Posts tagged ‘sick’

An Open Letter to Ann Romney


Stop it.
Stop it right now.

Stop using your illnesses as a campaign issue if you’re never once going to talk about the need to further awareness or the need to raise money for research or for anything other than furthering your own selfish agenda — all the while denying you are doing anything of the sort.

It’s disgusting.
So, stop it.

Because what you’re using it to snag is the White House. And the White House is the residence of the most prominent public servant in the United States. But public service is most assuredly not what you are advocating with the Ann Romney Pity Party Road Show.

The ME ME ME interview-train you are steering into seemingly any and every station with a broadcast signal or rag with publication privileges has steered very clear of any meaningful discussion of what real illness really does to real people.

But then it kind of has to, doesn’t it, Ann.

Because you wouldn’t know about any of that.

Because your situation is not representative of what real illness really does to real people.

Trust me, I know.
Because I am a real person really affected by real illness and I’m tired of your act.

I am Multiple Sclerosis – each and every day since my diagnosis on May 15, 2009.

I am also married with a mortgage, a full-time (and then some) corporate manager, and I am in the game.
And I — like the mostly 400,000 other Americans living, dealing and coping with the real realities of Multiple Sclerosis — do it all every day without spinning my sad tale of woe to manipulate situations for my own personal gains.

Because that’s disgusting.
So, stop it.

“I want people to believe in their hearts that we know what it is like to struggle,” you said this past Sunday on NBC’s ‘Meet The Press’. ” … our struggles have not been financial, but they’ve been with health and with difficulties in different things in life.”

Ann?
If you can lament MS as your ‘cruel teacher’ yet have absolutely no comprehension of financial hardship that often goes hand-in-hand with long-term and/or incurable illness, then I once more must advise you to stop it. Stop it right now.

No one begrudges you — or your husband — your success.
That is not what this is about.

The dream, the promise and the hopeful realization of financial success is part of the very foundation of our country.
Congrats on making it.

What this is about is that you put yourself front-and-center and go on and on (and on and on) about your struggles with MS and how you “don’t know how much is it going to chew me up and spit me out?” … and you, like the rest of us wonder “How sick am I going to get? … Am I going to be in a wheelchair?” … and you, like the rest of us, know “It’s a very, very frightening place to be.” … yet you never once ever (ever!) talk about why all of that is why we need to bring the issue to the forefront, to make health care a true and meaningful part of a national discussion, to raise awareness, to raise money for research, to find a cure (because we could) — for it and all of the many other diseases out there for which there is no cure, little money, even less discussion and scant hope … and so on and so forth.

What this is about is that you, Ann, are in the perfect position to do just that.
But you never talk about the bigger picture.
You never speak of or to the greater good.
Ever.

Shame on you!


It’s just the never ending Ann Romney Pity Party Road Show.
A true story about Ann Romney.
Starring Ann Romney.
Talking only about Ann Romney.

So, do not attempt to class yourself with me or other folks like me when it comes to Multiple Sclerosis.
Ever.

Because ‘The Hug’, the skin flips, eye jumbles, pulls, seizures, spasticity, word fishing, fog, falling, paralyzing fatigue, constant pain, more than occasional Krueger Claw and all of the other ruthless physical and emotional realities of daily life with MS are but a part of the conversation that speaks to that bigger picture you don’t talk about.

That bigger picture that, for the rest of us includes things like:
The worry over what to do about work when you can’t walk or think.
::: You don’t work, so this is not something that weighs heavily on your mind. Why talk about it, right? That’s not your MS. :::

The fear your colleagues will find out and feel you’re suddenly ‘less than’ capable.
::: Your colleagues on the campaign eagerly have you play the victim card, so this is not fundamentally significant to you. Why talk about it, right? That’s not your MS. :::

The financial stranglehold imposed by uncovered insurance costs.
::: We all know that ‘financial struggles’ are not intrinsic to your way of life. Why talk about it, right? That’s not your MS. :::

And so much more I don’t need to get into here because why talk about it, right, Ann? That’s not your MS.

But it is mine.

My MS means nearly $4,000 every month for just 4 Avonex injections (that’s just a one-month supply, Ann).

My MS means as much as $5,000 twice a year for brain or cervical spine MRIs to monitor my progression.

My MS means feeling helpless and very, very (very) scared when people I know and care about die from MS.

