Vax On, Vax Off.

There are several things about this world that really aggravate me to an almost hostile point. It’s the kind of place that I no longer have the patience to listen to the other side of things because I bring an undeniable fact to the table that cannot be discarded. Welcome to five minutes on the anti-vax train wreck, y’all.

Most of my readers know that upon giving my twin daughters their 18 month shots, 2 days later they began to fall over when they walked. Within a week, they were fully paralyzed from the waist down. During the second week, they lost 75% of the use of their arms and hands. It got darker by the day. After 6 clueless doctors, the seventh announced they have Guillain-Barre syndrome after performing a spinal tap.

GBS effects 1 in 100,000 people. It can cause paralysis in limbs, lungs and facial muscles. The second huge side of this is it strips the myelin sheath (your nerve covering) throught your body. So picking them up or bathing them or simply touching them would shoot icy hot pain through their little 23 month old bodies. Most recover as full as possible though alot of older people seem to have side effects the rest of their lives. “Luckily”, my girls were young during their paralysis.

It lasted about 6 months, including 3 weeks of hospitalization. What followed was a very busy year of rehabilitation and the re-learning how to walk. This entire process was hands down the most difficult thing I have lived through as a human being.

And so as can be imagined, from that time frame forward, I have rejected the continuation of any more immunizations, including, in my opinion, the useless flu shot. Any and all of the doctors that have asked us “are your daughters immunizations up to date?”, when I say no and briefly explain, they get it. Nobody questions my choice or puts their agenda in my face. They understand and even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t try and pressure for more needles.

And so we go about our lives. My girls both have an autoimmune disease and receive monthly treatment to strengthen their systems. Did the GBS/immunizations cause this? I don’t know and I don’t question it. It is what it is. However, when the topic comes up (and mostly only when I see something about it on social media), as much as I want to remain silent, the truth inside me screams and to shut one of these vaxxer lovers mouths gives me a sense of relief.

Similar to abortion, transgenderism and whatever other topics there are that put great divides between humanity, the vax/don’t vax war is real. And brutal. The ones that believe every parent should vaccinate their child or if not, they must keep their children at home are very common. They don’t look at other sides. Then there was my favorite rebuttal of “well, if your kid is immunized then what are you worried about?” That kinda got debunked when it’s known that there are different strains and even the most up to date child cannot be completely impervious to it.

Then, of course, there are those like me that might comment it’s a parents choice, whether this or that, and lets just move on. To which the vaxxers tear into those people with daggers and malicious words, just a general ball of anger. It is then that I waltz in and drop the bomb which is my daughters story in a brief manner.. and all becomes silent on the vaxxers side. The anti-vaxxers reach out and express sorrow and sympathy. And then I move on. That is until I see yet another Global story promoting division in regards to this specific topic.

Life on social media will thwart you and kill you. I get it. I’m not some triggered troll or snowflake. But this is a battle I cannot sit out on. It’s too close to home. You wanna vaccinate your kids and get your yearly flu shot at Shoppers Drug Mart? Do what you wanna do. I will continue to not give my kids any more immunizations nor will I receive a flu shot, ever. I know peace is a pipe dream but my goodness, I wish it were a reality.


The Shards of Them and The Shards of Me.

If you’ve been one to date, marry and stay with your first love, this could be an interesting read though not really for you. For those of you that have given your heart to several to a whole whack of people, this will speak moreso to you.

It isn’t the science of a rocket, my friends. When you lose someone important in your life, it hurts and you grieve. Typically, your torn up heart heals the best it can and you are ready to move on. And obviously there are levels of both knowing someone and the depth of your connection to each other, but from where I’m standing (actually I’m kneeling at the end of my water bed*) if you lose a parent or if you lose a girlfriend after 6 months of dating or if your 13 year old dog runs away there will be tears. There will be, as they say, a huge hole in your heart that will never fully heal. You will feel lost, loss and you will be down. It’s all pain, folks. That’s the bottom line.

I’ve fallen in love with and been loved by 10 women plus 2 wives. To the layperson, that’s a dozen. To everyone else, sorry for being so obvious. I can’t say I loved them equally. I suppose I loved them moreso uniquely. Everyone was different yet somehow they were all the same.

There’s been age gaps, mostly younger being the woman. So when I met and married my second wife, the oldest woman I have ever loved at 3 years younger than me, I thought maybe that might factor in to having greater success. Little did I know she was the most unstable one of the dozen.

