Each year as I ring in the next 365 days from behind my eyelids, snuggled up nicely in my bed while Ryan Seacrest celebrates in Times Square, I have blind faith that the coming year will be better than the previous. Given the plethora of setbacks the COVID world has thrown our way in 2020 and 2021, I didn’t think my optimistic attitude was setting the bar too high for 2022.

But, alas… the Gods of Torchery have found a way to wave their little wands to start this year off with some financial bleeding.

First it was the washing machine that retired from service after twelve wonderful years. She had worked hard enough with the heavy dog beds and throw rugs in her time, so I allowed her to go to appliance heaven without the threat of having some repairman come and poke at her only to say she had met her death. Luckily, we were able to find her dryer mate a new home through Facebook Marketplace, so he wasn’t lonely for too long. Within a week, we were back up and operating, replacing the old Samsung pair with a shiny, new GE bundle. “Wanda” and “Wally” have stepped right up to the plate and are doing a fine job laundering all our fabrics, and Lowes has a bit of my bank account in theirs. Then it was time to take “Blueberry,” my Sienna minivan for her service. I knew her shoes (aka tires) were running a bit thin on tread but was hoping I could limp her through another 5000 miles. Nope. Not so lucky, and to add insult to injury, Blueberry also needed some new shocks. I know enough not to mess around with vehicle maintenance; I do like to keep myself and the four legged critters traveling in safety, so Firestone also has a chunk of my bank account in theirs.

Then it was time to take “Blueberry,” my Sienna minivan for her service. I knew her shoes (aka tires) were running a bit thin on tread but was hoping I could limp her through another 5000 miles. Nope. Not so lucky, and to add insult to injury, Blueberry also needed some new shocks. I know enough not to mess around with vehicle maintenance; I do like to keep myself and the four legged critters traveling in safety, so Firestone also has a chunk of my bank account in theirs.

I promptly took Blueberry with her new shoes and shocks on a trip to South Carolina, and the drive home was wrought with torrential rain. Exhausted midday upon my return, I wanted simply to lay down and have a teeny, tiny, little nap. I didn’t want a hard sleep, just something to rest my eyes and relax. For the hour that ensued, the “big guy,” Mousse, proceeded to whine, whimper and squeak over a bitch who had been out of season for more than a week. He forced my hand and probably shouldn’t have called my bluff. If he’d only been quiet… I methodically dialed the vet clinic and scheduled his neuter for the following day, and for good measure, I threw in a gastropexy too. Mousse is recovered and quiet, I can have a sleep or a nap at will, and Viscaya-Prado Vet Clinic has a lovely chunk of my bank account.

When I thought the suffering had ended, I awoke to a stabbing pain in my chest one day at 4:00 AM. It gripped me dead center in my chest and slowly went towards my throat, then subsided and proceeded to repeat. I had never felt anything like this before, and all I could think of was the fit and healthy 45 or 50-year old people who drop dead from heart attacks. After Googling “heart attack symptoms in women” (not recommended, FYI), I was convinced I could be the next statistic, so I gently nudged Greg and explained what was happening. Off to the ER we went where I was given a clean bill of health, a perfect heart work up and a diagnosis of Gastroesophageal reflux disease. Lovely… and color me embarrassed. I paid my $250 copay and shredded the prescription for Pepcid. Last week, the blow came. Deductible not met. Amount due? Use your imagination. Cape Coral Hospital does not yet have a chunk of my bank account in theirs, but they soon will.

And with that, I wish you ALL an uneventful 2022.