Today it has been two months since my surgery and to be honest with you guys, I forgot that living didn’t have to be painful. Over the last few weeks I have been reminded that daily living could be refreshing and fun and not so god damn exhausting.

As spring begins to peek out its head and shake off the dust of winter, I too am feeling the renew and rebirth of the season like a wee baby doe. I am feeling so fresh and so clean with far more pep in my step. Mainly cause my body has far less toxins in it than it used to.

I have to tell you, feeling like an Outkast lyric is pretty great considering I used to feel like Tears of a Clown on repeat. Who knew having functioning organs is an instant way to get some swagger back in your step.

This is my time to really embrace the next phase in my life. My experience has taught me so much about life, people, love and who I am. As clichéd as it sounds, it was a life changing experience, I feel like a new woman. I just want to tackle Life an then tickle it into submission and then stop tickling Life because tickling is a form of torture and I like Life, hell I love Life, why would I want to torture it?

And after Life and I are all giggled out I will say thanks to Life. Thanks for getting me here. Thanks for getting to a point where I can fully embrace and fully admit what I really want to do with my life is to perform and create.  I would have appreciated some sort of version or dream to lead me towards my true pursuit but I guess a chronic illness does the trick too. Feeling so close to losing it all made me really treasure what I have in my life, what and who I love and what I want.

Having your own personal truth is very powerful. For a very long time I tried to be everything and I spread myself to thin. Knowing what I know now it is has become apparent to me if you want something you must admit it to yourself, embrace it and then pursuit it. If you do that you can never fail.

My kidney transplant was March 8.  My life changed on March 8.

 March 8^th will forever be a day that I think of my best friend Jess’s generosity and love that busts out of her tiny little body like the sun shining through the cracks. March 8 is the day that I no longer had to hook up to a dialysis machine every night before I went to sleep. March 8 will be the day that when I am rich, I will take Jess on lavish vacations with little sandwiches, fruity drinks and massages and it still won’t  show a fraction of the gratitude I feel for this warrior of a woman. March 8 is the day I got my spirit back. March 8 is the day I became me again.

I really can’t stress enough the difference I feel. I feel great, just a very sore abdomen and crouch, but I can handle that. No pelvis thrusting for a few weeks but it is a sacrifice I am willing to make.

I had talked to my doctors and recipients about how I would feel after and they told me I would feel like a new person and I really didn’t believe them. I could not comprehend feeling any different than how I was feeling. I thought I would forever feel on the verge of being sick to my stomach and constantly ready for a nap. But it was true.

The second I opened my eyes in the recovery room I felt like the last four years had been some horrible dream. Granted, I was highly drugged but the cute little kidney started working as soon as it was successfully put it. It was making up for lost time and cleaning house which meant I was peeing again, like a god damn race horse! I have to tell you if felt amazing to have a strong stream again. It is something you take for granted. It was like I was a hermit crab who had moved into a clean new shell.

This hospital stay was much more enjoyable because this time I knew that when I got out I would feel better, things would FINALLY be different. Instead of being released to more of the same or some new procedure, I was one step closer to living a normal, healthy life.

From the beginning of the transplant process everything fell into place. My donor was a loving friend ( whose entire family has been an extremely, wonderful support system for me),my family was with me every step of the way, my doctors were amazing, my nurses were caring , my dialysis tech were supportive and great with small talk. The day we went into surgery, my post-opt nurse had been a nurse who had volunteered her time to give massages to the infusion patient when I was getting chemo. Seeing her friendly face first thing in the morning was a great, calming sign. As I went into surgery she told me she loved me and it made me feel so safe and ready for the procedure.

This journey was not easy but the universe provides. Strangers and friends came together. People are kind and want to help and if you hold on to hope and you believe in a better life it will happen.

For the next few months I have lots of doctor appointments, labs, recovery and rest in my day planner but it is all worth it. I know that in two months I will be one step closer to the life I have missed so deeply this last year.

I have learned so much about myself. I know I am made of stronger stuff. I know that the positive thoughts of my friends and community got me to this place I am today. I know that my boyfriend and my sisters gave me so much strength, love and encouragement that I cannot image what this would have been like if I didn’t have them by my side. I know I was treated with such kindness that my life goal now is to give as much as I got.

Looking back I can’t really decide if I would change the last few years. On one hand, it was painful, sad and hard, really, really hard. Some days were dark and I felt pity for myself and bitter towards others with their health. And some days the perspective and lessons I learned from my sickness touched me deeply and inspired me to keep hope alive.