There’s been cross culture. Well, I guess just my first wife. Everybody else has been white or at least different shades therein, from ghostlike to spray on cancer dark. It’s just how it’s been, folks, what can I say?

There’s been too many false starts. Talk of marriage way too early, 2 engagements way too early and 1 marriage that should never have happened. Maybe both marriages shouldn’t of happened but with the first time around, A) I did the right thing and B) I wouldn’t have my kids today, basically the only chaotic sanity I have going for me.

There has been short distance. There has been long distance. There have been great times and yes, you guessed it, even greater. My kids, meaning my two girls, have taken a beating in all this as well, unfortunately. And they have enough going on, the poor dears. When these relationships would end, I wasn’t the only one in this home with a wounded heart. They also felt the rejection that I did and probably moreso than I being that I ended 9 out of the 12 scenarios. Them yearning for that absentee mother figure then finding someone willing to love their father and love them.. pure heaven. And understandably pure hell in the aftermath of the failure.

Moving on, I have learned a few things that theoretically should help and protect both myself and my daughters and the other party involved, lest we forget.

1) There is no need to ever rush. I used to spend so much bloody time on the dating sites and holding multiple conversations with a handful of women. Plus all the meetings and the typical disappointment. No more of that approach. And equally, if you find yourself falling for someone, stretch it the eff out. Do not get married within a few months. Overall, I do not seek at all nowadays and I’m fine with that.

2) Don’t rehash the past. I’ve been really bad with this one, even semi lately. If something ends, whether by my choosing or theirs, one should not be open to revisiting the situation. I did that alot and both parties involved just get more and more annoyed. If it’s dead, it’s dead. Next!

3) Focus on what is really going on. Aka life itself and it’s present state, not looking for love on all the wrong faces. Have plans for a business? Educate yourself and start working toward it. Want to go on a vacation desperately? Sit down and plan out a savings budget. Spend more time with your kids. Or with your god. Or sleeping. Or doing whatever you are passionate about.

All that said, I do not believe in good things will come to him that waits. It’s crap. You need to go get your good thing. But in regards to someone to be with.. it comes when it comes. That’s all I know.

I am alone in the sense that I have no spouse/gf/whatever to be my best friend and it does officially suck. But honest to goodness, I am fine without and if you’re in my situation, then you should be too. Certain unnameables feel they can’t survive without a member of the opposite sex in their lives and what they need is a good, lengthy time of singledom and a really talented psychologist. Peace.

*I don’t really have a water bed.


Where have you gone?
The reflection denies
While I sit and I ponder and meet my demise
I’m lonely and bleeding
So alone under earth
You’ve forgotten my name, feel abandoned since birth
Gutted, rebutted, rebuked and declawed
A fraction, a figment, no powerful oz
Dissolving and dying, there’s no point in trying to come to my rescue so please stay in hiding

Where did you go?
Why do you hide?
Embedded and masked and bloody contrived
Your thoughts void of feelings
And feelings of thoughts
This incarceration, my spirit is bleeding

I was a lie, did I ever exist?
There’s nothing to show from a slice to the wrist
I’m vomited matter, rejectable splatter
Unseen and unwanted, transparently flaunted
By a snap of your fingers, my soul it doth linger
In stages I bury this consummate wringer
My leprous detachment of all that is sterling
Dead on arrival and rancid and burning

Where did you go?
Why do you hide?
Embedded and masked and bloody contrived
Your thoughts void of feelings
And feelings of thoughts
This incarceration, my spirit is bleeding

Find me
Atone me
Baptize and dethrone me
Stitch my flesh, sealed and clean
Reveal who I now shall be
Teach me your vengeance please
Then bury my one disease

Nail this to your tree
Kill it with me.

The Family Pest..uhh, Pets.

I love looking at life through the eyes of my children. In viewing a favorite movie, or them opening Christmas gifts or the simple joy of praise from their parent, giving them a sense of confidence. I’m constantly watching for it. But what about life through the eyes of my household life, money and emotion suckers.. the cats?

I’m talking about one Nigel and one Whitney. Two buttheads but beautiful ones at that. Let us take a deeper looksee.


I stumbled upon Nigel. My wife at the time wanted a pet so she sought and picked out Nigel. I came up with the name (I say that as though I cured cancer) for her when we were under the impression she was a he. Obviously later, when he went into heat, it became known that he was a she.

