It’s My Pity Party And I’ll Binge If I Want To

When what I thought was an ingrown hair on my shin revealed itself as squamous cell carcinoma, the pity party began. In office surgery left me with nine stitches and instructions to stay off my feet.

Off my feet in summer?

I’d rather swim or bicycle or garden or fish or hike or boat or play ping pong, all of which required me to be ON my feet.

With an ice pack balanced on my bandaged leg I began on a positive note.

“I’ll use this time to catch up on all the inside tasks that I haven’t done because I’ve been bicycling or gardening or fishing or hiking or boating or playing ping-pong,” I told myself. 

I believed it long enough to surround myself with camera manuals to read and recipes to organize and photos to choose for printing. 

While organizing my recipes I found one for grilled flank steak. It was perfect for fajitas except I needed to be ON my feet to grill. 

Discouraged, I abandoned my projects.

“I have nothing to complain about. Others are far worse off than I am,” I told myself. “Squamous cell carcinoma is nothing compared to melanoma.”

Somehow thinking that I’m better off with my measly case of squamous cell carcinoma than others who have far worse maladies didn’t help. Did I jinx myself by thinking about melanoma?

I checked my moles.

That’s when I decided I would binge my way through recovery! I would wallow my way to wellness!

Social Media Bingeing

I FaceTimed friends and texted family. I lived on FaceBook. I suggested that right winged “friends” post more puppy photos and less pro Trump comments, bantered with a son of a friend on their water skiing adventures, and requested ideas for my next binge – Netflix.

I vicarious lived cruising in Alaska, concerts in Chicago, and partying in Vegas.

Movie Bingeing

Hours whiled as I viewed “Stranger Things.” I identified with El as Jonathan slashed open her leg and El extracted the Demogorgon. During “Dead To Me” I rooted for the complicated friendship between Judy Hale and Jen Harding. Empathizing with Diane Lockhart, I rode her ups and downs while she lost and regained her wealth and love in “The Good Fight.” 

After wrapping up a season viewing I felt the odd, unearned feeling of accomplishment.

Comfort Food Bingeing

Bacon and eggs over easy shoved aside my no fat Chobani yogurt.

I welcomed cholesterol with open arms!

Salami on rye with mustard smacked down my salad with vinaigrette dressing.

I high fived the triglycerides!

Two hot dogs on white buns with a side of baked beans defeated poached chicken breast with steamed asparagus in an arm wrestling match.

I cheered for sodium! 

In a week (give or take) the doctor will remove the stitches and I will no long feel sorry for myself. 

Until then please post photos worthy of vicarious living and I’ll give “Grace and Frankie” a whirl while eating a hot fudge sundae from The Freeze.