 I really don’t know if I would change it. But I know I wouldn’t change me for anything.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

When was the last time you openly wept tears of joy? Like, no holding back, sobbing?  When was the last time you just sobbed with your whole heart because you have been given the gift of hope, something you had not felt in a long time? 

Sobbing so hard you can’t make out words, just a series of grunts that have to be decipher thru your ugly cry face. But despite how deformed your cry face is it is so ugly that it is cute, like a pug. As you choke out tears because you are so happy, you have no control over your facial muscles and you can’t breathe and you are freely drooling.  Can you remember? Well I can, it was January 17, 2013 at about 5:20 P.M.

I was lying on my bed chatting with my boyfriend. I knew that my dear friend Jess had started the process to see if she was a kidney match. I knew that the Transplant Team was reviewing her case that day to determine if she would be a good candidate to be a donor. The fact that Jess was even going through the process meant the world to me. Making the choice to give a part of your body to someone is an extremely selfless task and frankly, an inconvenience. You are submitting yourself to voluntary surgery all to improve the quality of life for a loved one.

So when I saw that Jess was calling me I immediately picked up, either way, I wanted to know as soon as possible.

                “Hey Jess. How are you?” (Not only was I anxious to know, I also wanted to keep it casual, not come off too desperate for good news. I had gotten my hopes up before and I didn’t need to feel that fall again.)

                “Hey Mara, I am pretty good. So I hope you are ready to take care of my kidney because I am a match.”

And that is when the weeping started. I crumbled. The news I had been waiting for, hoping for, praying for was finally being delivered and part of me couldn’t believe it. After years of being ill and the last year of hospital stays, surgery and dialysis, a big part of me thought that there was no end in sight. Jess wasn’t just giving me a new kidney; she was giving me a fresh start to reclaim my life.

To be honest with you, if I could have chosen any friend to have a small part of it would be Jess.

 I have known Jess since I was about 10 years old. We weren’t real buddy buddy when we were kids. We were in rival classes and you didn’t cross those loyalty lines. But as we grew older, we became closer and by my senior year of high school we were the best of friends.

 In college, we helped each other through the first year in the dorms and broken hearts  by dancing around to Rusted Roots “ Send me On My Way” in our dorm room. Sophomore and junior year we had many good times as roommates making s’mores, cuddling on the couch, spring break road trips and throwing some pretty amazing parties if I don’t mind saying so myself.

When we graduated from college, Jess and Bryce’s home was a place of comfort for me. Always welcoming with some delicious snack Jess was putting together. When I first started feeling the effects of fatigue, Jess and Bryce let me take naps at their apartment during my lunch break or before a show because their house was so much closer than mine.

When they moved to Los Angeles I was devastated. Who was I supposed to be the third wheel for now? The distance did not change our closeness as no matter how far away, Jess and Bryce are the type of friends that that just seem to get better with age. It was an honor to speak at their wedding not only because I loved them both so much but I respect them both deeply.

Even when we were little, Jess was always cool, confident, strong and intelligent. I always admired her. She’s an amazing athlete, a dedicate teacher, a loyal friend, a wonderful sister, a caring daughter, the person you want in your corner when things go wrong. She is adventurous and curious. She is a calming presence that always seems to bring reason to any situation. She gives great hugs and a world class snuggler. And there is no one better to veg out on the couch with in your pajamas.

Jess has always been there for me. Always. I can’t remember a time that she hasn’t talked me through a broken heart, a fight with a family member, or just a bad day. Everyone deserves a friend like Jess. I am fortunate because I have the genuine article.

She has always taken care of me and now she is giving me the ultimate gift. It feels so right getting it from Jess, someone I love and respect so much. She has been such a vital part of my life and will continue to be. We are going to go on vacation together. Our kids will play together. Our holidays will be filled with laughter and we will have too many great memories to keep in a scrap book. All because of Jess. All because she made the brave choice to be a donor and save my life. Jess is my hero. She is rescuing from a life of fluid, cathters, swelling, dialysis, fatigue, nausea and pain. She has given me the gift of hope, life and friendship and I could not be more thankful.

There have been rumors about Lady Gaga’s weight gain over the past few months. She claims it is because she is going through “a body revolution” encouraging her little monsters to embrace their body image as she opened up about her struggle with bulimia. That’s all fine and good but I think it is a rouse.  A rouse I say! I think the weight gain is related to something completely different and something Gaga isn’t ready to fully admit.