But the name stuck. And from day one, she was not the typical feline. Words like jerk and arsehole come to mind. She will never jump up and sit on your lap. If you corner her and pet her, her tail will move like the dickens, signifying her discomfort. And she will bite, daily in fact, from petting. If you call her name, she won’t look at you yet if she wants some treats, she acts as though she’s the most loving pet this world has ever seen.

I often wonder what’s going on in her fluffy cat head. Her expressions typically match her bitchy demeanor. I picture she holds us all in the most contempt, only momentarily happy when she is fed. She looks at life like a sour puss and I firmly believe I need to introduce a cat whisperer into the mix with the hopes of rewiring her immensely rude brain to be a normal, loving cat. The process I know she would hate and that itself gives me brief pleasure, as does imagining freeing myself of her gloomy misdemeanour by simply letting her outside and never looking back. How did I get here? I don’t know but it’s definitely her fault.


After the ex wife moved out, the second door prize was her abandoning/leaving Nigel with us. Some time went by and I figured she would like a compadre or a partner in kitty krime, if you will. So I conjured up Whitney (my kids named her..), a Bengal/Siamese mix. Now this was a normal cat! Cuddly, affectionate and nothing like Nigel. Whitney is majestic as she is domestic. She’s unemployed but she’s neither null nor void.

Sometimes I sit back (as opposed to sitting front) and I gave at little Whitney Spears. I feel like she’d look really comfortable in a snug turtleneck. And I also often imagine what is happening in her medulla oblonggotta. I honestly don’t think it gets very deep with her. If Whitney and Nigel had a think-off, though downright evil, Nigel would saunter away with the medal. Whitney thinks of new places to nap, where did she lose that toy and food. These are the basics to what I believe is healthy cat rationale.

Alas, seeing life through the eyes and hearts of two house cats, though polar opposites, matters little. I am serious about the whisperer however. If nothing changeable with Nigels outlook on life, maybe this person could convince them to be glad they aren’t chickens. Or pigs. Or any edible item in the food chain. Or that I am not Chinese. If they were to grasp these simple truths, they might be just a fraction more grateful and at the end of the day, that’s really all one can ask for.

Typically Atypical.

Today, I get an email from my daughters’ teacher. The girls apparently brought in their book order sheets, ordering about $75 in reading material with about $17 in cash. The email instructed me to please help the girls with their order.

This isn’t typical daily fare I deal with but in a hit and miss way, yes it is. Last night, knowing that today was order cut off and knowing my girls wanted to get some books, and knowing Lex had just over ten dollars and Linds had just over five dollars, I told them they could order one book apiece. I reminded them twice yesterday evening that they needed to make their selection, put what they thought was the appropriate money with the form into an envelope left on the table for them by yours truly. I said do it as soon as possible and then I would double check it and help them out.

Sounds simple enough right? I mean they are fifteen, not three. Bed time comes around (with me heading that direction at the same time) and they’re scrambling to get it together. I tell them they’ve had plenty of time and notice, and now it is too late aka no book order will be placed at this point. Thats all I know until, of course, I get the email stating otherwise.

What my daughters struggle with has never been officially diagnosed. Yes, they both have very fragile immune systems. Yes, they struggle big time in school, specifically with time and numbers/money. Yes, they are socially awkward with peers. But without a label, which I will actually be both terrified and relieved to finally hear, if it ever comes, it’s just me in the dark.

With all that I studied in College about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS) and Fetal Alcohol Effects (FAE), I swear they/we live with the latter, though no way to prove it. I would never suggest their bio mom drank on purpose when she was pregnant. There was, however, a period of time where we were yet to discover she was with child(s) and quite possibly in that time, drinks were consumed, forever damaging my daughters for life.

When you talk to them, it’s as though you are connecting and speaking their language, which is my language. But more times than not, it’s like conversing with the family dog. Nothing is getting absorbed. Heads are nodding but the brain is elsewhere or nowhere, especially in the moment.

But see, at the same time they are neither mindless nor unintelligent. Stuff has been absorbed. Memories can be accessed. Heck, even random facts, full songs of lyrics and much, much more is alive and well in their brains. That shows me that normalcy does exist within them but because its coming from these two individuals, it borders on extraordinary if that makes any sense. And this is the quandry. There is so much going on upstairs therefore making the diagnosis that much more difficult to bullseye. If they had the physical characteristics of someone with FAS then we could see them coming. Same goes with down syndrome. The outward package would reflect the inner struggle but not so much with sweet Lexis and Lindsey.

