Oscar first came to us up on the hill when the crazy people lived there. He showed up once with his back cut out and we got that nursed and healed. When he showed up that way the second time, I called the Humane Society to report abuse. They visited said guy and he told them "It ain't my dog. It's my cousin's" Let him go live up there because I can't even afford to feed my family. Oh boy.
He joined Sam and whomever was there at the time and they all ate. We didn't get a cat until Bracken gave Lauren one for "Christmas" and she was soon fixed and proclaimed a forever cat. Lily, I believe. Followed shortly by Cali. Then followed by Rosie who has a big hole in her neck. It doesn't seem to bother her until I put peroxide on it and the bubbles start hittin' her ear.
I still refuse to feed or otherwise engage the growly Tom who is showing up now and then. He's the kind that will show up and eat on everybody's doorstep. I know the type.
It's "be kind to your stoma day" here and i'm just kind of sprawled out and letting things heal while catching a few drips. A cold rag does wonders. I will eventually medicate, change equipment and carry on. It's what we do as ostomates.
I bought an e-book yesterday on how to become a healthcare writer. I think I kinda' sorta' already am a healthcare blogger because I'm all about patient rights, death with dignity, personal choice and advocacy, including mental health access. These disorders are often not properly diagnosed and end up with an overflow of addiction at rehab centers and clinics. Rinse, lather and repeat.
In another world, the focus would be on proper diagnosis of mental illness with appropriate treatment. Yet often times, the patient does not WANT to feel normal because there's no excitement there. As for me, I'll take normal every time. I don't understand folks who thrive on drama and keeping things stirred up, but that's just me. Peace and love and all that ^j^
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