People like Dan Aronie …

People like my high school classmate Clay …

Oh but that’s just my MS, Ann.

Not yours.

And I know you don’t concern yourself with those things not Ann Romney.
::: Choo Choo!! And the Ann Romney Pity Party Road Show MUST go on! :::

Ann, I don’t doubt that you do you understand a small smidge of the physical plight the rest of us MS patients endure, but you cannot even begin to understand what it is like to live with (and in spite of) the rest.

So do not try to ‘relate’ to me, girlfriend. ‘kay?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a working professional living with (and paying for) MS … and I approved this message.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

::: and I don’t really care what you think about it, Ann :::

September 18, 2012 at 6:23 pm 8 comments

PSA, Bitches!


I know it’s summer and all and the kids are out of school and nagging you to the point of insanity on a daily basis right about now to go to some sunny spot to get their vakay on and stuff and a lot of the time that means places in Florida, which is fine and all as long as you STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM SUMMERFIELD, that is.

No shit.

Because I don’t know if it’s the water or the food or the air or the parenting or the lack thereof for any of the aforementioned, but something is definitely grimly, grizzly, grotesquely rotten in Summerfield, Florida … which is only about a half hour from Ocala and an hour or so from Orlando, where people go and gather and do summer-type fun and/or family things but may want to reconsider if for no other reason than the sheer proximity to some crazy ass pubescent crackheads in Summerfield, who seem to think it’s just a big ol’ slice of OK! to torture a trick for, uhh, well, NOTHING it seems!

BEWARE!!

Just scant months ago, a grand jury sat for about a nanosecond of a micronanosecond before indicting five hopefully future penal institute punching bags in the only-in-the-movies type murder of a 15-year-old in Summerfield, who investigators say was beaten and shot multiple times, hit with a blunt object so his kneecaps would shatter, then tossed into a burning fire pit before his remains were disposed of in five-gallon paint cans in a secluded area.

Uh huh.

And now comes news that a couple of other Internet Generation idiots made the dimwitted decision to ‘torture, kill and dismember’ another kid.

Doesn’t anyone just go to the fucking beach anymore?!?

According to the Orlando Sentinel, ‘The boys were playing an Xbox computer game and discussed a proposal to gag the boy, hit him over the head and stuff him into a “Kevlar bag” so he would sink when they threw him into waters near Miami.’

Uh huh.

This is the poodge that passes for summertime fun for some perturbed little punks in Summerfield these days.

The second boy offered to bring a “torture kit” that he said he kept in the trunk of his car.

Read that one more time.

The kid is riding around with all of the ingredients assembled to inflict an outrageous amount of anguish on another soul.

And he thinks it’s ok.

Uh huh.

Now me? Oh sure. The Cookie’s got some junk in her trunk.

A pair of jumper cables, a blanket, a light-up suction-cup AU sign and pair of platform shoes.

Not exacely ridin’ dirty … or murdery like some people I could name but won’t because the popo haven’t released the little fucker’s name yet, but a sheriff’s search of the butchery little bastard’s trunk revealed an ax, surgical cutting tools, a torch lighter, rope and scissors.

Uh huh.

The teens were each arrested on a charge of conspiracy to commit murder.

So, seriously and frealz out there whoever you are and wherever you may be accessing LIAC from … STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM SUMMERFIELD ‘cuz the kids there?

They ain’t RIGHT!

July 11, 2011 at 4:53 pm 1 comment

{{{{{ SHON! }}}}}


You gave me one of my most recent moments of pure joy when, at 10 in the morning of February 3, you told me you loved me as only a National Signing Day recruit can — by committing to me Auburn for the next several years.

And now I return the love as only an Auburn-obsessed (and therefore everything related to Auburn-obsessed) devotee can — by committing all of my positive energy squarely in your direction and wishing you every ounce of everything good and pure that I possibly can as you battle back to health.

You can do it – we’re all here for you!

SOURCE
SOURCE

March 29, 2010 at 7:39 pm

WHAAAAT?!


I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or be so afraid I soil myself — but I think the smart money is on an all-out crying jag complete with full-blown conniption in the middle of my cul-de-sac for all the world street to see.

Why?

I …
I …
Oh god, I can’t even say!

ACK!

Ihadasexdreamaboutjohnmccain

OK, there. I said it.

ACK!!!

