It is said that bad things happen in threes. You know the game–a famous person dies, and sure enough, within a short period of time, two more famous people day. I find it happens with disappointing situations, when it comes to my own personal Idaho. Recently, three separate, disappointing things have occurred in my life. Each makes me a special, separate angry/disappointed:
1. About 2 pm yesterday, my amazing husband forwarded an email from our land lady. We have to be out January 31, 2012. ‘…hope that house you were looking at works out for you…’ Now, I can’t say this is a huge surprise, but, and I’m trying not to be unpleasant here, this is a very bad time to move: a) in Upstate New York, when the weather can be unpredictable, and b) in my recovery. Honestly, I’m not even two weeks out from the last one and not even five weeks out from the one before that. I need to rest and get ready for my triumphant return to my work place, and instead, or, in addition to, I have to pack and move for the 47th time. No, I’m not kidding.
2. On Black Friday, I excitedly bought some fantastic, bargain-priced Chanukah presents for my boys. The total, though it is none of your business, was $97, including tax. Today I realized I was charged for shipping, when it was supposed to be free. I used PayPal, so the very kind Target customer service representative politely informed me that she can’t re-apply the cash in kind to my PayPal account. Instead, she had to issue me a Target gift card for the amount of $13. I have to say, while I am very pleased to have $13 in Target money at my disposal, why can’t I just have the money put back on the credit card I used to back up my PayPal account? What was the benefit of using PayPal instead of my credit card if the funds originate from the same account? While I was looking at my bank account associated with said splendorous Chanukah presents, I noticed it was a little light. Yes, I have been shopping like it’s my job, but there were about $285 in unauthorized charges to my account–and since my PayPal is linked to a checking account, someone apparently spent Black Friday shopping on my dime. I’m impressed–I don’t know how the hell I was hacked, but I was. I’m lucky I noticed it at $285 and not more, but hey–I have bills to pay! Again, can I just have my money back? Ah–there it is–I supposed folk more Holy than I might tell me it wasn’t my money to begin with, it was just a gift from G-d, and while I might agree if it happened to someone else, in this case it means the difference between bills paid on time and bills paid late.
3. Lefty is infected. Thank G-d it isn’t worse, but it originated in my drain site. Over the long Thanksgiving weekend my left ‘breast’ was swollen like a Hooters girl, while Righty strained to keep her dignity. I was sick, too, vomiting like it was the Friday after Thanksgiving and I was at the yearly drink-fest with all my friends who went away to different colleges and we were toasting our new-found knowledge. You know, the kind of party where you end up telling everyone how much you love them before you wake up in a pile of your own vomit, hugging the toilet like it is your new spouse, your shirt half over your head and your wallet empty on the floor next to the clippings of your recently shaved single eye brow. OK, maybe not the same cause of the vomit-fest, but still, it sucks just the same. Vomiting, combined with alternating sweats/chills, added to the cantaloupe stuck on my chest (and upsetting my severe spinal stenosis between C3-C8) make for a fun time. It started Wednesday, and by Saturday (Shabbat, to those MOTs out there) it was melon-sized. I ended up calling the plastic surgeon on call ON SHABBAT, oy, it hurt soooo bad, to ask if I could take the antibiotics I have on hand for just such an emergency. She said that ‘sounded reasonable,’ but wanted to follow up with a little Augmentin. I forgot that Augmentin was a bitch to me a few years ago, but remembered when she kicked my ass and put me back in the vomitorium again. I had to call the doctor on call once again and she arranged for a revisit of my old friend Keflex. So far, two days later, I’m less busty. I’m still not out of the Playboy Club on the left side, so hopefully that will recede soon. If it doesn’t, they will have to aspirate with ultrasound. I’ve never been to that party, but it doesn’t sound like that much fun. Pray Lefty gets sick of her immodest ways and goes back to being a rock star, not a porn star!
On top of all of this, I am feeling a little weak, having gone through at least five surgeries/procedures since March. At least three were big operations. What I have learned in situations like this is that if I don’t get pissed off, I will be pissed on. I need to be the one to take action. When I found myself infected, I realized I didn’t want to call the doctor on call because I was afraid of the ‘anxious’ label that had been placed upon me by some members of the medical committee (you know who you are–and I know you read my blog:P). However, if I hadn’t, the infection would have gotten worse, spread, and who knows what. If I had ignored the additional charges to my bank account and just assumed it was my darling husband buying me exciting, lavish gifts, I’d be out some money (not that my husband doesn’t buy me those things, just not in small increments and maybe not from Target, but who knows. The small increments was the key it wasn’t him). Finding a place to live in two months smack dab in the middle of winter will really, really be unpleasant (read: suck), but we will find a place, I know, G-d willing, that is better than what we have now. If I hadn’t gotten angry, I wouldn’t have been able to make the important changes that need to happen sooner than later. Just like with my approach to Breast Cancer–go all in, get it done, and get out. Get pissed off, not pissed on.