t die. Really- die? Yeah, really- because without these miracle pills, I wouldn’t be typing.

Now, I could go on with how I need to make sure my oxygen is higher than 92%, I don’t fall so that my skeletal frame doesn’t blow to dust or how even being 6 feet apart, everyone still needs to be masked since I wouldn’t likely survive intubation…. but if the shitting in the pants part didn’t distinguish unhealthy from healthy, then I don’t know what will.



About Lady in Red

mom of 3
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