Charging Coffee

Dante's Beatriz and Virgil by Gustave Dore

I just spent a good hour on the phone today with a major coffee company and then my bank, disputing an online order. I didn't order any coffee, and the coffee company confirmed that, but somehow a good amount of money was removed from my checking account and paid to the coffee company. The bank is taking care of it through its fraud department, so all will be well, but I had a moment of panic that someone had stolen my identity. My next thought was that I might not mind my identity being stolen if it meant that I could start all over, at least financially. I'd trade my name, even, if it meant my financial woes went to another person using my name. It makes me laugh to imagine what someone stealing my identity would get on their plate.

As for a new name, I'm thinking Beatrice. And I'd go back in time, too, and be Dante's muse.

Life in Hell

Remember the Life in Hell comics by Matt Groenig? I loved them and had forgotten about them until I decided that my post for this morning was going to be titled "Life in Hell." I went online looking for some sort of ancient painting of Dante's Hell but then found Groenig. I spent a good amount of time going through the many hilarious drawings and then I finally decided on the one I've posted above.

Why?

The black shadowed rabbit is, of course, me. The little rabbit is the nurse who came yesterday to administer Sophie's fourth treatment of IvIg. The nurse arrived on time and was a very kind lady but I won't belabor why mistakes were made. Suffice it to say that veins were punctured five times and no needle found a home. The large, shadowed rabbit called a stop during the fifth poke and demanded that the treatment be tried again tomorrow. That means tomorrow and Saturday because they're given over two days. Five hour infusions on two days. Like I said, I don't feel like belaboring mistakes, especially because the nurse was a good woman.

The little rabbit is also the whole shitty THING, too. The constant seizures, the calls back and forth to The Neurologists, the not-knowing, the no one can help feeling, the constant vigilance, the seizures, the eyes of Sophie, staring at me, the sweaty palms, the eyes, the eyes, the eyes. The whole shitty thing. One needn't live in Haiti to experience hell (although some perspective is in order but allow me to throw perspective to the winds and play the violin instead). And I just have to post the following gorgeous illustration where you can see Sophie and I lost, in the woods.

an illustration for Dante's Inferno by William Blake

Life in Hell is living with a child with a seizure disorder that is refractory to seemingly EVERYTHING.

I bet you're wondering how I'm going to figure out something to be thankful about today.