Drinking, Medical Records and Taming The Frenchy Within

I'm drinking. A pomegranate/cranberry martini. It's delicious. I deserve it. I have been on the phone for over 4 hours talking to and arguing (politely) with medical billing and medical offices and medical morons. A test valued over $1000 dollars is on the line. Husband and I asked more questions than we can remember while he was in the hospital, and we both questioned if this test happened.

So, what I know now: #1) there are no found results for this test. #2) off-site hospital billing offices suck donkey balls. Big ass hairy stinky sweaty donkey balls.

I have a call in to two more medical peeps, one of which I believe to be the holder to all the keys I seek. As an aside, I already have negotiated 20% off the portion of the bill that we owe, so not a bad day's work.


Now to what I really want to tell you. No Shelli: NOT PREGNANT. That is best left to you youngsters, as BOY: LOOK AWAY mah eggs be almost expired.

Alrighty Bunny, the coast is clear. Mommy is done talking about her aging body parts.

The thing I want to share is that I am in therapy. Well, if you can call painting therapy. Painting as in free-wheeling-have-no-agenda-paint-what-comes-out-in-a-predetermined-amount-of-time painting. I have this friend, YES I DO, and she is one of those friends with a therapist background and is extremely adept in listening and then hearing you. I shared with her that I am experiencing self-sabotage in a certain area of my life and that I want to understand why so I can move past it.

I talked, she listened and then asked pointed questions and then suggested that I try this painting method as a way to basically think outside of the realms I am stuck in. She explained that by using a medium that I am unfamiliar with could lead me to a revelation.

Hmmmm.

I listened and after some thought, I told her I'd try it. Why not? At this point I'd try alligator wrestling. She wasn't convinced I was taking her seriously. She asked for my full attention. I stopped talking, faced her and listened. She said as plainly and as forcefully as she could: You don't understand. This is not a suggestion from me. Something outside of me is telling you this. This will help you. You have to do it.

Now, two very important things. #1) when someone tells me that they think they are being spoken to on my behalf, I listen. I try to discern if it is indeed something I should heed and proceed as best I can. #2) This came from my friend who has no particular faith other than in the faith of nature's force, from my friend who honors my strong faith in God, but most assuredly questions it.

That alone stopped me in my tracks.

Soon after our visit I headed to the dreaded Hobby Lobby. Crafters can smell an imposter, and they smelled my non-hobby enthusiast itchiness from the moment I entered their den. I quickly found my paints. I found my brushes. I found my paper. I felt ridiculous. And then pretended to be a famous painter just for giggles in the check-out line. I swear if they sold berets I would have splurged on one. Especially is it had been raspberry.

I am supposed to participate in this painting exercise for a week. I am to not think about whether the results are "good" only to focus on what is stopping me from moving forward and move the brush. The combination of thinking/moving/color/evoked emotion are supposed to shine a light where there once was none. I have finished day 3. The results adorn my office wall (it was one of the horrifying provisions).

Wanna see? I know you do!

Caution! You are now entering the no judging zone:


There you see my box (making me laugh as I type the words) and my blue period and my squiggles of incomplete thought but mostly my heart, my imperfect heart I want to share:



These are important ones having to do with talent that stands outside of me, colors that when united bring separate things together, and the crossing footprints on the chaos:



There is me within the hurricane, the noes turned to crosses, a flower obviously representing my 11 year old self (snicker), and the comet painting.


I know, seems ridiculous. But I'll be damned if something is happening. I am looking at things I had no idea existed in me. I am starting to believe in this crazy notion that painting can lead to a realization I'd otherwise never have.

Take today. Please. I had been on the phone with people who are ill-trained to handle any problem whatsoever, and the last thing I wanted to do was paint. I had laundry to fold, gas to buy for the mower and dinner to start. The only reason I painted is because my friend is coming back Thursday to hold me accountable.

SUMMER OF CAKE! Yes, as a bonus of her visit, she will get the first slice of the carrot cake. She's no dummy. Paint, she says. Will there be cake, she says? I'll be back and want to see, she says. She even called me a day after our meeting asking if I had bought paint. When I told her I had, she was SHOCKED.

Each painting, while to the untrained eye ~ adjusting pretend Frenchy beret here~ actually has deep-seated meaning. I am stunned, to say the least.

While I won't know until next week if this actually worked, I can report that the very thing I was resisting is now something that fills my brain with more frequency (nope, it wasn't sex) and that alone is great progress.

Thank God for those who love us enough to listen and hear what we are saying. Never ever underestimate that one thing you can do for someone.