{"id":14360,"date":"2020-06-09T15:39:49","date_gmt":"2020-06-09T22:39:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/godammit.com\/?p=14360"},"modified":"2020-06-09T15:39:49","modified_gmt":"2020-06-09T22:39:49","slug":"triage","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/godammit.com\/triage\/","title":{"rendered":"Triage"},"content":{"rendered":"

Having left off with a heartbroken post about Mother’s Day, I am back with more miserable reflections of the state of things, or more specifically the state of me, Sister Wolf.<\/p>\n

Remember when I fell and broke my pelvis<\/a>? Well, I have done it again! Hard to believe, I know, and yet there it is. This time I fell in my own home in a stupid fluke accident and landed on my bad leg with the hardware in it. The hardware was sturdy but my pelvis was not. The part that broke is the pubis ramus, a fucking bummer.<\/p>\n

So I had to get an ambulance, and the EMT guys were sorry about taking me to the hospital, acting like they were delivering me to certain death from Coronavirus. I sobbed about dying but since I couldn’t stand up, I had no choice.<\/p>\n

The hospital was great! There were no COVID patients there, and the nurses were lovely young women who chatted with me about everything and brought me extra coffee when I begged for it. At night, the ward was full of screaming and moaning, but not from me. One doctor talked to me for more than an hour about his life and aspirations. When I went home after 2 days, I missed all the companionship.<\/p>\n

Twelve years ago when I broke my pelvis, some awful Russian cunt<\/a> made it a project to mock my pain on her stupid blog, which I then parodied on a blog<\/a> I devoted to mocking her back. Those were the days, eh?<\/p>\n

So now I need to use a walker to get around my house, and I’m in nearly constant pain. I guess I could take this opportunity to become addicted to opiates, but nah, why bother? I have a nice physical therapist who keeps calling me ma’am. My poor husband has to help with everything, and I secretly wonder if he can distinguish me from his 103 year old mother. His mother has a better attitude, obviously.<\/p>\n

Yesterday, my oxygen saturation was 94 %, not good. It connects me to the cultural inflection points of George Floyd<\/a> ( I can’t breathe) and the pandemic (low oxygen is a symptom of COVID 19.)<\/p>\n

I watched the funeral service in Houston today, and envied the solidarity of black families. My friend Romeo told me that this is because we’ve never allowed black people to have anything else. If this is true, I still envy those families. The love and the loyalty is so absent in my own family, a pill that grows more bitter the older I get. All the feuds and petty squabbles. Even when times are tough, my family is incapable of pulling together.<\/p>\n

On top of everything, I found a hairdresser who is making house-calls, so she came over last week and spent four hours ruining my beautiful hair. She left me with some shit in my hair to rinse off in 15 minutes. If she’d stayed for it to dry, she would have heard my shriek of horror when I looked in the mirror to find a platinum fright wig where my beautiful highlights used to be.<\/p>\n

$\"\"$ <\/a><\/p>\n

Ha ha! Life is full of jokes, if only you have the sense of humor to enjoy them! I do enjoy them, up to a point, you know?<\/p>\n

If you have time, pray to the gods of your understanding that my pelvis mends and I don’t die of Coronavirus before I get to have a last laugh at someone else’s expense, hopefully Trump’s<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Thanks in advance! xoxo<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"