I’ve talked more than once on here about my awesome therapist (Finally decided on a code name: WGT aka World’s Greatest Therapist). So, WGT has many “isms” and two of them in particular apply to today’s topic:
1. Whenever I get sick, she never fails to ask me, “What’s your body trying to tell you?”
2. Whenever I’m freaking out about something that might happen in the future, she tells me that it probably will happen, because I’m devoting so much negative energy towards it.
I said she was awesome, I didn’t say she was warm and cuddly (at least not ALL the time).
So remember those two points while I give you a little bit of backstory. You may or may not have noticed that I’ve been pretty anti-holiday for most of the year (well, since I started blogging, but I assure you, it’s been most of the year). I was dreading Christmas this year, and freaked out repeatedly about scheduling, food, seeing people I hadn’t seen in a while, and the holiday itself. I got as many details squared away as possible, and had the whole holiday planned out, nearly down to the minute. Over-planning makes me feel better about most things, because I’m just not ready to tackle spontaneity. With the details sorted out, I was starting to look forward to Christmas. The plan wasn’t perfect, but it seemed the best option given the circumstances.
Then, on Sunday night, I get hit with this:
No, I was not asked to star in a holiday production of Swan Lake. Nor did I turn into Natalie Portman. No, I didn’t get knocked up out-of-wedlock (although that would have been in keeping with the holiday theme: Jesus being a bastard and all). I got struck with what they call, “viral conjunctivitis”. While that’s what “they” call it, most people know it as Pink Eye. The kind that can’t be treated with antibiotics. The kind that’s contagious as long as your eyes are pink and crusty and gross. The kind that lasts 8-10 days (although my dad very kindly googled an optimistic article that says 65% of cases clear up in 3-5 days). The kind that means I have to miss work and can’t make money to pay off my Christmas Visa bill. Worst of all, the kind that means I’ll probably have to miss Christmas.
So after freaking out and wanting to skip Christmas, the Universe heard me and said “Ok, here’s your “out”‘. Never mind that I changed my mind about it, the Universe only heard my negativity. If you haven’t read “The Secret“, do. It teaches you all about this stuff, and makes you terrified of every negative thought that crosses your mind. It’s more fun than it sounds. I promise.
That takes care of the 2nd part of the WGTisms. I’m still not sure what my body is trying to tell me with this one. It’s probably just trying to remind me to keep taking care of myself while WGT is on vacation. It would be too easy to consider these two weeks a “free pass” to be symptomatic. Maybe it’s just telling me I’m too old to wear glitter eyeshadow anymore . . . I’ll keep thinking on this one and let you know . . .
So now for a little pity party (the only holiday party I’ll be attending whilst looking like the Eye of Sauron): while I’m thinking positively that my eyes are on the road to recovery and I won’t infect my entire immediate and extended family, I may be spending my first Christmas alone. I was going to get to spend Christmas Eve thru Morning with my cousin, her husband, and my godson, who is just old enough to appreciate opening his stocking this year. Christmas Day afternoon I was going to my childhood home for the first time in a year, and see family members I haven’t seen in 12-18 months. Boxing Day (the 26th, for all you non-Canucks (Canadians, for those of you who don’t know our national nickname)) was a party with the other side of my extended family, and I had a damned good gift for the pirate gift exchange this year.
Ugh. I sound fucking whiny. I hate that. So let’s wrap the whininess up in a moral: Be careful what you wish (or don’t wish) for, especially when wishing upon the Christmas star. Yes, my eyes look very festive (red and green), but nobody’s gonna get to see them, save for my mirror. So send a little positive, healing energy my way this holiday season, if you can spare any.
Oh! One positive thing that came out of all this: when I woke up Monday and the eye grossness hadn’t gone away, I called my MD. Her office’s voicemail told me she’d moved away, and the number it gave me was a dead-end. So I trekked to a Walk-in Clinic I had visited this summer (and looked cleaner than the one nearest my house). A really nice doctor diagnosed me, and I explained my “My doctor abandoned me!” predicament. She told me that while she wasn’t officially accepting new patients, she’d take me on. So, hooray! Pink Eye got me a new awesome doctor! Maybe my body was telling me that it was time to stop avoiding the doctor and get a check up . . . hmmmmmmm.
I will keep you posted on the saga of eye goo, and what my Christmas will look like . . . hopefully not me on my couch watching Christmas movies ad nauseam, as fun as that would be on, say, a random Tuesday night . . . like tonight. Holiday Inn is on AMC. It’s the movie that debuted the song “White Christmas”. Most people think it originated in the movie “White Christmas”, but most people are WRONG! Musical Theatre Encyclopedia strikes again.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, and a blessed Winter Solstice to you all.