March has nearly slipped the coop. Where did it go? I had to post at least one more time before month’s end, and I want it to be whimsical. After all, if you cannot laugh with this disease, then it is bound to drive you insane.
I once knew a crotchety old man with a bum knee. He swam. He golfed. He took nightly walks around the block. He was just a bit slow, smelled of ointment and rubbed that knee a lot. Peculiarly, he also called it Sally.
“Sally’s gone arthritic.” “Sally’s locked up.” “Hold up, Sally needs rubbin’.”
You get the idea… everyone, from the postman to the corner grocer asked after Sally.
I remembered that man and his silly knee this morning. And it got me thinking…
Have you noticed there is a name for your period? Aunt Flo. I get the context, but Flo is a real female name. Could you imagine naming your endometriosis? Or does yours already have one? Is it male or female?
I’m not sure what I would name mine… or if I even would. Bob? Jan?
Endometriosis doesn’t have an adorable face just screaming its name. Its an insidious, evil; a poisonous alien and your body is nothing but the host.
There. I found my name. Alien.
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