Cursed October

I debated why I would blog about this since I’m a humor writer (not because I have a gift for stand up or for arranging funny words on a page, timed just so for comedic effect, but because my life is funny. Most people wouldn’t want to live my life but wouldn’t mind hearing about it once in a while for laughs).

But you must know why I didn’t blog in October, why I may never. And why I haven’t been coming to yours. In October, I am not funny. I have no humor in that month, so why blog?

Here’s the shortened version: my right hand is not in working condition due to a stretched tendon. I’m right handed.

Long version: October is cursed. Every October something bad happens to me. First off, October is was my favorite month of the year. Where I live, it’s too hot to enjoy outdoors from June to September. November to May it’s too cold and/or windy. That leaves October. The weather is perfect, spirits are up, birds are singing, people are dancing, and something on me decides to break.

The curse started so far back I don’t remember the starting point. Two of my three miscarriages happened in October, one on Halloween. October five years ago is when I ruptured my disk, which broke some bones in the process. My surgery was on Halloween.

Last October my eyes went out. I could use reading glasses but nothing worked for the computer. There was something about the glare that caused eyestrain and headaches. It lasted for eight months then mysteriously disappeared and my eyes are near perfect again. Yay.

Last October my heart went crazy. Doctors said it was SVT: Supraventricular Tachycardia, and I needed surgery. I didn’t elect to have the surgery and was proud of myself when it went away on its own a few months later. Well, now it’s back and it’s bad. I have heartbeats in the upwards of 300 beats a minute. It is so violent you can see it through my shirt. Now I’m faced with surgery.

Since we only have major medical, I don’t see a doctor unless something is broken, and even when it is, I usually can’t afford the treatment. Needless to say, I haven’t seen anyone for my back since surgery. I initially went to physical therapy and still take the one med that doesn’t make me sick. But my husband bought me chiropractor services from dealsavers, which was x-rays and four adjustments for fifty bucks.

I went this October.

X-rays showed I no longer have a disk in my s1/l5 region, which explains why I always feel like I have a broken tailbone. It’s bone rubbing on bone. Now I fantasize a giant marshmallow inserted between the disk for cushion.

Then this October I stretched a tendon in my right hand. Doctor said I needed surgery. Tricia said, No way. Doctor said these things are unlikely to heal on their own. It’s like elastic, when it’s stretched out, it doesn’t go back the way it was. Still, I think of my heart, and if I have to choose which to go bankrupt on, the heart wins.

So he put a hand thingy on me so I can’t move the parts that dislocate when moved. I have become a lefty. I’ve also learned I can type without the contraption, so I remove it. I once removed it while sleeping and was awakened by intense pain. My finger snapped out of joint again and I—before I was awake enough to know what I was doing—snapped it back into place. What did I do while sleeping? I likely was making a fist.

And lastly, every Halloween is also the five-year anniversary of the life-changing back surgery. It’s an unpleasant memory, but those haunt us as much as the good ones. But happily, it also marks the end of October, when I can soon be free of the hovering black cloud that plays tricks on me annually. This last Halloween I awoke feeling good. It’s almost done. I’m almost there.

My husband called. Our cat is dead on the street.

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