How did this happen?
How could this happen?
Did I drink too much specially spiked Cookie Kool-Aid during the Super Bowl?
Did I consume something so spicy it rendered me completely clueless – even during my R.E.M cycle?

I’ve been giving myself the third-degree all day!
I just don’t know!

But there I was, in my dream, looking over a proposed redistricting map of Palm Beach County working up a good rage over the scheme.
In the room were several political figures, including Charlie Crist (who I know good and well why I wasn’t propped to bump fuglies with *wink wink*) and John McCain.
I’m looking at the map, gettin’ my ‘You bastards will never get away with this’ ‘tude when all of a sudden Big Mac is behind me and … well, peepaw is 100% proppin’ me and EWWWWWW!!!!!!!

Whatinthegoddmanedmutherfuckingbloodyhell?!?!?!
I …
I …
I can’t go on!
What does it mean?!

Republicans are raping America? Fucking us where we stand with our pants on?!

That’s got to be it, right?

RIGHT?!?!

You have to tell me that’s right because otherwise I’d be afraid it meant something vomitus extremus and I’d worry I’d have to turn in my bleeding-heart liberal commie pinko card, which I will never surrender willingly!

Oh please – someone help me — is there some magic elixir out there I can use to wipe clear the apparent and thoroughly twisted corners of my sick, sick mind?
If so, take pity and help a sister out – email that fix to mmmm.lifeisacookie@gmail.com

February 8, 2010 at 11:22 am 6 comments

Off the clock


Today’s heartwarming holiday-time tale comes courtesy of  The City of Brotherly Love — where the caring and compassionate crew over at Aria Health’s Frankford Campus couldn’t be bothered to check on a man clutching his chest in apparent distress … then losing consciousness … then losing, well, LIFE.

Hospital security video shows 63-year-old Joaquin Rivera going to the window twice in the 11 minutes after he arrived on Saturday, complaining of chest pain – which you’d think medical types would take a few shades of serious, right?

Not in Philadelphia they don’t!

No one bothered to check on Rivera for almost an hour — even after he reluctantly released all responsiveness and apparently said a big ol’ buh-bye to breathing.

Well, no one, that is, except for the asshat who made a five-finger discount on the dying man’s watch!

Philly fuckery!!!

The cops have confiscated the tape and are planning a sweeping investigation of hospital neglect that will undoubtedly result in a scathing indictment of the facilities nincompoopedness and lead to stricter controls on patient care.

HAHAHAHA!!!!
Noooo.

They’re just goin’ after the watch ripper-offer.

Way to stay classy, Philly!

SOURCE

December 8, 2009 at 10:51 am 1 comment

Uhhh …


I, uhh, don’t even, uhh, know, uhh, how to, uhh, ‘digest?!’ this, uhh, ‘piece’ …

SOURCE

November 17, 2009 at 11:04 am 3 comments

Pucker up, Buttercup!


Well slip me the tongue and call me protected!

I have been saved by the smooch!!

Some big brain over in Britain did some super serious scientifical researchification and discovered that “female inoculation with a specific male’s cytomegalovirus is most efficiently achieved through mouth-to-mouth contact and saliva exchange, particularly where the flow of saliva is from the male to the typically shorter female.”

Which is really just a big ol’ fancified $20 way of saying swapping spit can stop my sweet ass from getting sick!
Now I know why it is that I so very rarely get ill …

I’ve been innoculated by nookie!
::: and I LIKE it!! :::

I AM A MEDICAL MIRACLE!!!

I’M GONNA LIVE FOREVER!!!!!!!!!

::: suckit sickos!! :::

Dr. Colin Hendrie of the University of Leeds says that smoochin’ on the same person for about six months provides the best protection.
::: I have soooo met that quota! :::

“As the relationships progresses and the kisses become more passionate, the woman’s immunity builds up, cutting her odds of becoming ill,” a report in the journal Medical Hypotheses states.

Flu shot, schmooo shmot — I am so healthy I don’t even need that shit!!!

I’m gonna go drink for 30 hours straight, get high on paint fumes, run with scissors and tear up the organ donor card, ‘cuz I’m here for the duration, bitches!

HAHAHAHAHA YEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Hey hey Mr. Cookie! Bring those live savin’ lips back over here, babe!

SOURCE

November 6, 2009 at 11:03 am 2 comments

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