2017, what are you?

Is 2017 a rerun of 2016?  Or should I not be attaching too much meaning to stuff that happen around me?

My neighbour’s mother, who, as I had mentioned earlier, was diagnosed with cancer, underwent surgery yesterday, and it seems once they cut her up, they found that the monster had left its trail all over her innards.  After eight hours of cutting from here, chopping from there and snipping from elsewhere, the doctors say “let’s see”.  My neighbour was not as distraught as she was the first time she told me about her mother’s illness, perhaps she has prepared herself for the worst.  Illness, especially life-threatening ones, is never easy on loved ones.  I hope things settle soon.


My uncle (the one from here) had a nervous breakdown today.  He has been in the throngs of dementia for a couple of years now – I would get multiple calls from him (the record was 24 calls in one hour) and he would say “oh, I meant to dial someone else”.  He would the ask after my dad and my mom (who has been dead for a few decades now) and I would tell him “all of them are fine” and he would hang up, to call back and ask the exact same thing.  At 4.30 AM this morning, he woke my aunt, and insisted that the cops are out to get him because someone (my cousin, in fact) had ratted on him.  This happened for many hours before my aunt called my father for help.  Between my father, my cousin and me, it was hard work to calm him enough to get tranquillisers into him. A messy day for our family.

This gets me a little worried.  If the streak of insanity is genetic, should I warn my family to tip toe around me?  Considering that my pms has been progressively intense over the years, am I going the way of my uncle?

Or am I being paranoid?  But isn’t paranoia a psychiatric disorder too?  Oh, stop it.



12 thoughts on “2017, what are you?

  1. The V Pub

    I wouldn’t worry too much, LG. 😉 Your post reminds me of this Woody Allen quote:
    “It reminds me of that old joke- you know, a guy walks into a psychiatrist’s office and says, hey doc, my brother’s crazy! He thinks he’s a chicken. Then the doc says, why don’t you turn him in? Then the guy says, I would but I need the eggs. I guess that’s how I feel about relationships. They’re totally crazy, irrational, and absurd, but we keep going through it because we need the eggs.”


  2. Maha

    I feel for you and your family and the uncle. My patti’s dementia has worsened and it has been a journey for them, is all I can say. You know LG this is what I have realized – we never know what is in store for us, to a certain extent we can mitigate it but to a large extent it is a wild card. So the only thing that is in our control is how we live our life now – when we are reasonably healthy – physically and mentally.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hangaku Gozen

    Your poor uncle, though I feel even more bad for your aunt. Anyone who has to look after a loved one with dementia deserves automatic sainthood.

    Dementia isn’t a mental illness per se: it’s a neurological term that covers a host of symptoms that once were labeled senility. Coming from a family where it seems to have hit any senior who lived past 90, I worry about it. I also believe knowing about dementia makes one more likely to take active steps to slow its progress, if not prevent it from happening. So, lots of exercise and challenging activities. Apparently sudoku and crossword puzzles don’t cut it anymore; you have to do something that is genuinely difficult and takes you out of your comfort zone. Learning a new language is supposed to be a winner; so is learning a new skill, like martial arts or writing code. But hopefully 2017 is not a repeat of last year, not for you anyway!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. gobblefunkist Post author

      I was just thinking about you and your absence and wondered if I needed to check on you.
      I hope 2017 is tolerable for all of us.
      I have been reading about dementia, and the more I read, the more I feel I already have it ! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Hangaku Gozen

        I came back from New York just early Wednesday morning; as luck would have it, I also came home with the flu, courtesy of my poor little granddaughter, who had it over the holidays. (Never kiss a baby covered in snot, though I will say love overcame all caution there.) So I’ve been holed up in my cottage, worried I’m going to infect the entire West Coast with this strain of New York virus. I got my flu shot in November, so apparently what I have wasn’t covered by this year’s vaccine. I’ve seen what one infected student can do to a classroom, so I’m hyperaware of what I could do to elderly friends, anyone recovering from surgery or cancer, or babies. But I’m running out of food here, unless I want to eat spaghetti and green bean casserole for breakfast. This is where I miss New York: you can get virtually anything delivered out there. Here in CA, they assume you have a car and can drive it. Only the wealthier neighborhoods have grocery delivery, and even then, it’s only for orders of $50 or more. My daughter’s Indian in-laws said that in India you can “hire a boy” to get food for you, but you can’t get the kids in this neighborhood to even walk to school, let alone run to the store for you.


      2. Hangaku Gozen

        But thank you for thinking of me. I have been following your blog via iPhone, which doesn’t provide a good way to write comments, not for people who can’t read itty bitty fonts anyway.


  4. Carol

    I wonder sometimes if we have a little too much information allowing our imaginations to roam wildly, yet not enough to reason with that imagination.



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