My day with not Hugh Jackman and not Anderson Cooper

Anyone with a chronic illness (CFS, Fibromyalgia, SLE, any form of arthritis, etc.) has probably had the “don’t over do it” conversation with doctors, family members, and their brain.  For me, this idea is ridiculous.  The target for overdoing it moves every hour.   When I feel a hint of “healthy” I’m so excited to fill up that precious time with things I’d like to do that, before I know it, I’m bawling hysterically at Anderson Live and hobbling out of the studio being assisted into a cab by two lovely staff members.   Yep, that’s what I did on Thursday.

I spent Monday and Tuesday in bed, resting up after my road trip.  I need a lot of recovery time after an excursion, y’all.  Unfortunately,  two days were not enough.  Instead of staying in bed, I hopped a plane to NYC to see my husband.  I missed him.  Since he had business meetings all day, I decided it would be fun to go see hunky Anderson Cooper on Anderson Live.

A few problems:

1.  You have to show up a 7.  A.M.!  I haven’t been awake at 7 a.m. since 2005.

2.  A bursa in my hip is irritated and it was becoming quit painful to walk.

3.  Anderson was in Rome.   WTF?  He’s not even Catholic.  I don’t think.

Somehow, I made it and after the show I took a picture with not Hugh Jackman.

Not Hugh

I went up a few steps when, suddenly, my irritated bursa became my full on enraged bursa.  Every time I moved my leg, a searing jolt of violent pain erupted in my hip.  I was trying desperately to keep my shit together but when some security guy directed me towards two flights of stairs, the tears started – like I had a hole in the back of my head and someone attached a water hose, cranked it on and the only place for that water to go was out of my eyes. Seriously, I was in danger of rapid dehydration.  I looked like a cartoon character.  “I’m…gonna…need…an…ela…ela.  Is there an elevator?”  Poor guy.  I made it to the very full elevator and really wished I had sunglasses or a mask or a TARDIS but nope.  I tried to hide in the corner but people tend to notice a woman bawling and holding onto the wall for dear life.  Great.

Side note:  How many of you think it’s odd that I’m all worried about making other people uncomfortable when I’m in wicked pain?  Let me just say that I agree.  That shit is messed up.

I slowly hobbled toward the exit when two very sweet staff members approached me.  They looked like they were frantically searching for someone.  They were.  Turns out, they were looking for me.  Yay.

Anderson’s people:  Oh my god, are you ok?  Are you hurt?  We heard someone was in pain.

Me:  Just kill me.  I’m so sorry.  I’m just having some issues with my bursa.

Anderson’s people:  What can we do?

Me:  Do you have a giant syringe full of cortisone you could shoot into my hip?

Anderson’s people:  What?

Me:  Could you help me get a cab?  I’ll be fine.  I just need a cab.

So one goes and gets a cab while the other one stays with me.  I told her that crying releases endorphins.  “Really?”  I hope so because I could sure use some endorphins and a TARDIS.  Then I may have quoted Legally Blonde and mentioned something about having lots of pharmaceuticals back at the hotel.

The View

Luckily, I had a great view from my hotel window because that’s about all I saw of NYC.  I did have drinks with a bunch of famous actors that work with Tom Hanks but that’s a different story.  Honestly, I drank a martini so I don’t remember much of it and I don’t have any pictures so it’s like it didn’t really happen.  I will say that I was totally cool and didn’t do anything stupid.  That anyone has proof of.  To my knowledge.   I may have been the opposite of cool.

Anyone else try to make everyone feel ok with the fact that you’re feeling horrible?  Is that normal and I just have no idea what normal looks like?

 

American German – language lesson #26

Alles ist ok. Ich kann das Bein wieder annähen. (all-es ist okay. Ick can das bine vee-der an-nay-hen) Everything is fine.  I can have that leg reattached.  – I would probably say that, you know, between screams.

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