And so another evening creeps in and all is well inside these walls. What tomorrow will bring could be the typical daily grind with nothing odd to deal with. But I know that’s just a figment of my hopeful imagination. Though small these happenings are, and no matter how used to the chaos of it all that I am, tomorrow will stand on its own, and that’s ok. The “Daddy, we missed the bus” bi-weekly or more texts or the episode like I outlined at the start of this post.. something will take place. And if it didn’t, it would be downright weird.

Not Your Average Teens.

When people around my age, typically with kids of their own, inquire about mine (and I tell them “Ya I have a 19 year old son and twin daughters who are 15” it’s always one of two responses. “Wow, you must have your hands full” or “Teens are the worst/I know what you’re going through”. I want to say you have no idea what I’m going through but then to most passing strangers, point in case the woman who changed my hernia dressing today, there’s no reason at all to go into detail about my life.

My son

I don’t write alot about my son but he qualifies for a spot in this posting for sure so I will start with him. He is and was never your typical teenager. When I think of a teenage boy, I remember what I was like or how teen boys are (or at least used to be) depicted in movies. I’m talking partying, experimenting with girls, getting your first car (and subsequent accidents), staying out late, doing poorly in school and constantly aggravating and worrying your folks. Again.. that was me. I was bad. Maybe worse than most but I feel like most of those behaviours I just outlined are fairly accurate of a testosterone flowing young man. Not my Jeremy.

Since about his twelth birthday, he has gotten involved with gaming commentaries on YouTube. At this point, he has over 200,000 subscribers and he makes the same if not more than I do at my day job. He has bypassed the day job trap as well as time and money that could have went into college. He’s got a great head on his shoulders, has friends and is celibate by choice, with no plans to date or marry for years from now. His focus and work ethic is outstanding and I frankly don’t know where he gets it, but he’s got it. He never wants to put alcohol, tobacco or narcotics into his body, to boot. As his father, I am quite proud of him.

My twin daughters

From what I gather, most 15 year old girls are wearing makeup, are hormonal and have been getting their periods for years. They are familiar with bras and have zits they either coverup or pop. Most teenage girls have interest in boys, talk about crushes and even enter into the dating world. They stay up late with their friends and talk on the phone incessantly. They have their learners licenses and soon will have their own cars. But my girls are different.

Lexis has been wearing sports bras for about a year or 2 now but will often forget. Lindsey’s body is far behind in those areas of development that I worry will she ever need a bra. Same goes for will either of my girls ever start their periods. And will they even grow anymore? They are just around the four foot mark.

Lindsey has shown recent interest in wearing makeup so she received some for Christmas but bottom line is if she can’t even remember to brush her teeth (her gums and teeth are in a horrible state) or wash her breakfast off her face or remember to brush her hair, then makeup will not yet be in the mix.

As sisters, I feel like the most “normal” side of them in comparison with other girls their age is the quarrels they have with each other. And maybe the consistently messy bedrooms.

They are in a special needs school and the friends they’ve gravitated towards are 10 years old. My girls don’t get invited out places or over to houses. Not to say they are hated or horrible girls, they just don’t seem to be able to make solid friendships.

They talk about boys now and then on the lines of Justin Bieber for example and how Lexis will marry him one day. Nothing close to home or reality based, and to be honest I am more than happy they are years away from anything resembling a date or a boyfriend, my goodness.

Their lives are filled with prescription pills and multiple appointments weekly to various doctors and specialists. Monthly IV treatments. Subsequent missed field trips or special days at school. They are capable of reading at their age level but they prefer reading books geared at grade two’ers or watching repetitive tv programs like Full House or Spongebob Squarepants. They need to be reminded over and over in regards to everything. Did you take your pills? Brush your teeth? Wear appropriate clothes to school (winter gear etc)? Do your chores? What are your chores? Why didn’t anybody feed the cats.. I asked 3 times today? And so on.

The three words “and so on” says everything about how life is here. So much to say and I need to bookend this for now. That’s a very small picture of my life. Our life. So when I’m faced with “Oh, you must have your hands full” over the 3 teens discovery, you really have no idea.

And let me say this as I wrap this sucker up. You will never hear me complain. When I was briefly remarried, my wife complained all the time but I won’t. As crazy as things are in this household and for reasons most parents will never deal with, my kids are the sweetest, most patient, most happy regardless, most funny, most loving angels on the planet and who has been blessed to do life with them? Me. I was chosen to raise these pure and radiant gifts. So no matter what the latest doctor says or how exhausted they am or I feel.. I can’t and won’t complain. They are mine and I am theirs.