In an interview with Larry King, Gaga spoke of her aunt that passed away from lupus, an auto- immune disease where the body attacks itself, the same auto-immune disease that I am afflicted with. Gaga herself admits the she has tested “borderline” line for lupus. Lupus can be hard to fully diagnose because its symptoms vary and the markers for lupus can be harder to spot. Some of the basic symptoms are fatigue and joint pain but the list of things that your body can go through is long. When I was trying to figure out what was up with me I had swelling and my left eye would puff up half its size.

You never know what this crazy lupus is going to think of next.

 Currently, there is no cure for lupus but there are several treatments and medication prescribed to help those who suffer from lupus. One of those drugs is called prednisone; it is a steroid that can cause weight gain among those who use it. Once I was put on a heavy drip of prednisone when I was in the hospital and I literally ate EVERYTHING in my path, no chicken pot pie was safe. I gained like 15 pounds in my head (that’s where I gain weight, I did not just “Imagine” the weight gain) in less than 4 days. And I think the weight gain that Gaga is experiencing is due to being on prednisone for her “borderline lupus” and Gaga isn’t playing her full hand. Kudos to your Poker Face Gaga but I call your bluff.

Lady Gaga is known for her support of the gay community. Proudly telling people to embrace their true selves and to be proud of who they are touting that being “Born this Way” is a beautiful thing, well Gaga why don’t you take your own advice and embrace the fact that you have lupus. Take on a cause that directly relates to you and lts get lupus the press it needs.

Admitting you have a disease can be tough. It is daunting to deal with and exhausting to always think of your health and wel-lbeing when all you really want to do is collab with Beyonce. I get it. I would love to collab with B and Jay. Maybe high five little Blue Ivy and call it a day but Gaga I think it is your duty nah, really your responsibility as one of the world’s biggest celebrities to become an advocate for lupus. With star power like hers we could have a cure by end of the year.

Sure, there are other celebrities with lupus we could lean on to become the guiding light as the spokesperson for lupus but none as dynamic and iconic as Gaga. If this were the 1990’s I would say let’s see if Toni Braxton is up for the task but “Unbreak My Heart” is no longer in the Top 20 and I think she is filing for bankruptcy, so TB has other things she needs to focus on. I would say maybe Seal could step up to the plate but he is still fresh off of his divorce to Heidi Klum, he needs time to heal ( I always thought those two would make it.) It is rumored that Michael Jackson had lupus too but clearly we cannot use him as the spokesperson. R.I.P PTY.

Lupus needs a powerhouse. Lupus needs someone who is going to make lupus the new cancer. You know what I mean.  A force to be reckoned with. Someone who will get Lupus the attention it needs to raise awareness, educate, fundraise and in the end, hopefully, help find a cure. Since Gaga will not fully committed and embrace her role as spokesperson then I humbly step into the role as the advocate for lupus.

Granted, I lack the super star notoriety of Gaga NOW but let me tell you I can pull of a meat dress like a son of a bitch and I too once arrived at a very fancy bar mitzvah in an egg capsule. I have all the makings for an international celebrity just waiting to get out there and spread my good will all over this god damn earth. I have the talents, the gusto, the moxy and plenty of dreams now I just need to get famous so I can get the message out. This might have to be a grass roots movement among the people. So people: Let’s do this. Let’s get me real, real famous. Trust me. You will not regret it. I will keep it super fresh as a celebrity. Wearing crazy hats, name my baby something outlandish like Tree Branch and have many, many, many illicit affairs all the while making some pretty killer PSA about Lupus. Because if Lady Gaga isn’t going to do it the somebody has to and that somebody might as well be me.

 Now, hop on this disco stick!

I always thought that if I would develop a drug habit I would be a pill popper. It seemed the most convenient and glamorous. Most pill poppers are Hollywood movie stars or former Fly Girls or Real Housewives. You know, really classy broads. You could also hide your addiction a little better then other drugs like heroin or angel dust, track marks can be a real pain to cover up. You would just take your pills in private or call them your “nerve pills” that keep you even and no body would be the wiser. You would just be popping pills all day long. Living on your little cloud of happy pills.

Being the respectable citizen I am though doing tons of drugs has never been my forte. I do just a normal amount of drugs. I have become a different kind of pill popper. My pills don’t get me high they help keep my alive and healthy.

Each day I take roughly 40 pills. My medicine is split up into morning, lunch and dinner servings. Most of the time the pills are a meal within themselves.

Most of my pills are blood pressure medicine. My doctor once told me that my blood pressure was closer to that of a 84 year old man then a 27 year old woman. Between that and my high waist line, my appetite for prunes and my love of NCIS I am partially twins with the greatest generation!

