Church Too. Me Too. Pregnant With Cancer. Complex PTSD. Avascular Necrosis. I’m F***ing Crippled. FML.

Dude, guys. I’ve had a FUCKED up week since I last posted.

Thanksgiving with my Trump-voting family wasn’t even all that bad, really.

If you’ve read even one of my other blogs, you’ll have an INKLING of how rough this weekend was on me.

But that’s not even the worst part of it.


Sure, I stayed pretty innebriated the entire time, as did they. But I got SOOOOOOOO much drunker the night before we left to make the 6-plus hour drive. I was STILL hung over when I took over driving just before hitting the hills of my former home in the Ozarks. Those roads are curvy has FUCK. When I was a kid, I literally got sick EVERY single time my parents would take us to the Ozarks for a week or so for our “family vacations.”


My poor two year old chemo baby got sick on the trip this time. My husband and I are both feeling fairly apprehensive about that new development.


But the weekend was actually pretty smooth. There were really only a handful of passive-aggressive remarks from my mother, zero from my older brother, and my dad did pretty good at keeping me pretty intoxicated as to be able to better handle the entire situation, as well as the searing pain in my post-pregnant-with-cancer hips.


Cancer treatments gave me avascular necrosis, you see. In layman’s terms, that means that my hips are literally ROTTING.


The trouble is, I’m too YOUNG to get the simple, effective hip replacement surgery. The surgery that, by most accounts, has a super quick recovery time, and will last me about 20 years.


You know…the 20 year in which I’ll be raising my daughter, assuming cancer doesn’t come back (there’s a 90% chance it won’t).


But, insurance won’t pay for a hip replacement before I’m 50, unless my femoral hip completely collapses (pretty likely, according to the one MRI I’ve gotten so far). FDA won’t even approve of a second hip replacement for people younger than 50. And there’s a FAIRLY good chance that I’ll need one, given the hip will only last me about 20 years, and I JUST turned 30 this year.


And…yeah. That’s why my weekend was so bad.


Today, Monday, I went to my bone doctor about the constant, debilitating, and crippling pain I’ve had in my left hip, the one which has already received the only surgery they can offer me right now (if I understand the situation correctly).


But, on account of I live in AMERICA…


the country Trump says he’s making “great….”


(he’s actually making it EASIER for my insurance to deny my claims right now…he could LITERALLY get me killed…)


My doctor’s hands are quite literally tied in every way imaginable: legally, financially, etc.


And that’s why actual Thanksgiving with my Trump-voting family was actually the HIGHLIGHT of the last week of my life.


Right now, my option is to get back on my crutches INDEFINITELY, try some more physical therapy, stay off my hip without crutches, and I finally qualify for a handicap sticker on my car (though I don’t think my disability payments will increase any). They could give me opiates, but given the psychological problems I’ve had for like, my entire life, I didn’t even ask for any painkillers to help with the SEARING pain currently coursing from my foot all the way to my shoulders.


And that’s on the side that already received the only available to me right now.


But I can’t even use marijuana to help with ANY of this.


Because America is “great,” or some fuckery like that.


So…yeah.


Thank you, Donald Trump. And the FDA. And Capitalism. And Citizen’s United. And Congress. And the Evangelical fuck heads that indoctrinated me into thinking capitalism was the absolute BEST when I was in High School in the early 2000’s.


Right now my best hope for EVER living anything RESEMBLING an active life, is for my hip to completely SHATTER before I’m like 50 or something.


And that’s assuming that I don’t relapse. While I don’t have insurance. Because America is great or some shit.


Bloody hell, I’m out of tequila. So I guess I’m signing off for tonight.


I was gonna write about music, and how I was a Music Minister before Christianity ruined singing for me forever. But how I’m trying to work my way back towards making music again. But on my own terms. And with my husband.


Instead, I’m awake at 2AM ranting to the internet about how my hip FUCKING HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER…….


And my doctor’s hands are tied.


Soooo….


Blessed be, ya’ll. I try to be in a better mood next week.

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