“I Broke My Arm Yesterday” (The Fall + The Weirdest Help)

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I broke my arm yesterday.

We haven’t been walking much lately because I got a blister on my big toe about a week ago, and I’m about to turn 63 on Tuesday, which means I’ve entered the stage of life where I don’t “push through” a blister like I’m training for the Olympics. I let it heal. Bailey let it heal. Bailey is my dog and she’s going to be 13 this summer, so neither one of us is interested in unnecessary suffering. We’re old. We’re wise. We’re a little creaky. We take the scenic route.

So Sunday, we finally went out for a walk.

And about a half mile from home, I tripped — I’m pretty sure I tripped over my own dog’s toes. Yes. That sentence is humiliating. Yes. It’s also true.

One second we’re walking, the next second I’m flying at the pavement like a sack of groceries thrown by a demon.

I landed hard. Blunt trauma hard. Chest hard. Elbow hard. Knees hard. Left hand/wrist hard. The greatest hits of “What hurts today?” all came out to play at once.

Bailey stayed with me. Because Bailey is not only a good dog, she’s old enough that she’s not running off to start a second life while I’m face-down on the sidewalk.

Here’s where the world got both kinder and weirder:

A gentleman stranger — total stranger — walked me and Bailey home. He just… did it. Like a decent human being who still exists in the wild. If you’re reading this and you’re him: thank you. Seriously. Thank you.

Once we got home, I called 911.

And that’s where the day became… something else.

Because as soon as help arrived, my forearm muscles started spasming and cramping like a Charley horse… except it wasn’t in my leg. It was in my arm. And it didn’t happen once.

It happened over and over and over again — for the next four or five hours.

Every time it hit, I screamed. Not delicate little whimpers. I mean screaming. The kind of scream where your body is saying, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

And what was weird — and honestly a little unsettling — was that nobody asked me why I was screaming.

Not once.

No one said: “Where is the pain coming from?”
No one said: “What’s happening when you scream?”
No one said: “Is this cramping? Nerve pain? A spasm? A fracture moving?”

I was screaming constantly, and everyone acted like screaming was just… part of the background music.

That messed with my head.

It made me wonder if they understood what they were seeing. Or if they were just trying to get me transported and out of the scene as quickly as possible.

Another confusing thing: When the medics asked if I could walk, I said yes — because I had walked from where I fell, a half mile away, with a stranger and my dog.

They thought I meant I could walk out to the ambulance, and they kept the gurney outside. But I wanted it inside, because — hello — I’m the one with the broken body and the screaming muscles.

So there was a weird mismatch of meaning. I said “yes,” meaning “I got home somehow.” They heard “yes,” meaning “I’m stable and mobile.”

Spoiler: I was not stable and mobile.

By the end of it, here’s what I knew:

  • I had blunt trauma to my chest
  • I had a broken arm (and possibly more than one break, apparently)
  • I had a bruised left hand/wrist
  • I bruised up both knees
  • Everything hurt, everything swelled, and my muscles were furious with me like I’d personally insulted them at a dinner party

And the whole thing landed right before my birthday, because apparently the universe has a calendar and a mean sense of humor.

So yes: tomorrow is my birthday.

And today I am sitting here wondering how I managed to trip over my own dog’s toes and end up in an episode of “Is Anyone Actually Listening to the Screaming Lady?”

Stay tuned.


“Bird’s Birthday Request” (Words, Not Stuff)

Tomorrow is my birthday.

Yes, I’m announcing it. Why? Because I broke myself again, and if I’m going to be dramatic, I might as well be strategic.

Here’s what happened next:

Two days after the fall, the pain wasn’t getting better — it was getting worse — so the doctors sent me back to the ER.

They took off my bandages and immediately decided I was woefully inadequately wrapped, which was both validating and annoying. Like… great, so it wasn’t just me being a baby. It genuinely wasn’t wrapped right.

This time I got wrapped properly — and the doctor’s name, I swear on everything, was Dr. Justice.

Which is hilarious, because I have a publishing company called Justice House. So for a second I’m sitting there like, “Of course. Of course the universe would send me Dr. Justice. I’m in pain, but at least the casting department is still working.”