Some of my medicine is for my lupus. I take a steroid called Predisone that makes me gain weight with higher dosages and other side effects. Predisone is one of those nasty drugs that you don’t want to take but have to. My older sister despises it and never wants to take the drug again. It doesn’t bother me so much except when I am on high dosage it make me have a moon face and eat everything in site. HULK WANT FOOD.

I have gotten used to the routine and now fully understand how critical it is for me to take my meds everyday. After my surgery the medicine I will be taking will be extremely important to ensure that my body does not reject my new kidney. I mean we all hate rejection, am I right ladies??

There typically are no certains in life. Well, my life has a certain. It is certain that I will have to take pills my whole life until a robot kidney is developed that runs on pure will and positive energy.

It is a strange thought to know that I can’t just jump on a plane with a bag and a dream searching out adventure. I mean, I can but I need to plan ahead, count out my meds, let the transplant team know I am going out of town and then it is adventures abound! I need to plan ahead which has never been my strong suite. I can’t be as carefree as most 20 somethings but that is to be expected since I am going thru a life change that many people my age don’t have to experience. And that is really the biggest pill I have to swallow: admitting that I am scared, sad and that my life will never be the same. But I will gulp it down, hope to heal and work towards a day when my robot kidney is kicking ass and taking names.

I don’t know if you all know this but day time television is awful. It is a top notch variety of crap. You have your dumb talk shows filled with half-ass advice like the Doctors, Dr. Phil, Steve Wilkos and there is a guy named Bob “who’s last name I don’t remember” because he is no Ricki Lake and will never be Ricki Lake.

Oh yea, there is Ricki Lake too! She is back. And Katie Couric.

I am sure you were all wondering where your sunshine in the morning had gone. Well, it a studio audience sound stage at around 2 o’clock. Ellen is really the only redeeming thing about daytime talk shows but Ellen is only on for an hour she can’t do all the heavy lifting to keep me entertained during my 3 and a half hours of dialysis. Some how I completely missed Seinfeld reruns during my sessions. I think it is a cruel joke by God. Or Newman.

There is a plethora of home improvement shows on TLC and HGTV. You would not think that the economy was hurting with all of these people doing international house hunting and remodeling their homes. Also, who are these people who can buy these international houses? Are they all drug dealers or in the witness protection program with brand new faces graphed on to hide their true identity? Whoever they are they will for sure learn how add pop colors and to work with the light in their new drug den in Peru that overlooks Machu Picchu.

And you can’t forget the cooking shows. Paula Deen and the Barefoot Contessa inhabit my screen trying to teach me how to make my future husband portly with the use of butter. I am not opposed to that cooking technique. When I was a child I was once found eating a stick of butter. I have no idea how I am not 300 pounds. Also, Guy Fieri needs to start wearing his sunglasses like an adult. He is really starting to piss me off.

I won’t even mention Soap Operas. Ok, I guess I did mention it so I will. Basically all that matters in the Soap Opera world is who is pregnant with a bastard child and who is getting married to an evil twin. If there is no Stefano Dimera then I am not interested in you Soap Operas.

I have to admit there are two show that I recently discovered while putting in the work in my chair that has given me an idea my next career move. Storage Wars and American Pickers. Were you aware that each year hundreds of storage unit go unclaimed and people can then buy the contents without looking inside it in an auctioning fashion? That means you could buy a unit and have no idea what is inside it. It is like a surprise treasure hunt. The spoils could be great or you could have bought a unit filled with soiled baby cloths. What a thrill to roll that dice!

American Pickers is when these 2 guys, Mike and Frank, go around the Midwest in a van trolling for “antiques”. Did you know that the only antiques that exist in America are oil cans and old gas station signs? Because I swear those are the only items theses pickers pick. And them they sell it for like 100 times more then it is worth. Apparently, people are willing to pay 60 bucks for old cans. I think I have found my new calling!

Yea, I know. Daytime T.V. is pretty grim but don’t feel bad for me because I have found a light in the darkness. I have reconnected with an old favorite that has brighten ups my days. What is that saying? Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other is gold. Well, Friends is comic gold! And lucky for me it plays ALLLLLLLLLLLLL afternoon long. And once it is done on TBS and you feel all sad that Joey, Ross, Monica, Chandler, Rachel and Phoebe are gone for the day, no worries pals! Channel 2 picks up where TBS left off! Friends for a solid 2 and half hours.

