It’s not that I don’t have stuff to tell you friends. I’m not even secretly addicted to a video game(for once). I just have not had the solid time to give you all the attention you deserve. It’s no excuse really…Just remember though, if you really need a crse fix, click the sidebar for my twitter link. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think twitter is “better” than you or anything. It’s just quicker. Kind of like you are my betrothed and twitter is just a friend with benefits. I like to plan our time together, but I can just hook up with twitter when the bar closes. But today friends, I thought I’d post to tell you I’m turning over a new leaf.
I had a little health scare last week. My feet wouldn’t warm up one night and because I was in the throes of insomnia, I forgot that the problem could be related to tramping through snow in soggy shoes for ten hours (off and on of course) for the first time in ten days. (Because friends, much of my job involves cold sogginess in the winter). I decided I must have diabetes and that my feet were going to need cut off. Now loyal readers know my issue with having stumps (or as they are more delicately known, nubbins), and are probably aware of my fear of karmic retribution. Still, I don’t think I shared the shock of my most recent realization.
Let me preface the realization by making sure that we are all on the same page. Can we all agree that there are some people in the world that are fetchers and some that are fetchees? It’s best when the fetcher and the fetchee are together (like Gill and I). (Obviously, I am the fetchee.) I’ve always believed that karma would not allow me to be in a wheel chair because it always seems like folks who are in wheelchairs are fiercely independent and like to do everything for themselves. Since I’m only grudgingly independent, I figured that karma wouldn’t punish me in that way. Then, it happened. I met a person in a wheel-chair who was a textbook example of a fetchee. Just about the time I realized we couldn’t be friends because her fetchee status trumped mine and I was not about to become her fetcher (don’t judge me friends. We all have our character limitations, I just try to be more honest about mine on here), I realized that if a fetchee like her could end up in a wheelchair, well then so could I.
So back to last Tuesday night. I kept checking my feet in the bathroom and couldn’t decide if they were dark pink from squishing them to assess for numbness or because they were starting to turn black because of impending diabetes rot. (yes, that’s a little flash of my ignorance surrounding the disease) At one point, I noticed dark spots behind both my ankles. They almost looked like bruises but didn’t hurt. I was alarmed enough to want to wake up Gill to see if he had the same dark spots. I played that tape through and realized he would just yell at me and probably wouldn’t offer the extensive examination and reassurance that I was looking for. Instead, I got up and WebMDed the problem. Turns out there really is no such thing as diabetes rot, and after a brief thrombosis scare, I figured out it was probably just cold.
Yes indeed, the incident scared me friends. I’m changing my ways for real this time. Maybe that means I’ll blog more too!