Vivir

Vivir- “to live” in Spanish

I was terrified. This is my first ever tattoo (probably won’t be my last) and I was so nervous.

In the past year there have been so many really painful medical procedures (a ton of blood draws, MRI contrast injections, copaxone injections every day, the glorious PICC line from when they thought I had Lyme disease, and, of course, the spinal tap), so I guess what I was thinking is that if I could make myself go to the hospital and willingly sit down and let them put a giant needle in my spine or a 34cm tube through my vein, I can probably go get the tattoo that I’ve been wanting since high school.

For once, logic worked out for me. Often, my brain doesn’t listen to logic. This happens a lot on airplanes, where my logic is saying reasonable things like “people fly this route every day” or “air travel is the safest form of travel” but my brain is saying “what is that noise? does that mean we’re going to die? we’re going to die. DIE.” But today my brain stopped saying ridiculous things and let me get my tattoo.

Senior year, as we were all preparing to leave Barcelona, a lot of the girls started talking about getting tattoos to sort of commemorate our time there or our high school years. Ada got a feather behind her ear that looks fantastic, I don’t know if any of the others went through with it. I think “vivir” appealed to me because living in Spain was one of the first times that I really felt like I was living. Unconjugated, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I kind of like that it’s just “to live.” When we were learning the “acabar de” construct in Spanish and we had to take turns formulating sentences, I said “acabo de vivir, pero siempre tengo alma.” Google translate doesn’t see that the same way I do, and it was naive and teenager-y and cliched and not as poetic as I thought it was.

As my dad pointed out, very few teenage girls bring their fathers along to get their first tattoo. As I pointed out, I’m kind of terrible at being a rebel.

 

The Orange Cat, or Why Sometimes You Can’t Be Positive

I try to think positive, I really do! My brother doesn’t believe me, he tells me I’m negative and cynical.

And I said maybe he’d be negative and cynical too if there was something eating his brain, so maybe I’m not really so positive as I hope.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this cat lately

^that cat.

Continuing on, I’ve been thinking a lot about the cat. Last year I spent a very long time (sigh) chasing around that cat in a graveyard in Paris just to get the perfect picture (possibly achieved up there).

Today I spent a beautiful summer day in the ER, which basically concluded in them giving me a very high dose of advil and saying sometimes people with MS just have pain. 

Here comes the return of the list:

Facts of today: 

1. I don’t want to be a person with MS

2. I don’t want to just have pain

3. I had decided that my choices for the day were to go to the gym or to go to the ER and find out why I was having severe chest pains, and I should have really chosen the gym

4. Today I am not an optimist

And so I wonder if there will be more days chasing an orange cat around a rainy cemetery in Paris, just to get that one perfect picture. Probably, because I’m not in a wheelchair, and my condition isn’t that bad, but some days it just doesn’t seem like it. 

Sorry, that was a long rant. See ya, everybody 🙂 

Epic. Nursing. Fail.

more to follow when I’m less annoyed about nurses and their epic fail tendencies. But I swear, I’m usually a positive person! I’m going to think happy thoughts about flowers and springtime (which has yet to arrive in Connecticut really, other than some random daffodils looking cold and lonely outside the science center)….