I used to watch Friends back in the glory days AKA the 90’s and loved it. I thought one day I too would have a giant, beautiful apartment in New York City and my friends and I would hang out at coffee shops and chase our respective dreams all the while we actually work very, very little. Fast forward now: I am in Denver, small apartment with only the finest from Pier One and I love coffee. Look at me, living the dream, Friends style.

Then one day I just wasn’t watching it as much. Maybe it was because it went off the air or maybe it was because I had decided that I had out grown Friends. It was time to move on to edgier content. So I left the adorable, loving crew in the past.

Just when the fountain dancing intro had all but faded from my memory, Friends came thru in the clutch and I fell in love with this kooky cast of characters all over again. I felt like I was 15 again!

I honestly had forgotten how funny I think Friends is. They really do have a great chemistry together. It is T.V. magic that gave us the national treasure that is Matt LeBlanc.

Some of you might disagree with me on this and you have the right to your own opinion. You might think Friends is trite, “not that funny” or just isn’t your cup of tea. But I dare you to watch the episode where Ross wears leather pants and can’t get them on and not laugh. I FUCKING DARE YOU. God Ross, you slay me.

Friends is comforting, entertaining and great to nap to. There isn’t screaming about who slept with whose sister or people arguing over small claims in front of Judge Joe Brown. Their screeching IS UNBEARABLE. Friends is just fun. I am sorry I was away Friends we were on a break. Thanks for being there for me; I will be there for you too.

I have never been one to remember my dreams. I have always been a little jealous of my friends that could recall in great detail the dream they had the night before. Each night they were delving into their psych like they were operating on some higher REM level while I just drooled on my pillow.

They were experiencing new worlds, dimensions of being that only their minds could explore and discovering their deepest fantasies. Then there was me, mouth breathing in an unattractive dreamless state like a big log. A big, dreamless log. No adventures of the mind for me. Just little spit stains on my pillow.

After I had my surgeries something changed. I started having dreams. Or I guess I should call them nightmares. I would have really vivid nightmares about people or things ripping the tubes out of my stomach and chest. Pretty cheerful stuff. I was experiencing my own personal Nightmare on Elm Street.

It would be different scenarios but the end result was always the same: someone was going for the jugular (or the gut).  It would happen in the hospital, the dialysis center, walking down the street, at the coffee shop, at the park.  No matter where it was one thing was for fucking certain: these dream people really had it out for me!

Sometimes it would be an accident. A simple bump “into” on the street and the tube got attached and it could not be untangled in time before … oh! the unholy pain! Or the dream person would come at me with rage in their eyes and hatred in their heart with one mission: taking me down. On a few occasions I had dreamed that people were putting bleach in my dialysis machine and laughing, “That should clean you out!”

These dream people were viscous and blood hungry but why!? What did I ever do to them? I never even used to dream before this. I have never entered their dream world with disrespect, so why you gotta hate dream peeps? Can’t you help a sister out? I am already creeped out by these invasive procedures that stick plastic tubing into my body that could get infected or that could not work. Why can’t I have dreams where everyone is singing, like an episode of Glee or how about a dream where I can fly?  Flying would be amazing. That would be so much better then a nightmare about a barista at Starbuck’s tossing hot coffee in my face and then going for my chest with sharpen talons that could only be defined as mutant like.

I know I am having these dreams because I am scared. I am scared that something may go wrong with the catheters.  I am scared that I will get sicker. I am scared that finding a kidney will take longer then I hope. I am scared I will never feel hundred percent myself ever again.

It is only normal to be scared. I don’t express my fears all the time while I am awake so it makes sense that I would explore the my darker side in the parts of my mind I normally don’t allow to see the light of day. I will just have to start out smarting my dreams, like the kids in the Freddy Krueger movies. I am not going down like Johnny Deep. I am going to find a way to defeat the darker thoughts so they don’t win.  Back to the boiler room with you Freddy, I have got some sing flying to do.

While my catheter is healing (in my tummy and my chest) I am not allows to get the dressing wet or dirty. That means showering is not as easy as it once was.

Since it has been such a task to wash myself I have gotten a little liberal with my shower schedule, letting the time in between showers stretch a little more and more each time. Nothing, extreme, so no judgment folks, I still maintained a reasonable odor, just making it so I wasn’t spending an hour a day wrapping it up.

Gone (temporarily) are the days of jumping in the shower after a long run or hard day ( well let’s face it has been a long time since I have jumped in after a long run:-) wily, nillying shampooing and conditioning my thick, luxurious hair and sodding up this bod.

