Category: Plot Twist: Health Edition

  • The Edge of Monday

    “Sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn’t conquering a fear. It’s admitting that the fear scares the hell out of us in the first place.”

    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

    I’m fidgety. I’m standoffish. And if I’m being honest, it’s not because I don’t care—it’s because I care too much. Monday is looming, and with it comes the weight of the unknown.

    Monday is lung biopsy day. A not-so-fun adventure with a 20% chance of lung collapse and a guarantee of another day off work. It kind of feels like a make-or-break situation—answers will come one way or another. Part of me is bracing for news, but a bigger part of me fully expects the result to be: “Yep, you’re just weird!”

    When I get nervous, my edges sharpen. I’m not the soft, easygoing version of myself. I snap a little faster, retreat a little deeper, and build invisible walls out of sarcasm, distraction, or silence. Sometimes, if I’m forced into conversation, I overcompensate and talk too much—words spilling out just to fill the air. But truthfully? What I really want is to curl up under a furry blanket, head tucked down, lost in a game or a book where Monday doesn’t exist.

    Anxiety shows up in sneaky ways. For some, it’s over-talking. For me, it’s also under-sharing. I get quiet. My body wants motion—tap a pen, pace the room, rearrange things that don’t need rearranging—but my voice wants to shut down. It’s a survival mechanism, I think. If I stay guarded, I can’t be caught off guard.

    But here’s the paradox: the people around me don’t see “nervous and protecting herself.” They see “aloof” or “unapproachable.” That’s the tricky part about anxiety—it never translates quite the way we think it does.

    So I’m writing this down as both a confession and a reminder:

    • If I seem standoffish, it’s not you. It’s me trying to manage the storm inside.
    • If I’m fidgeting, it’s because my nerves need an outlet before my brain implodes.
    • And if I’m distant, it’s because I’m bracing myself for Monday, not because I want distance from you.

    Monday will come, as it always does. The biopsy will happen. I’ll either laugh about how dramatic I was being, or I’ll start another chapter I didn’t ask for but will handle anyway. Either way, I’ll face it the same way I face everything else—head-on, with a mix of grit, humor, and stubbornness.

    But for now, I’m just here, restless and edgy, doing my best to own it instead of hide it.

    #HealthJourney #AnxietyUnmasked #TheEdgeOfMonday #RealTalk #FacingFears #WeConquerAsOne

  • Superhero in Training

    Superhero in Training

    If I could be a superhero, I’d name myself The Radiant Rebel.

    And yes — I would absolutely have a cape. Sorry, Edna Mode, I know you hate them, but I’m convinced we could invent something that doesn’t end in disaster — like an automatic retraction system or a slippery, no-stick, no-jam coating that lets me soar through the sky, slide through cracks like a mouse, and sparkle like I just left a glitter factory. No more “Is it a bird? Is it a plane?” Everyone would just know… it’s The Radiant Rebel.

    And this week? I officially began my superhero training.

    Day 1: Wi-Fi Woman

    Spent the weekend with electrodes hooked up to my head, basically turning me into my own personal Wi-Fi tower. For once, I got to hog the bandwidth instead of my two teenage “protectors” playing whatever games require the cooling capacity of an industrial AC unit.

    Activating brain Wi-Fi. Side effects may include itching, sarcasm, and unlimited streaming speed.

    Day 2: Adhesive & Attitude

    Electrodes off — finally! Those things itch by day four. And the glue? Strong enough to hold my indestructible cape together. On our way from my Ithaca doctor to my Syracuse doctor (scenic route via Cayuga Lake), we made a pit stop tour — gas station, Kinney Drugs, another gas station — desperately trying to get the glue out. We tried wet wipes, leave-in conditioner, dry shampoo. Pro tip: don’t. I ended up looking like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.

    Arrived in Syracuse for my next fashion show.

    Suit up, they said. Save the world, they said. Nobody mentioned the couture would be polyester blend.

    Hairnet in place, rocking a hospital gown, I waddled to the OR where the team zip-bang-boomed a small repair. We chatted about scuba diving and argued over the playlist — I settled on “We’ve Got Tonight” by Kenny Rogers and “Rocket Man” by Elton John. Fitting…

    Day 3: Glow Juice Initiation

    Back home, after four actual hair washes and a dystopian dream where I fought bad guys (cape desperately needed), it was time for part three of training.

    After 24 hours with no carbs and no sugar (Brooklyn Pickle lunch = cheese, salami, green peppers), I was injected with a radioactive substance shipped in a steel box from our state capital. “We only have one,” the tech told me, tucking me in with a warm blanket. No pressure. Then an hour of sitting still before sliding into the transformation chamber — half an hour of scanning, arms above my head, like reverse flying.

    Step 3 in superhero training: inject the glow juice from Albany. Step 4: don’t think too hard about why it needed a steel box.

    The Worst Part: Waiting

    Here’s the truth — the waiting is brutal. Am I fit to be the Radiant Rebel? Or do I start building an even more fabulous wig collection? The odds are in my favor (shout-out to “Brock University” for the 6–12% stat), but the scan and an upcoming biopsy will have the final say.

    Until then… I wait. I chat with ChatGPT (“give me the no-bullshit answer”), and I let the glow juice work its magic, transforming me into the villain-defeating, bad-ass, sparkly-cape-wearing Radiant Rebel.

    Every hero needs a signature scent. Mine smells like steel, ambition, and mild world domination.
  • Wired for the Weekend

    Wired for the Weekend

    This weekend’s accessory lineup: sunglasses, a black cover-up, and a head full of wires. Oh, and the hair? Yeah… it’s a wig.

    I’m rocking a 72-hour EEG — basically a brain activity stakeout — because I’ve had a few “misfires” lately. Some pass-out moments. Some seizure-like moments. Definitely not the kind of plot twists I had on my 2025 bingo card.

    The goal? To figure out what’s going on in that big brain of mine and why it occasionally decides to hit the off switch without warning.

    Now, I could’ve spent the weekend hiding at home. But instead, I decided to make it work. A little extra fashion (wig included), the same amount of fun, and plenty of attitude. Because if I’ve learned anything through this whole process, it’s that the tough stuff doesn’t get to own the good days — I do.

    So here I am: wired, wigged, and still me. Maybe even a little more me… 😬

    Just a few wires