This makes me cry every time I watch it.

Never forget…

I’ve finally come to accept that there’s no-one in the US–certainly not the Supreme Court with whom the responsibility ultimately lies–with the balls to confront the liar in the White House for his bold-faced usurpation of the office of President, his criminal fraud in getting there or his forgery of documents that appear to justify his being there.

Would the liberals bring down a white conservative usurper with the same fraudulent “credentials” as obambi? Absolutely. And there would be much snarling, howling and blood dripping from their rabid fangs as they did it. I honestly believe they would be able to set aside their cognitive dissonance and go after even a black conservative usurper too.

Unfortunately, Conservatives in Congress simply don’t have the stomach for a fight. They don’t possess the same sense of moral outrage (or the flat-out rabidness) necessary to kick a sitting “president” out of his stolen office.

Discovering that this isn’t the America I thought it was (“… and justice for all”?) has been a gut-wrenching experience that left me terribly angry and depressed after that fateful November evening in 2008 when we learned how gullible liberals and independents can be. When I freely traded my British citizenship in order to become an American, it was because of the fundamental principles and the Supreme Law on which this country was founded, which spoke to my heart and touched me deeply. To discover that, as the Pirates of the Caribbean Captain Jack Sparrow would say, they’re “more of a guideline really,”–philosophies and rules that even the Supreme Court isn’t willing to take the time to enforce–felt like a cruel deception and a devastating slap in the face.

Heaven is cantering on Kobe...

I’d started this blog in July 2008, and it quickly became a place for me to vent about the terribly depressing political nightmare that was unfolding. After moping around, sulking and seething for months, in September 2009 I decided I needed to do something to make myself happy. I’d always loved being around horses whenever I got the opportunity to interact with them (even though they scared me!) and wanted to learn to walk, trot and canter, so I enrolled myself in a short adult education equine course at a local barn. I was hooked.

I took some private lessons riding Western-style once a week for 5 months but didn’t do very well. Then in April 2010 I found my new home riding English-style at a drop-dead gorgeous stable in Orange County with a fabulous trainer who taught me how to walk-trot-canter competently in three months and started me jumping at six months. It was a dream come true.

I made more friends there than I’ve ever had in my life and everything about being at the barn put a big silly smile on my face. I was ecstatic. The barn quickly became my “moment of Zen” place where I could set aside all other responsibilities and enjoy some me-time with others from whom I could learn so much. It was a huge confidence builder and yet a sanctuary at the same time. I fell in love with my lesson horse, the beautiful rustic surroundings, and all of the kind, supportive friends. It was a wildly positive experience.

I blogged about those riding adventures here on anniescloset for months, but then my barn buddies wanted to read my posts and see their pix. That was when I became aware of how schizophrenic my writing had become. The riding posts were so positive and the rest–excepting perhaps the book and movie reviews–clearly reflected my anger and snarkiness. It was time to split the riding posts off onto a totally separate riding-dedicated blog, where my political philosophy wouldn’t get in the way of these blossoming friendships and wouldn’t taint that wonderfully positive part of my life.

At the same time, I continued to blog here about the latest obungler outrages-of-the-day, to post the many cartoons my hubby Rock found for me, and to let my anger fester.

But all that changed in a heartbeat in February, when I fell from a spooked horse, fracturing my left hip- and thigh-bone in four places. I was admitted to the hospital and was in critical condition, hemorrhaging into my leg, blood pressure way down and clotting factor so low they couldn’t operate for fear I’d bleed out. The surgery had to wait 24 hours till I’d stabilized.

My "bionic" leg with titanium rods and screws

A long titanium rod was inserted down the center of my thighbone and a smaller screw-rod was inserted from that rod into the head of my hipbone. Two large screws just above my left knee go through the bone and the rod, holding it all together. The surgery was successful, and just two days later I was being taught how to get around using a walker and “toe-touch weight-bearing” on my left leg. But there was an insidious something-else going on that no-one knew about.

As a result of all the blood lab work that was done, the doctors noticed that my liver enzymes were very high. I explained to them that that’s been normal for me for years. A liver biopsy back in 2000 provided my doctors with no clue as to what was causing it. At that time, the doctor simply shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t know what was going on, suggesting that maybe it’s normal for me in the same way that some car engines run hot for no reason. I’d never pursued it further, even though every time I had liver panel blood work, the doctors always made a point of telling me my enzymes were much higher than normal.

This time around, however, the Kaiser Permanente doctors weren’t going to let it slide. By now, the number was so high (almost ten times normal) as to warrant another liver biopsy–soon. The gastroenterologist was willing to wait a couple months while I had chance to recuperate from my hip and thigh fracture. But a month later, the next routine batch of lab results had the doc on the phone to me immediately, letting me know I needed the biopsy ASAP. The already sky-high number had almost doubled.

The soonest I could get the biopsy was 3 weeks later. The radiology department staff were extremely solicitous, keeping me and my leg as comfortable as possible during the CT-guided biopsy. The results came back within a week. Once again, the gastroenterologist called me right away. It wasn’t good news. You know you’re not having a good day when the best news the doc can give you is that you don’t need a transplant–yet!

From the samples taken during the biopsy and the lab work, he’d been able to confirm a diagnosis of cirrhosis of the liver caused by auto-immune hepatitis. In other words, my immune system has been systematically destroying my liver over the years, causing irreparable harm. I did a little research and discovered that in a study of patients with untreated auto-immune hepatitis, 60% were dead after 5 years. I’d already beaten the odds, but the inflammation had reached a critical level and combined with the confirmation of cirrhosis, immediate action was needed.