The Portal.

I stepped through a door that led me to nothing. A place I truly did not want to be. I couldn’t go back, I could only step forward. So without wind at my back, I shuffled my feet.

Didn’t know where I was going but I know what’s left behind. The comfort of it beckons though I cannot rewind. A load has been lifted, I feel lighter than air. But my eyes, under blindfold, find it awful to bear.

The beasts that are hunting are taunting my steps. Refusing engagement is what I do best. They whisper and nip at me on this current leg. With all I can muster, showing no signs of lag.

And further and further I get from this place, I realize the darkness is swarming my face. My legs and my ankles are buckling and weak. I have not yet made it anywhere close to the peak.

My feet tripping sideways, my mouth is not wet. The fear overtaking my soul with regret. My hands, they are grasping and swatting through twilight. Regression of choices leans me to the sidelines.

The scavengers catch up, their teeth are inside me. Ripping and gnawing and growling ferociously. Lifeblood in their mouths and my bones, their breakfast. Right there in the blackness, dying and hopeless.

Like mirrors, their dark eyes allow me to see. As I am ingested, I now can see me. The conscript, the ax man, the delegate warrior! There’s blood on the ground but it’s going to get gorier!

Like tiny twigs scattered with dirt on the floor, I snapped all their necks and I wanted some more. My wounds, they will heal though they will never erase. All beauty marks now as I pick up my pace.

I’m running the road now, the wind, it propels me. The journey still lengthy but the mission compels me. My enemies still see me though they know I am stronger. Bread for the victory, just a little bit longer…

The Law of the Buttfaces.

I’m sure everyone knows what I’m talking about when I mention purposely making the choice to succeed is also the fine art of setting yourself up for adversity and often failure. What in the h-e-double hockey sticks is that about, right?! I have deduced we are being both watched and listened to and our unseen enemies go to work immediately on rerouting our great plans and aspirations.

Sounds insane to the typical townfolk? Sure it does. But what other explanation is there? I call it the buttface law, or law of the buttfaces, if you will. Ever notice if you meander through life without aspiration or without goals, the moments when you’re just part of the rat race and sure, it’s just a phase maybe but you’re coasting on autopilot? The enemy leaves us alone, typically. And especially when we are willfully doing wrong and being generally bad people, he sits back and smiles, knowing his work is done and we’re doing just fine at digging ourselves a hole, deeper and wider by the minute.

I bring all this up because I am in need of a loophole. I have very hefty plans for my year and I’ve already been set back 3 weeks but I refuse to give up. In fact, I’m working even harder and I will succeed. Oops.. I just stamped another target on my backside. So where’s the loophole? Can there be one?

Unfortunately, there is no other option here or a special path I didn’t know about. Perseverance, hope and drive are my allies and I will embrace them passionately. Keep your head up and understand upfront that deterrents are headed your way. There is no avoiding them but in anticipating these pitfalls, facing them won’t shock you quite so much. You just need to get up faster.

Comfort, fear and self-doubt are your worst detractors. And I say this stuff for myself to hear as well because I’ve been allowing their whispering voices in daily. Without any hilarity, it’s funny how often we don’t even have to work to fail. Those negative voices are sometimes enough to hold us down before we even start to reach for success.

The will of the enemy is to box us in, chains us up and to make us forget we possess an ounce of strength. He has prit near the easiest job on the planet (and beyond) if one thinks about it. And on the flipper, defeating him and foiling his plans are quite simple as well. It just takes a discerning spirit and a positive attitude, it really does. As quickly as he can monkey wrench your point A to point B, you can turn the wheel back to continue on your heading.

And the more victories we encounter, the faster your enemy learns that you aren’t such a slouch after all. Will he leave you be? We wish. But the damage he can do will be limited by every smart and good decision you make.

Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. And my own vigilance will leave a trail of fire that will scald even my enemies flame loving fingers.

Taken Leave.

Today, I did alot of wondering. Mental wandering. I wandered as I wondered. And it got deep.

I started questioning when exactly did I lose myself? I felt in control of my life right up until I decided to move us in with my mother for a “recharge”. Was supposed to be for 1 to 2 years but it only turned out to be 6 months as I met Krista that fall, proposed then married her early January. And then I really lost myself.

