There is something seriously wrong with me. Besides the fact that I was sitting in an empty hospital waiting room after hours, still in my nurse scrubs, now with a bracelet slapped on my wrist, suddenly shoved to the other side of the stretcher. There is something wrong with me in that I couldn’t get the image of a mid-1970’s Neil Sedaka out of my head. Am I the only one who remembers that thirty seconds in 1975 where Neil’s agent tried to make him into a sex symbol?
The bitch is in her smile
The lie is on her lips
Such an evil child
Bad (bad) Blood(blood)
Is takin you for a ride
The only good thing about bad blood is
lettin it slide
Doo-ron, Doo-ron, Di Di, Dit, Do-ron-ron
Before you write me off as a complete loon, which wouldn’t be a total stretch, let me explain. My health status took the “let’s fuck with her again” fork in the road two days ago. A decades old now blood disorder reared up and sent me to the hospital and to the pharmacy, and blah, blah, blah. Hence, the “Bad Blood” reference, and you are welcome for the ear worm..good luck with that…it’s pretty awful.
I hate my quirky blood. It has tried to kill me a couple of times, once when I was just Twenty. It was the 80’s, and I remember waking up on a sidewalk, surrounded by colorful leg warmers..my rescuers had just come from an aerobics class, and everyone looked like Olivia Newton-John from her “Let’s Get Physical” album. If I hadn’t been spitting up blood, I would have laughed at them- I was laughing on the inside though. So my life- long soap opera of “How The Blood Churns” began.
Injections and pills. Attempts to make my blood flow like water through it’s torturous pathways has been a challenge. Renowned hematologists at two of the finest hospitals in America, have scratched their heads in puzzlement at me. I can tell you, when you wait months to see a guru and he cocks his head at you like my Lab when I say “Go For?”, it does not instill a lot of hope.
But, wait, kind, good and prayerful people…hold your fruit baskets, flowers and healing lights. I am fine, always have been, always will be. This week’s episode has given me a couple of days of R&R. Time to read and write. Time to be home for my boys when they arrive from school, a slow-cooker of stew roasting in the oven. I feel like a slightly debilitated June Cleaver. Their smiles when they come through the door are all I need for positive, healing vibes- right before they disappear into their homework. Yesterday my son proudly constructed a diorama of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” right in front of me. He worked like the mad genius he is, always independent, like Edward Scissorhands.. the construction paper, tape, legos, and cut-outs of characters perfectly selected and sized from the internet..I watched him in wonderment. As a working Mom, I have missed so many of these moments in my boy’s lives, but it makes the appreciation acutely sweet when the gift of time together avails itself. Sometimes the bad blood can be a gift..sing it with me..Doo-ron doo-ron, di di, dit,do-ron-ron….