It’s the beginning of springtime, and we allllll know what that means – classic Peeps! The marshmallow goodies are back! Let the rejoicing begin! Soon all of our fingers will be discolored with the pastel-neon sugary joy brought to us every year by cute little edible chicks and bunnies. Sure, they try to pawn off cheap little imitation ghosts every October, and trees and snowmen every December, but I’m a Just Born Purist! Only the chickies and bunnies will do. (That’s not to say I don’t cheat from time to time and eat a ghost or two, but really, can you blame me? They’re that yummy.) I got into a package of yellow chicks last night after having a particularly rough evening. I know I shouldn’t assuage my problems with sugar-coated marshmallow goodness, but trust me, it was bad. Tears were involved, and thanks to a make-up guy at Nordstrom who didn’t wash his brushes, the tears led to a mild allergic reaction around my eyes, and egads did I ever need sugar. Like always, two little marshmallows cured my woes, if only for a little while. Those cute little adorable edibles are powerful things.

    Even with last night’s unhappiness, the week hasn’t been a total loss. It’s just been a bizarre mix of the ultra bad and the ultra good. What prompted last night’s Peeps attack was a phone call from the University of Pittsburgh. I think they meant well, but wow did they pick the wrong week to call. I can’t go into why because, well, it’s complicated and I don’t want to get sued. Let’s just say it’s sad and leave it at that.

    But on the other side of things, I have a new surgeon! Hoorah! It took some time, but it has all worked out, thanks to a miraculously kind plastic surgeon. For weeks my Mom has been calling various plastic surgeons, begging them to take my case, but almost all of them have turned us down despite the fact I have a life-threatening disease and they’re the only docs with the tools to save me. Eventually my Mother got a hold of one particular surgeon, we’ll call him Dr. Bob (even though that’s not his real name), and Dr. Bob felt very bad about what was happening. He confided in my Mom that the reason so many surgeons were turning me down was that I’m not a cost effective patient for surgeons in private practice. I was doomed, essentially, to an eternity of begging for my life from surgeons who, if they were financially responsible, would turn me down in an instant.

    Dr. Bob decided to fix this. Unfortunately he couldn’t take me on as a patient right away, so instead he decided to take care of my problem in another way. Since he’s in the Navy Reserve, he placed a call to someone at the Navy’s main hospital here in DC and told them about my case. He was apparently quite effective, because today I met with a very, very nice doctor at the Navy hospital in Bethesda, and I’ll be having surgery soon. On top of that, the Admiral in charge of the entire hospital, as well as the General in charge of the entire Army hospital near by, are aware of my case and are doing everything they can to expedite things and make sure that absolutely everything form beginning to end will be taken care of.

    As odd as many people think it is for me to be praising the military medical service after what’s happened to me in the past, I have to say that they’re the best group of doctors and nurses I have ever, ever encountered. Everyone from the lowliest little techs to the biggest doctors and commanders, they all seem so much happier, so much more compassionate, so much more willing to take care of whatever needs to be taken care of, expense and bureaucracy be damned. Sure, there are still protocols to follow, but for the most part they’re able and willing to go the extra mile to take care of you. The freedoms they have within military hospitals mean better care for the patient. In fact, those freedoms are the only reason I found out what’s been causing all my pain and weight gain the past few years – if that dermatologist I met hadn’t had the time and resources available to him to do the necessary research, I would have died from this disease without ever knowing what hit me. And now, thanks to Dr. Bob, the Admiral at Bethesda, and my lovely new surgeon, I’ll be treated over the coming year without ever having to beg again. Thank God for the military. If it weren’t for them, I’d have given up a long time ago, because the sheer heartache and pain involved in begging for the favor of being treated like a human being in the civilian world of plastic surgery is just too much to bear right now.

    Unfortunately the next surgery date readily available isn’t until June 6th, but they’re still working on it to see if they can fit me in sooner. But regardless of the wait, I know I’ll be taken care of and a huge weight has been lifted (or rather, it will be lifted literally soon enough.) And that’s definitely a happy, joyful thing. Dare I say it, that’s even happier than marshmallowy peeps goodness.

    P.s. You know how sometimes you start writing with certain things in mind, then you just get going in the flow of things and suddenly something else entirely came out of you instead of what you originally meant? That’s what happened with this blog. I was going to write about Lost, and American Idol, and do a whole TV recap, and tell you some other cool stuff. But I didn’t. There’s one thing I meant to write about, though, that I can’t just leave for the next entry, cause it’s too exciting – my friend Jay started a blog! He’s only just started, so check it out now and you can say you knew him when! So come on, people, let’s start at the very beginning of Jay, cause as Julie Andrews says, it’s a very good place to start.