My magical elixir against reality.

Every two weeks or so, I have to pack my COPD and NAFLD and diabetes medications and supplements.  I pack them in a grab and go plastic baggie for each day so that I, a) Don’t have to think about or deal with assembling the magical stones meant to offset mortality, and, b)  Do my best to comply with my medication orders while also supplementing my Rx’s with dietary magic to make up for the fact that I don’t eat fruits and veggies, and with the hope that these vitamin fortifications will help me beat the reality of my physical frailty.


I have a daily diary I keep, as if that will offset the Endocrinologist’s belief that I am gorging myself daily on sugars and carbs, sodas up the yin yang, and working to actively sabotage my various doctor’s efforts to keep this old carcass upright and moving.

I also try and cook most of my own meals to ensure I know exactly what I’m putting into my body, and that any forbidden sugars and carbs were in my diet with purpose and pre-planning.

Tonight, I’m going out to see Gabriel Iglesias, Stand Up Comic, and enjoy the crowd, the laughter, and share a moment with my buddy, R, who also loves stand up.


So, knowing that I have to be able to stay awake for an extended period of time, and knowing that I don’t want to miss any part of tonight’s performance by mis-using my limited number of “spoons” for the day, or eating the wrong thing, etc., etc., etc…  I’m sitting on my couch and being oh so good.

Perfect, even.

I’m up.  I’m showered and groomed and resting.

I’m perfectly aware that one wrong decision could leave me exhausted and unable to hide my chronic condition, so I’m behaving.

I hate behaving, but I understand that’s it’s for the greater good.  I understand that self-sabotage by fighting against my reality hurts no one but me.  And, I’m ego centric enough that I want to pass for normal for as long as possible, whenever possible, so I do what I actively dislike and live a regimented life.


As Springsteen says in his recent Broadway show, it’s like my own litany of “Church, school, homework.  Church, school, homework.  Greenbeans.  Greenbeans.  Fucking greenbeans.”

In my case it’s:  Get up.  Take my meds with whatever food won’t derail my plans for the most energy in any given day.  And repeat those fucking steps ad nauseam until the weather improves so that I can leave this tin can of a home, or until my next trip comes around.

I know I have it better than so many other folks who can no longer leave their rooms or their homes.  Who are confined to a hospice bed in a hospital waiting for the end.  Or worse, who are out on the streets, truly destitute and without a place to call home.

But, as I sit here contemplating my medicated breakfast of champions, I just hear Springsteen in my head making me laugh.  “Greenbeans.  Greenbeans.  Fucking greenbeans.”  Yep.  It could be worse.

I might be at home in my childhood, dealing with my daily medication routine under the watchful eye of my mother, and facing a dinner of creamed peas and tuna.

Find your laughs where you can every day, and find a way to accept reasonable compromises so that you can do whatever you still desire to do despite the odds stacked against you.

Whatever you do, though.  Stay away from that fucking creamed peas and tuna.

2 thoughts on “Breakfast

  1. Welll unless you happen to LIKE creamed tuna and peas. You gave me a nifty idea for dinner some time soon. 😛 I admit to being unable to find any laughs. They just ain’t thick on the ground in my house or my psyche right now. Huny is dying by inches. I’m so tired of the ‘no you can’t afford *insert whatever thing it is* dance that I could scream. I have a neighbor who has an elderly chihuahua too. Huny and he are good buds and I’ve taken care of Taco when his owners have something to do that means leaving an elderly dog with sketchy bathroom habits in the house all day. They’ve taken care of Huny when I had to go somewhere for extended periods of time. Taco is now getting progressively senile. I suggested to my neighbor that if he gets to the point in his senility, that we take the two and have them euthanized together. Because I had to do that in 2013 when I was moving, and two of my fur babies went to the Rainbow Bridge together. While it was hard on the human watching them go, I got the sense that they had comfort, being together on their journey (in my belief system anyway). Huny is getting sicker faster though, and it may not be possible for Taco and she to go together as that family may still be able to fight for their pet, whereas I’m exhausted and won’t be able to do it much longer. It’s just mean to me to make her stay because I can’t bear the loss. Today for me is a no spoon day. I don’t want to do anything and that’s possible because it snowed again last night and I’m in the house for the rest of the day. With Huny.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ve been following your journey on fb, and so very sorry about Huny. It’s hard to believe my Katie is 10, and yet I know that everyone and every living thing’s time comes, and always much sooner than anyone could predict or prepare for. As I write this, Huny is gone and I’m wishing I lived closer to be able to talk you into leaving the house or at least give you a shoulder to vent on.

    Hugs to you. It never gets easier.

    Liked by 1 person

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