I found myself in a familiar situation last week. I guess I should be used to it by now. I sat, perched uncomfortably on the exam table, trying to explain to my doctor why my thyroid doctor isn’t concerned
“Go upstairs, son. You may come down when you’re calmer.” I was gritting my teeth, trying to stand up straight. He raged towards me, throwing random things as he came across them. No one else was in his path
I read an article last night that made me both sad and angry at the same time. I’m fairly sure that’s not what the author or individuals interviewed had in mind, but it was like looking into a mirror.
Today, my son asked me if my upcoming surgery would “make it so that you can get off the sofa and give us more attention?” Owww! Gut hit there, kiddo. Let’s add some more mom guilt to the pile,
I’m home from the conference! I’ll post more about that later, but since my brain is fried I’m doing this instead. Dear GPS I don’t know how I managed without you all these years. I suck at