Anyway: she indicated it could be more than one break, but it was a busy ER and she didn’t stick around long.

They wrapped me up, padded me like I’m being shipped by UPS, and then tried to position the splint across my chest the way it needed to be… and it wouldn’t bend because it hardened too fast.

So it all had to come off. And then they did it again.

This time, she didn’t wet the splint at all — but apparently opening it activates it, because by the time she finished wrapping me, it was hard as a rock, already set, and finally positioned correctly across my chest.

And now it’s not digging into me the way it was before.

It still hurts, of course. My muscles still hate me. My chest has opinions. My knees are swollen. My left hand has arthritis and it’s now throwing a full tantrum and shooting pain at me like it has access to a paintball gun.

And my right arm is basically a decorative object at this point.

So here’s the thing:

If anyone is thinking about doing something for my birthday — or even if you weren’t thinking about it at all — I would like to invite you to do something clever.

I wanted a really cool fountain pen for my birthday this year, but I can’t write anything right now. So maybe next year. Or Mother’s Day.

But this year?

This year I want words.

I want messages. I want DMs. I want notes. I want people to say, “Hey Bird, I see you.”

Audible gift cards? Yes, please. Audiobooks are my sanity right now.

A phone call? I would love that.
You don’t even have to call — leave me a message.
Send me a DM.
Send me a little piece of your life.

Just… words. Conversation. Connection.

Because while I was in the hospital, one of the girls working there actually said, “Girl, you need to do stand-up.”

And I laughed — because that’s exactly how it goes. I’m in pain, my mom’s attitude is “shut up,” the nurses think I’m funny, and somehow I’m doing comedy while my bones are trying to exit the building.

So yes. Tomorrow is my birthday.

And I’m asking for something simple:

Send me words.
Send me kindness.
Send me a little hello.

I’m Bird. I’ve grown up and now I’m known as Bird in many corners of the internet. And right now, I could really use some voices that aren’t medical and aren’t my own internal “why does this always happen right before something important?” voice.

That’s my birthday request.

Words.

Thank you for stopping by! Please say hello in the comments. I’d love to hear from you. I’m starting more new things tomorrow and I hope you’ll be here. Take care friend.

Bird


Anxiety Was the One That Hit Me 2025

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Today’s Fear: My Take on Managing Inauguration Day Anxiety


I’m having political anxiety right now. I’ve been worried about talking about it because I feel like I need to tell you about some personal choices and these days it seems dangerous to do that. I don’t think it can be helped. Haters gonna hate

Today is Inauguration Day for the next president. I’m not excited; I feel trepidation. I’m not happy; I feel depressed. I’m crushingly sad; I feel—very afraid.

I don’t know where you’re at today emotionally, but if you experience political anxiety, which can be about a bazillion things, here are a few to consider:

Are you stressed about potential policy changes that might affect you directly? Are you worried about the divisions in the country becoming deeper and more irreparable? Or maybe you’re concerned about the political climate affecting your community, workplace, or personal relationships?

Whatever the cause, political anxiety is real and affects a lot of us in very personal ways. Here’s what I’m doing to manage it—maybe some of these strategies can help you too:

  1. Stay Informed but Set Limits: I need to stay updated, but too much news can overwhelm anyone. I stick to trusted news sources and avoid misinformation, which can add to the anxiety.
  2. Engage in Constructive Conversations: Talking through my fears and opinions helps, but I make sure these discussions are constructive, not confrontational. Finding people who can engage in respectful dialogue—regardless of their political stance—helps me feel less isolated with my concerns.
  3. Immediate Actions for Emotional Relief: Since the elections have just concluded and the new president is being sworn in today, my feelings of urgency require immediate attention. In moments like these, I find it helpful to engage in activities that ground me in the present, like a short mindfulness exercise or a brisk walk.
  4. Self-care is Crucial: On days when everything seems too much, I prioritize self-care. Whether it’s reading a book, taking a walk, or practicing meditation, taking time to unwind helps reset my emotional state.
  5. Seek Professional Help if Needed: Sometimes, talking to friends or family isn’t enough. I’m not hesitant to seek help from a therapist or counselor, especially when anxiety starts to impact my daily life significantly.
  6. It’s Good to Have Your Own Opinions: Don’t let anyone bully you. Agree to disagree. Say it. Don’t be afraid. You can draw boundaries. “We can talk about this up to this point—and no further.” If the boundary is crossed, you have your own permission to exit the conversation. As the saying goes, “Just say NO.”