It was the spring of 2014, after living in my hometown of Fort Saskatchewan for 4 years over a girl, who crushed my very soul but this isn’t about her, or that. Minus soon becoming careerless, everything else was running perfectly, dare I venture to say, in my life. I had lost 50 lbs and gained back 25 lbs of mostly muscle. I was in the gym 6 days a week and looked and felt amazing. My children were happy and overall healthy, for their degree of health any way. I drank a few times a week and struggled a bit with even that but it wasn’t anything to fear. I had friends whom I’d hang with regularly. We had a great church that I volunteered at in the childrens program and with security. I had a bunch of 3 month relationships with girls, which, for me, was a successful thing. At that point, I always had money coming in but just wasn’t the smartest with it. No direction, no savings. But overall, at least in hindsight to where I am at today, life was good.

So.. how does one go from there to how my life is today? Careerwise, I basically have none. Besides a big chunk of last year, I hold a day job just fine but I’m unhappy so I job jump. Physically, by my own hand, I’m a disgusting specimen of what I once was. I have 60 extra lbs of fat on me, mostly on my gut and my face. I’m run down and tired because of my old way of life of drinking and smoking and now my health is horrible wrapped up in this seemingly terminal title called “extreme sleep apnea”. I have no friends. I rarely go to church, let alone volunteer. I sin more than ever in the quiet ways. I don’t reach out to God near as much like I used to. My creativity feels choked. I barely pick up my instruments let alone start the band I’ve been craving. I’ve become so used to eating whatever I want whenever I want it. Fast food daily, junk around the house constantly. I’ve accumulated debt which I was normally always free of. My daughters health issues consume what little there is left of me. Every choice I make feels like the wrong one or a bad one. Occasionally, like today, I’ll think hmm McDonald’s sounds good then I’ll stop myself and eat healthy at home.

And that was I think the mindblow I experienced today. The hole I’ve dug is so very deep that its going to take good decision after good decision after good decision in hopeful succession to ever get out of here. And I have to get out.

I’m an island. I can’t do it all on my own though I somehow do. I desperately want to feel good and look good. To be able to look at myself in the mirror and to see both the good man inside as well as the one who’s flesh I inhabit. And I’ve procrastinated before but its never been mapped out to me before like it is now.

The only question is how do I do this, like seriously? My pastor invited me to their mens small group tonight and I woke up wanting to go but then the fear of feeling inadequate and needing to heal and grow more before I commit to that seemed right, though I was most likely just listening to the so familiar voice of the enemy wanting to hold me down.

I honestly need to wade into these healing waters but I can’t do everything good and right and perfect all at once. I need to take small bites and little steps, and at times the larger ones will be easy.

I know my destination but the road there seems so long and so narrow. But I cannot continue to exist like I am now, I can’t. Each step I have to push myself. It is the only way.

What Cometh Mondayeth?

The terror is troublingly real.

I am never one to get wrapped up in the blanket of worry or fear. I fail in many other areas in life but remaining constant in my faith that everything will work out and this too shall pass is a definite strength of mine.

I’m not going to recap the second half of last years health flops (If you want reference, there are several posts on the haunting subject) but to say that I went into 2019 with a clean bill of health and a very determined for success head on my shoulders can’t be overstated. But yesterday, when I went to see the surgeon for a follow up, it is apparent that the mesh inserted inside me may have caused an infection and if these antibiotics don’t do the trick by Monday, I will be enduring a second surgery, this time more invasive as to remove the problematic mesh. Heaven help me.

As if the full month of December off wasn’t enough. Sure, who doesn’t like a bit of home rest but if you’re compounding that with 2 months of missed work aka no pay plus serious abdominal pains removing you from life as you know it.. I’ll most definitely pass. And let’s not forget the no driving. The inability to cook, clean and run my household. More time away from the gym. Oh, and yes, no work income. This cannot be happening.

I spent a few handfuls of minutes reading into the procedure and the more I read, the more fearful I became. Though some of the info may be outdated, if indeed the surgery takes place, I could be out for at least another month and the pain to be faced will be much greater than the original “fix”. Oy vey.

The anxiety I’m feeling is right up there. The tension mounts. However, this is just another time where I must stand back and be assured that this was in my cards long before I began worrying about it and the God I serve will once again carry me through, as I hobble and wince and recover.

Ultimately, this may all be avoidable and I’m just talkin’ jive. With my mind running in circles, all that can be done is the waiting of what may cometh Mondayeth.