Party All The Time

(Photos courtesy of The Modern Empath….)

I was walking west on Park Blvd., after leaving Sprouts this afternoon.

As I was walking I saw a young guy with his dog.  His dog was limping.  I assumed it had a back problem.  Next thing I know, two gay guys are walking towards me, making fun of his dog.  “Oh my God!!  Why is it walking like that?” one of the guys said, loudly, pointing.

Both of them started laughing.  As I walked away from them I told the guy with the dog, what they had said.

He couldn’t hear either of them.  He was wearing his wireless earbuds.  The guy told me that she had a knee problem, but that she had adapted very well to walking without that left back leg.  So, he didn’t want to put her thorough an unnecessary surgery.  I told him I understood.


I explained to him the surgery I had three years ago.  I said, “You don’t know how she will react to the anesthesia.”  I told him, that my sugar kept going up during surgery, and that they couldn’t get it to drop.  Finally after one of them had my doctor call home, did they find out, that glucose would work.

They knew they couldn’t use insulin for me, since I had never taken insulin for my diabetes.  They kept giving me glucose until my sugar dropped down to 132.  My sugar was finally low enough for me to wake up.  Before that, I wasn’t waking up, after the surgery.

I told him that my surgeon described my gallbladder to me, and it’s condition.  Then he asked me if I wanted to keep it in a jar.  I said, “Oh, no.  I don’t want to keep it in a jar.  Your verbal description works fine for me.”

The guy walking his dog started laughing.  I said, “Yeah, I didn’t want to keep that thing.  No way did I want to see it.”  The surgeon was all excited, but I don’t find that kinda stuff exciting.  I find that stuff more like, eww, not interesting, just, nah, keep it over there.  If it’s not in me, I really don’t want to see it.

I told him that after my gallbladder came out, I was on 50% less medication as a result.   My gallbladder was very sick.  I knew it was making my diabetes worse.  The surgeon didn’t confirm my suspicions, but the facts confirm for me the truth.  Three years now, post surgery, I am on 75% less medication than I was almost four years ago, when I was first diagnosed with diabetes.  I am very close to reversing it.

I struck up a conversation with that guy because I was just so mad that those two gay drunk guys were making fun of his dog.  The dog didn’t know, but I knew.  The owner didn’t know.  But I knew.  I had to say something.

Just because you are drunk the Sunday after pride, doesn’t mean, you won’t come off as the biggest, brightest, most colorful jerk in hillcrest.

It was great making someone laugh.  It was great being around positive energy, and not being next to those shallow, over glittered jerks who walk around still drunk and asleep on the Sunday morning of what will be for them, more drunken parties to attend, until Monday morning when they realize they are sleeping next to a dog.


What do you think?


Written by Maria Ayala

List MakerStory MakerYears Of MembershipContent Author

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