The doctor had already called in a prescription for mega-doses of steroids to my pharmacy, and told me to start taking them immediately. He explained that after I got stabilized on the steroids, I would need to switch to a life-long regimen of immuno-suppressant drugs. Even though we can’t undo the damage that’s already been done, we hope to stop my immune system from any further attack on the liver. This will prevent any worsening of the cirrhosis that would result in liver failure and the need for an immediate transplant.

It’s hard to describe the feelings I had on hearing this sobering news. I’d fought hard through two painful and often lonely months of recovery from the hip and thigh fractures. I’d made it my job to do my exercises three times a day, and delighted in the miniscule but sure signs of improvement. My bones were starting to knit back together sufficiently for my orthopedic surgeon to at long last, on April 19th, give permission for me to bear weight on my left leg and drive my car (an automatic, that doesn’t require the use of my left leg). Then just when I had been celebrating starting to recover from the worst medical trauma of my life, I got mown down by a second totally unexpected and shocking traumatic condition that will be with me forever.

I’m one of those people who (excuse the horsey-talk) bridles at being told I can’t do something. The injury to my leg obviously meant that the activity that had brought so much joy and meaning to my life, and the activities I shared with my barn-buddies, were now off-limits. Due to the nature of the injury, whether I ever should or could take up horseback riding again was now in question. And it’s been a hard, hard question that has kept me awake for many long hours during the painful nights after the accident, and that still isn’t resolved yet.

On top of that, now I have a doctor telling me that because of the cirrhosis, of course I can never drink alcohol again. Say what? Can you imagine that? To have had your very last drink and not realized it at the time? To never be offered another one with the caveat: Savor this one, you can never have another! I’m not an alcoholic by any means, but I do love a gin and tonic to relax with, or a nice full-bodied chianti to have with a big slice of steaming lasagna. No more. Poof! Gone. You can’t have it. Not unless you want to die, that is…

So these are the issues that have been rattling around my addled brain for the past four months while no new posts have appeared here. I think I have enough to deal with, without that idiot in the White House.

What will get me well and through this tough time is the positive attitude, the love and support and caring of my family and fabulous riding friends who have been with me every step of the way from the moment I crashed into the dirt of the riding arena to the long days in the hospital, rehab and recovery. It’s time to “go to the light” and let the darkness of the country’s political situation be someone else’s problem for a while.

I truly believe that no single occupant of the white House has done as much harm to our beloved country as the present one. His crimes will go unpunished at least while he is in office. He will survive his four-year usurpation because of the complicity of the mainstream media and the moral cowardice of the Republicans in Congress.

Having accepted this, knowing that it is an unimaginable wrong on the American people but trusting that God will one day find a way to right all of the harm that’s been done, I can move on. For my own emotional and physical health, I have to.

I may continue to post political items here from time to time, but will not be doing so with the same intensity as prior to my accident. As Carly Simon sang, “I haven’t got time for the pain; I haven’t got room for the pain” being inflicted on the nation’s psyche by the excuse-for-president and his progressive cronies. I’m too busy dealing with my own real pain. Now, four months after my fall, I walk with a cane and a pronounced left limp. Because of my liver damage I can’t take any painkillers (even ibuprofen or acetaminophen) unless I’m absolutely desperate. Full recovery from the fractures will take 6 months to a year. I’m going to use that time to take care of me, and trust that God will take care of everything else!

Turned out I had smashed my left femur–the longest and strongest bone in the body–into four pieces. I’d never broken a bone in my life before this. As my hubby Rock says, I always was the overachiever!

An orthopedic surgeon managed to save the leg using a titanium rod, metal plates and screws, but it was touch and go for a while because I lost so much blood internally. Since the end of February, I’ve been in the hospital and a rehab facility, and I returned home just over a week ago. It’s going to be a long uphill battle to regain full use and restore the full strength of my leg.

Anyhow, that’s my excuse as to why there have been no new posts lately. As soon as it’s comfortable for me to sit at the computer for a decent block of time, I’ll be posting again.

Poor wickw demmies need nappy-poos. Not vewy happy wid de nasty wepubwicans. Have a wickw temper tantwum! There, there, poor wickw babies, don’t cwy!

When he talks, this is how he always sounds to me. I have my bullsh*t filter set to “Scramble.”

So here’s an email funny I got today:

The kids filed into class Monday morning. They were very excited. Their weekend assignment was to sell something, then give a talk on productive salesmanship.

Little Sally led off: “I sold Girl Scout cookies and I made $30,” she said proudly. “My sales approach was to appeal to the customer’s civil spirit, and I credit that approach for my obvious success.”

“Very good,” said the teacher.

Little Susan was next: “I sold magazines,” she said.  “I made $45 and I explained to everyone that magazines would keep them up on current events.”

“Very good, Susan,” said the teacher.

Eventually, it was Little Johnny’s turn. The teacher held her breath…

Little Johnny walked to the front of the classroom and dumped a box full of cash on the teacher’s desk.

“$2,467,” he said.

“$2,467!” cried the teacher.  “What in the world were you selling?”

“Toothbrushes,” said Little Johnny.

“Toothbrushes!” echoed the teacher. “How could you possibly sell enough toothbrushes to make that much money?”

“I found the busiest corner in town,” said Little Johnny. “I set up a Dip & Chip stand and gave everybody who walked by a free sample.”

They all said the same thing, “Hey, this tastes like dog shit!”

Then I would say, “It is dog shit.  Wanna buy a toothbrush?”

“I used the government’s approach of giving you something shitty for free, and then making you pay to get the taste out of your mouth.”