Two Eyeballs and Sharp Teeth

It seems that every time I get a new doctor, and he or she gives me an undesirable diagnosis, the inappropriateness of my lack of misery is brought up… And suggestions to see someone, who can help me deal with the abnormality of not falling apart, soon follow. And I, my Luvs, don’t get it.

If we’re friends on Facebook, you probably already know that at the beginning of this week I received an excellent report from one of my doctors. Since then, I’ve seen two other physicians who monitor the healthiness of my sexy flesh and bones, and they didn’t have great news.

Some people might think that finding out that I’m not allergic to several of my favorite foods should become inconsequential, after one doctor tells me that more invasive tests are needed in order to figure out what keeps food from traveling down my esophagus as it should… and another doctor worries at the fact that after 18 months of medications and strict behavioral changes, my innards are not getting any better. *wow, what a freakishly long sentence… cough*

Don’t get me wrong, my Wicked Luvs, I’m not delighted at the prospect of having more tubes shoved down my throat (and into other uncomfortable places). And discovering that more than a year of swallowing pills and not drinking wine probably meant nothing doesn’t inspire me to break into song. I’m deliciously uncanny, not insane; so I, too, feel anxiety over my sick gut.


…living with an illness (or five plus complications) doesn’t keep me from being happy about the wonderful things in my life. First and foremost *yes, lots of clichés in this post… cough*, I am alive and grinning: I have a Piano Man who wholes me, I have family and friends who celebrate and battle with me, I can write, I can exercise, I can dance most of the time, I’m on medication that dulls some of my neuralgic pain without crushing me with negative side effects, I have two eyeballs that see well, I have a wild witchy soul that comes armed with a practical mind and pretty sharp teeth, I have me…

I wish my body was a wee bit healthier. I wish I could write as much as I used to be able to write before I got sick. I wish, I wish, I wish… for all sorts of things. But not having my wishes realized (yet, or ever) will never be enough to make me forget that I am blessed by so much more. I am Magaly Guerrero… I’ve lived. I’m living. And I will live on… for as long as there is breath in my lungs, blood in my heart, and wild words dancing out of my bones.

I am Magaly Guerrero

About two decades of me…

Wicked Exhausted and My Left Eyebrow Is Feeling It

This is just a quickie… a flyby to let you know that I’m exhausted and feeling it all the way to the bone. My toenails and hair tips have been arguing all weekend, talking about “I’m more tired than you are!” and “No, I’m the one who knows what fatigue feels like!!”, when my left eyebrow lost all sense of decorum and told them, “Shut the fuck off, both of you. I’m so beat than I can’t even lift myself to show my disbelief of your idiotic squabble!!!”

I’m just letting them be… That’s what you do when your body parts shout at each other… Really. I’m choosing to focus all my energy on my innards… since they are the ones who should be drained and drowsy and a bit anxious before a trip to the OR. So wish me and my innards some luck, my Wicked Luvs. And don’t judge our typos, if we committed any… we’re tired and feeling a tad too loopy to proofread. 😉

Of course, my feet will never be too anything not to want to show off yummily Wicked socks… or fantasize about dancing in warm summer rain… *cackles infused giggles*

♥Read you later. Write you always.♥

Wicked Socks