Ice, Ice Baby

Background:

This is reputed to be a photo of an actual museum in the US.

Study Notes:

Why must food be anthropomorphised? I don't want my food to have a face. It can't. That means eyes to watch me eat it and a mouth to complain about my biting it. And the crying. Sweet Jesus. The crying.

I could not EVER, even if caught in the most dire of need, make myself eat (open) food that had been stored next to (open) footwear.

Why is the ice cream a soldier? Why is he grinning through a gory head wound? Why was he sent into battle with a, clearly, faulty helmet? Why does his friend appear to have arterial spray FROM HIS STOMACH? And why does it look like there's a manic aerosol can behind them, marching and drooling? WTAF KIND OF ICE CREAM SOCIAL IS THIS?

They made someone dress as ice cream? Seriously? Promoting dehumanisation and cannibalism in one overstuffed, sweltering, getting kicked in the tenders by brats, move.

Calling an ice cream a 'push up' does not count as exercise.

I'm all for supporting causes you believe in, but having an AIDS ribbon censoring something--no doubt grossly inappropriate--next to that strawberry ice cream is just...appalling.

Why is that poor boy (?) condemned to eating beared ice cream? Once your ice cream has been so neglected it has formed its own bitter sharded fortress of solitude, it is time to let it go...go down the sink. It's...it's just not for tummies anymore...

I don't know, maybe he has a 'script for the glasses. But I think making the cow wear a cheese hat is def crossing over into cruelty....

A Very Special Message, From Your God, Thor (or, "Breaking, Bad")

We got a call early yesterday, just before 8am, that if we wanted an MRI, we better be at the hospital by 8.

Small problem: we live a large bit outside a few minutes from the hospital.

Additional small problem: My migraine, which hasn't so much as paused for months now, was in a state so enraged that the S.U. was only here to answer the phone--and attempt to break all laws of physics AND biology to reach the hospital--by being afraid, rather beyond terrified, to leave me alone, and so had been delaying going to work until the last possible moment...

But there was NO WAY to miss a chance at the MRI. Even in extreme migraine, even with myself and my doctor having no contact whatsoever from the specialist, even, well, ANYTHING--

Tumour in the head? Always wins.

I'm fairly sure, despite all my willpower, I screamed most of the way there. The roads are terrible, and, each time my body gets thrown, the flashing intensifies, oh, and my head tries even harder to explode.

I had to wait through someone else's appt, which would have been fine, except they made me wait right outside the MRI.

As they told me much later--after I had humiliated myself by hysterically stumbling, mostly blind, through the crowd of waiting room B, sobbing and screaming and trying desperately to find my spouse, not understanding how I wasn't dead yet because it felt like my head, and my whole torso, was being broken, being beaten, smashed to pieces by bricks--an MRI causes perm hearing damage, and is so loud, "it's dB exceeds that of a jackhammer."

I'm so exhausted, and I can't drop into sleep for more than minutes, at most, before the pain, literally, smashes me awake. I'm still mostly blind, just seeing flashing, strobbing. It's not even white, but deep deep red. As if my eyes or brain are actually bleeding.

For all I know, they are.

But, for what, by random, has turned out to be my 500th post, I refuse to leave just crawling out in shame. I'm doing that, but I am also sharing A Very Special Message from Thor.

And, in doing that, I am in no way suggesting certain people need a hammer upside the head. No. I would insist they DESERVE it. Since they care about no one else, the suffering of others means nothing to them. Hell, they wouldn't feel agony at seeing their children, or any of their family, in needless pain. But their own cranium? Cracking THAT they would care about. Some people would be well served by a shot of pain, because they are...so completely absent of anything like empathy.

But I digress, Thor's Hammer has other places to be:

Hey, No Need To Rush...

So, if, after badgering and badgering your doctor, and I mean RELENTLESS, like a rabid, well, badger, I guess. Your doctor FINALLY does a specific test.

And the test results are: OHSHITSERIOUSLYOHSHIT

You get sent for more tests and more, and your doctor, who you always thought pretty much hated you, is visibly worried, frantic even, and is trying to get you into specialists and an MRI with every favour, trick, or paperwork that can be scrambled.

And your doctor's request for a MRI is denied.

But you do see a specialist--actually you see the specialist's intern / assistant / something, because the specialist doesn't have time for patients, even though you thought that was the major part of the whole 'doctor' gig. But, after a FOUR HOUR differential and history and exam, the specialist pops in for maybe 30 seconds. Most of which is to scan over test results, and then fill out a req for a MRI, and mark it URGENT.

Because the tests so far all 'suggest' you've got a tumour in your head, and 9 out of 10 doctors agree that is a Bad Thing.

(The tenth doctor insisted on Very Bad Thing)

Oh, and when they believe said growth is big enough that it is crushing your pituitary AND your optic nerve--sending your hormones into chaos, your migraines into excruciating (and potentially lethal), and frequently shorting out your vision...

When you get all this, and you get your MRI appt...oh, and most importantly, you are me:

Your appt is in two months.

I am not being a drama queen when I tell you...

The pain, and everything else, but oh especially the pain, is getting worse
EVERY SINGLE DAY. I can't--

I can't imagine I'll be alive in two months...