Facebook’s “On This Day” feature is a little creepy and annoying, but I never realized the significance of today’s date until it reminded me.
Six years ago today I was diagnosed with Graves’ disease while lying in a hospital bed after arriving at the cardiac ER (yes, in Florida they have a special ER for heart attacks) in an ambulance. That was not very much fun, but it explained the crazy symptoms I had been having for the previous 6+ months and started me on a rollercoaster journey that I truly hope is behind me for good, aside from the daily pill I take.
And 4 years ago today, I arrived back in Massachusetts for good after a surprisingly uneventful 36 hours in my Corolla with my dad, Rags, and everything else I could fit. After 4.5 years in Florida, it was time. I’ve never regretted my decision. Except maybe a tiny little bit last year while shoveling for what seemed like the millionth Monday in a row.
However, this was also the same night that – after feeling really good about myself for shoveling the sidewalk to the T stop for the entire neighborhood – I heard my then-roommate “on the phone” (I honestly think she was faking a phone call that she knew I would hear) saying horrible things about me and what a terrible person I am. I cried myself to sleep that night, but not before deciding that I was done living with a crazy person. I listed my room on Craigslist the next day and was out of the apartment by the end of the month.
February 9 has been a big day for me several times now. In 2016, it was the day I was beyond tired all day at work and then ended it by taking a huge digger on my d*ckhead neighbor’s sidewalk, where they think it OK to have a drainage pipe from their house empty onto a public sidewalk in 20-degree weather. My back, tush, and elbow thank you.