My fingers are starting to worry me. Oh wait, they've been worrying me for over two months now.
This is no way to begin the first post of March. What I want to start with is this: Hello! Hello, beautiful March! May we all have some good jokes on the 4th about marching forth! May your days be full of rain and, for some reason, cake! March. March. March! March! March! March!
Okay, now that I've officially welcomed March into our lives, let me get back to my fingers. At least I can still type. At least there's that. So many terrifying thoughts run through my head when I even think of the word "fingers." Like, rheumatoid arthritis? Lyme disease? Fibromyalgia? Something way, way, way worse? I don't know and apparently the doctors don't, either. I am hoping it's just my low iron levels or some kind of vitamin deficiency. This is boring, I know. But it helps for me to type this out. I am looking all of my neuroses in the eye! I shan't be a quivering kitty in a korner any longer! I will be a LION. March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I once ate a lamb burger at, appropriately enough, Lamb's Grill after leaving the emergency room where I was being poked and prodded and told that I might need a blood transfusion. And then after I went into a haunted bookstore and saw a giant Big Bird puppet playing the ukulele. It was quite the day. I think I even bought a hat that afternoon.
No more talking about my fingers for now, though. I feel better. I mean, I am still convinced something is horrifically wrong with me, but what can I do about it today? Not much. But I can enjoy food again! Because yesterday was so awesome. I don't know what in the world changed, but something did. I think I just got tired of being the hungry girl. Anybody would get tired. Being hungry makes you tired. Who knew? Weird how the simple act of eating a sandwich can turn a switch on in your soul. All of the sudden I was, like, "Oh yeah! I'm alive. I'm really cool. I am HOT STUFF."
I am still going to therapy, though. Yes yes yes. I want to go every week. I need to. Twenty years of being under ED's control doesn't just disappear after a turkey avocado sub.
So my weeks from here on out will look a little something like this: Hospital visits for iron infusions, therapy visits for eating disorder issues, friendly visits for companionship, and school visits because that's where I work. At a school. Gotta bring home the bacon, you know? The actual bacon. I haven't had bacon in what some might call "a coon's age." But I would never say that. I would, however, bring home, fry up, and eat that bacon. With a side of whatever the hell I want. Because I can! Here's to March and to multiple visits to multiple doctors. Here's to lions and lambs and loving, not loathing, life. March!