Skip to main content

Glossary


Cheat Sheet of my Loved Ones

Annie: My best friend since kindergarten, my soulmate, sister, past roommate, the keeper of all my secrets.

Mom: Mom, Chauffeur, Nurse, Housekeeper. Some people call her Cathie. Dad calls her Cat.

Dad: Dad. Monetary and Emotional Supporter. Some people call him Mitch. Others call him Coach. The rest call him Boss.

Sionne: Sister, twin, best friend, mom wannabe, worry wart, lonely coyote.

Nick: Brother, married to Sionne. Nicknames: Slack Daddy, Nicky Pant, Nick Pantalone, and Slack.

Jesse: Boyfriend, caretaker, and love of my life.

Max: 14 lb. dachshund, son, drinks water out of a glass, hates the outdoors and strangers, constant butt-licker, and bites his nails.

Reggie: 15 lb. wire-haired dachshund/schnauzer, son, loves outside and people, wants to be petted at all times, middle name's Shaq because he has the biggest dog dick my family's ever seen.

Fred and Jim: Beagle/Basset Hound brothers and cutest dogs alive.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I'm back

I've lost so many months. I know that sounds odd. How can someone lose months? Easily, time flies when you are chronically ill. I know that sounds odd.
Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, on and on until one day you realize it's March and you have been hospital sick since October. What the actual flying fuck? I missed winter again. That's twice in 3 years. I lost summer before that...5 years ago.
5 years ago I had to give up my dreams, quit my job, and start contemplating Plan B. I didn't know what the hell Plan B was (my plan, not the pill...phew, what a lifesaver in college). Now, I'm sitting here trying to figure out what Plan F could possibly entail and I can't believe how many seasons I've lost.
I've been sick since I was 10. For years I was wrapped in a blanket in the basement watching Charmed and Sabrina (I thought I was a witch for awhile, not Wiccan, a real magical witch who could control waves. It was a rough time.) At 16 came the blee…

Failure is not an Option

Friday afternoon- sitting in the passenger side of mom's red infiniti sports car on the way to Wegman's. We had just left my 2 1/2 hour long allergy appointment, I called my GI doctor's nurse.

"Hello. This is Gabrielle Rosenfeld. I am returning your call"

"Hi, Ms. Rosenfeld. We got your blood work back and I can't really say anything until a doctor looks at them, but, well..."

(5 minute conversation about my GI doctor's upcoming wedding and then back to business)

"I can't say anything right now. but the Humira levels and antibodies. It's nothing bad. Don't concern yourself. I will tell you on Monday or Tuesday, once they have a chance to read them."

"Great. Thanks."

(After 14 years, you know where this is heading...your body struck again. You know that all the hope and positive thinking in the fucking verse won't change your body. You know that whenever you try to get healthy your body goes on the defensive. {In…

Humorless

On Thursday I went numb. On Friday I went crazy. They stole my humor.  24 hours without a word from a doctor, the last one I saw told me that he didn't think I was having a stroke, but he'll go talk to his attendings and be back in a couple hours. 24 hours nurses and techs tried to get ahold of a doctor and each time they were dismissed and ignored. 24 hours I sat in a hospital bed wondering what I had done to deserve this, what I had done to be treated like a divorcee begging for her husband to come home and explain why. All I wanted was to talk and ask them a question, all I wanted was to be treated like an equal. They may have spent half their life in medical school, but I spent half my life fighting this disease. We are both experts in the field of Crohns.

My last hospitalization in November and December was two parts I've broken down into parts A and B. I agreed to be admitted to the hospital, begrudgingly, because I had no appetite or thirst. I was in excruciating pai…