No. This is not a post spewing esoteric, aquarian, philosophical navel-gazing ideology. It’s also not an exploration of my deepest darkest secrets and longings. Through tremendous fields of magnetism and abhorrent forces of nature and science, it’s a deep slicing look into inner mechanics. My inner mechanics.

As you may or may not know, I was in an auto accident back in November of 2009. November 2nd to be exact. I was fully stopped and waiting to pull into the parking lot of our condo complex Bridgehaven. Both hands were on the wheel, left foot depressing the clutch, and right foot resting above but not pushing on the accelerator. Waiting. Within a fraction of a moment I would have been in the process of turning my wheels to make that left turn. Normally before this happens, I’d look at oncoming traffic, look into my rear look for people behind me, again at oncoming traffic, and if clear, making the turn. I’ve done this a million times with no surprises, eventually reaching my destination beyond the other side of the south bound lane of 15th Ave NE—the parking lot. On this day, things were different. Very different. Before I could finish my left turn “event sequence” / ritual, I got to the point of looking at oncoming traffic, the first time, and was about to look to my rear-view when BOOM! I was struck in the rear of my car by a woman driving a white Nissan. Did she break? No. Did she hit at (probably) 30 mph? Yes. Did she push my car 6 feet? Oh yes she did!

I feel the need to shower. It’s time to come clean. Not in a drench me with lukewarm  water in an enclosed box kind of thing. I think this is more a metaphoric shower. In my posts talking about my autoimmune disease Sarcoidosis, I’ve always disguised my doctors’ names. It’s time to come clean.

I realized that those folks who do read my posts about Sarcoidosis may be looking for doctors to be their advocates. I know that the process of diagnosis, and just having this disease is emotionally draining. Not knowing where to start, or what doctors to turn to, or ones that even know what the disease is … that’s the hardest part. Not knowing. Feeling alone. Feeling helpless & hopeless.

I guess if I go back an list the characters in this long running play “Living The Sarcoid Life”  I could clear things up. Maybe a list of the ‘advocates’ and the ‘clueless’ might work. But then I also need to think of the liability of talking about the ‘clueless’ … can they sue me for libel? It is only my opinion. For now … just the advocates.

This is a follow-up to the post: “A Show of Hands.” It’s funny. I’ve sat here for 30 minutes trying to find a way to start this. Trying to find the most obtuse angle to dive in. Contemplating a witty way to say what I needed to. I’m tired. I’m hurting. And I think my anger will have to be enough for now. Okay … I just need to say it. My Sarcoidosis is flaring up again. What’s really shitty is it’s now creating cystic lesions in the bones of my hands, wrists & fingers. So when I tell you this entry is a pain to write …. take it literally.

I’ve been dreading this moment. The moment when I had to admit to the world that my Sarcoid is back. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! After the X-rays back in August. A three week round of steroids … which did help the swelling and pain vacate. An MRI of my hands and wrists at Viva Las Vegas Radiology …