Trouble getting them to pay!

I love to watch crime dramas.  I try to avoid ones with a lot of sexual content or other immorality.  I was happy when one character was removed from a show after murdering a suspected rapist.  She set a trap for him and killed him. 

Anyway, they always have the autopsy scene (you can tell I'm depressed) where the coroner goes over the body and says "I found bruises on her thigh". 

I always think, if I die mysteriously, Ron might be in trouble.  I have a spectacular bruise on my left thigh and NO idea how I got it.  I bang my legs a lot at work, I run into or fall over carts.  This one looks like I fell over the wheelchair.  At home, I run into walls and furniture on a regular basis.  Last year I broke a toe running into my couch. 

At this level, and quantity of medication, I'm always sporting a bruise.  I'm OK with that but I do wonder what the professionals would think. 

I am vain enough to hope I would have ideal lithium blood levels, upon testing.  I know.  I know. But I want a perfect lithium level. 

I also think, depending on how I die, Ron might have a little trouble getting the insurance to pay! 

I would never relate the following if I thought my Dad would read it.  We have a corded electric lawnmower.  We store the cord on a hose reel.  Back when Ron could mow now and then, he ran over the cord a few times.  He made splices with duct tape, in the 10 amp rated electrical cord. 

I use that cord to mow the yard.  Now, imagine the worst happens.  I am gone to Jesus, electrocuted.  The insurance, and homicide are going to look at that cord and rule my death suspicious.  Ron may be in trouble.

We keep meaning to get a new cord, but things come up, it's a special trip to Home Depot on paratransit, then Ron has to reload it on the hose reel... stupid I know. 

It's ironic, really.  I always saw myself as the sick one.  Ron had his problems, blind, half paralyzed, etc,; but I was sick. 

I take 4-5 medications (depending on migraine status) a day.  I take handfuls of medication.  I have to get blood tests and see a doctor every couple months.  I have to get a nap every day or I get REALLY cranky (that's per Ron "Like a little baby, so cute, but so mean"). 

Now Ron's diabetic.  It's a whole new world of test stips, disinfectant, ointments, meters, and a whole new pantry.  It hasn't been all bad.  Ron loves Armour Bourbon BBQ Vienna Sausage and Lance Flaming Hot peanuts.  His blood sugars are fine.  He's getting protein and fat.  He's happy eating them; in fact begged me to buy more the last two times we went shopping. 

It's ironic, too.  For years I was the "low carb" person.  Now he is, and I'm not.  I did check my sugar, though, an hour after eating some Mexican Milk Candy. 

133.  Fine. 

Of course I plan to go low-carb again.  I just don't know when.  It's a pretty big commitment, but I don't want to end up like Ron. 

God knows he couldn't do for me what I'm doing for him.