I’m going to let you in on a secret:
I am headed to rehab.
Nope, not that kind of rehab. Although I have objected with a speech surprisingly similar to that of Amy Winehouse, I will not be checking in for substance abuse, sex addiction, or to fulfill a court order. I’m going for a rehab trend that has yet to hit the Hollywood Hills: physical rehabilitation.
Yes, ladies and a few gentlemen, there is a facility designed for those who are in constant pain. My fairly impressive medical history has given me the insurance approval to travel to freezing-as-balls Minnesota for a month. Lucky me!
The rehabilitation is through the Mayo Clinic (shocker, right?). Mayo Clinic has three locations: hot and sunny Arizona, hot and beachy Florida, and there-is-not-enough-clothing-to-make-me-warm Minnesota. So where do they decide to set up shop for the already afflicted? Minne-freakin’-sota. Who the hell was in charge of that?! I know that my emotional reception would be so much greater if I could have ocean breaks. Fact.
Unfortunately I am not on the board that makes such decisions. I’m just the pawn, buying into the hopes of feeling better. So, to Minnesota I go! I suppose if I can get my life back, or rather start a new life, I can tough it out for four weeks.
Luckily, this is an out-patient program. If I had to live at the center, I would then need to add something else to my calendar: full-on psychiatric intervention. I just know that there will be some people there that I’ll definitely need a to get away from. I’m all for misery loves company, but sometimes misery needs a break. Preferably a break with food and Real Housewives.
What I am truly dreading is waking up early. Call time is 8:00. What does the world even look like at 8 AM? I could describe in great detail what 3 AM looks like, but early daylight hours are nothing but a distant memory. Like Lunchables and MASH. A bit of time has passed since I last had to be up at a specific time everyday. Especially such an early time. Even the last few years I was in high school, I never had a first period class. My days have not started before 9:30 AM since I was a sophomore.
It was decided that my mother and I will be road-tripping this one for all 1,200 miles. That’s a grand total of 2,400 miles for a round trip and approximately 40 hours of driving. Going with my mother isn’t all that bad. I’m just really awful at sitting still for any amount of time. I’ve always had trouble staying in one place and I have Restless Legs Syndrome (it’s a real thing, I swear). With all the actual baggage I have to bring with me, flying would’ve turned into a nightmare. We also needed to have a car. You know, to go places other than a hospital.
For the first week, my brother will be joining us. After all, what teenager wants to spend spring break on the couch doing nothing?
He is flying back after a lovely week of blood tests and inevitable group therapy with me. So much better than endless hours of television. You’re welcome, little one.
I have expectations for the outcome, but none for the process. Let’s just hope no one wants me to dress in more than yoga pants.