Remember, it’s okay to take a step back and breathe. Now more than ever, politics impacts us all in our daily lives, but taking care of your mental health is crucial. Let’s not let our fears and anxieties hold us back from living. Keep looking for moments of joy and unity—they can often be found where we least expect them.

Today’s video is a short that shows how beauty… well, you should check it out. Amazing.

Beauty and Peace

We can’t exist on an island alone. If you’re reading this then we definitely have some things in common. I’d really love to hear about some of your coping ideas. Why don’t you post some below?

Be well friends,

Robin

Political Anxiety Really Sucks: Do You Suffer from it Too?

Political Anxiety Really Sucks: Do You Suffer from It Too?

You know that pit-in-your-stomach feeling when you hear breaking news, and you just know it’s not going to be good? Yeah, me too. Political anxiety has basically set up camp in my brain, and it’s not paying rent. My family and I are right there with you, doom-scrolling through the headlines and trying to figure out how to stay informed without completely losing it. Spoiler alert: we haven’t cracked the code yet.

Let’s be real—this stress isn’t just annoying; it’s exhausting. It’s like the background music in a horror movie, always there, keeping you on edge. Even when you try to ignore it, it sneaks into your conversations, your social media feeds, and that tiny moment of peace you thought you had before bed. But here’s the thing: we’re all dealing with this, and it’s okay to admit it’s hard. (And if you’ve mastered the art of not caring while staying informed, please tell me your secrets!)

Over the next few posts, I’m going to dive into this whole political anxiety mess—what it is, why it feels so terrible, and what we can actually do about it. By the end of the series, I’m hoping we’ll all have a few solid tricks to keep our sanity intact without turning into hermits. Stick with me—it’s going to be an anxiety-filled, occasionally funny ride.

Legally Disabled, At Home, Unable to Work. And I FEEL GUILTY

It’s too late for me to tell you a story about how this came about. I do want you to know about it though because it has completely changed the way I look at my life.

I’m legally disabled because of a very difficult mental health diagnosis that I deal with all the time. More than one, actually.

I feel pressured to do all sorts of things during my days, but I never do them. Not much anyway. My mental health sticks me like a very long needle, making doing anything so very difficult.

Clean, read an instructive book, blah, blah.

I don’t have to. This is what I realized today. I’m not getting the things done anyway so why don’t I just do what I, want to do? It’s my life. I’m LEGALLY disabled. This proves to ME that it’s ok to have such a hard time. Weird, okay. That’s me.

I can do whatever I want to.

Generally, people who assume that they do not struggle with mental illness view me, as a self-appointed representative of all people who should improve their mental health; both those who have been diagnosed with a mental illness and those who are not diagnosed, and those who want to improve it.

So yeah. Try it. You choose what you want to do.

Want to turn out better work at your job than you have been doing? Then do it. You don’t need anyone’s permission.

Want to blow up a balloon and pop it behind your annoying son? Do it.

Do not use this as an excuse to quit your job or leave your partner. Don’t be daft.

I going to have to go now. I want to read a bit more about George Orwell’s “1984” and a really fantastically written book by Kate Quinn called “The Rose Code.” It’s about three women meeting and doing life together at the code braking center at Bletchley Park in the UK during WW2. Remember the Enigma code and Alan Turing?

If you’re curious about Bletchley Park and code breaking you might check out these sites begin with: (Why am I telling you this? Isn’t this site about mental health and mental illness? *See the end of the post.)

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Code Breakers
I’ll stop now. Do you know how excited I get?!

Tonight and from now on, I pledge to try to do what I want and claim that bit of peace that comes with being in control for a moment.

But don’t come for me if I’m only human… and I fail at sometimes, but sometimes I fly.