I have to tape and cover my dressings with saran wrap. It has become quite the ritual. It takes longer then one would hope for a quick exit from the house. But thanks to practice, dedication, know how and the American spirit, I have gotten it down to a science.

After my stomach surgery, I could not take a shower at all. I could only sponge bathe myself, or give myself a ” whore bath” where you only wash your lady bits and pits ( thanks to my friend Sue for that delightful term) but I developed a new method that would give me a little more freedom in my showering.

I call it “trash bagging”(quite the name). It is where you cut arm holes and a head hole through a trash bag and put the trash bag over your head and secure it with tape, therefore covering the torso and protect it from leaks, hence I don’t have to individually wrap the dressing, saving me time. For sure, it feels like you are taking a shower in a poncho, but it allows you the freedom to let the water wash over you. Honestly, nothing is better then that feeling. Hot water rushing over you, taking off the day. Reviving your spirit. I really needed this method to shower. These last few weeks have been crazy and nothing make you feel more like yourself then a shower. So god bless “trash bagging” for helping me not to feel like garbage.

Enclosed is a picture of me in my prototype bag. Please note, I am wearing a tank top under the bag in the photo to avoid a nip slip.

Going to dialysis is really not that bad. I mean, I would prefer to not be hooked up to a machine for 3 hours a day, 3 times a week as a machine cleans my blood but desperate times call for desperate measure and a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. Considering the circumstances it could be a lot worse.

Everyone that works at my dialysis center is super friendly and seems to enjoy their job, the chair are pretty comfortable, you can take naps if you need to, they have the good kind of ice machine, the ice from the Sonic fast food restaurant and if you want to watch Judge Judy there is a mini tv right at your chair.

Being at dialysis has been eye opening, well, this whole process has been but I knew very little about dialysis before I started. Most of the people there are older. Much older then me. My first few days I had imagine they would look to me with love and think,” I have so many words of wisdom to impart on this young, brave, beautiful, humble woman.” and I would happily take their advice because I miss my own sweet grandmother who past away years before. And we would form a Tuesday With Morie like connection and but we would call it Dialysis with Debbie. Our bond would last for the rest of both our lives even after these damn machines stop running because in this case blood is thicker then water. But alas, most of my fellow dialysis goers were more into Judge Judy then me. No time for advice when court is in session.

But then a ray of hope. A bright, bolt of elderly wisdom. And even better. He is a sassy, older black man. And it gets even better, there are two of them! They crack jokes, give the technicians a hard time and they call me “Baby Girl”. “Baby Girl”, I don’t care who you are when an adorable old man calls you “Baby Girl” you put the feminist movement on hold for a bit. We have delightful banter and it is one of the highlights of my day when it happens.

It kind of makes me feel like I snuck into a barber shop and everyone is ok that I am there because I am “Baby Girl” and no body mess with BG.

I look forward to more interactions, even as brief as they may be with Big Daddy ( that nick name is a prototype and chances are I will not used it on him because we need to have a few boundaries) because that’s what “Baby Girl” do.

On Friday I went to the ER and stayed in the hospital all weekend. Jealous?? I bet you are. Let me tell you, you haven’t lived if you have never experience a hospital cranberry juice at 3 a.m. They just bring it to you. At the push at a button. No questions asked!

That makes it 3 times in 2012 that I have has an extended stay at the hospital. An overnight stay. In the ICU. With very little bathing, or mirrors. I know this is pretty hot. Now image a hospital gown. CONTAIN YOURSELF. Intensive care can be sexy and sterile.

I think when I count up all the days it is 12 days in the hospital in 2012 which is so crazy to me cause before that never been in the hospital so much. And the number 12 that is a weird conscience, the Mayans were right!

Since I have been sick I have used about 2 weeks vacation in the hospital. It is like staying at a hotel that has sub par lighting and food but the best damn ice in town. ( It is like the Sonic Fast Food ice, which we all can agree is the best ice)

The hospital is like a sad vacation. You kind of get a break from the world, get to in this cocoon of the hospital. Your sick, now is not the time to worry about the rest of the world, rest, sleep and only wake up to request cranberry juice.

But it is not so bad either. My favorite people come and watch horrible hospital/ daytime t.v and tell you to be well and the nurse and medical staff I have encounter have been been extremely helpful and overall very pleasant, kind and good at their jobs.

Trust me, I would like to stop this “vacation habit”. In 2013 I hope to stay in a real hotel, in some exotic location where the ice and cranberry juice flow like wine.