Well, I did it. I survived the first year of being single. My first Valentines Day, first birthday, first wedding anniversary, first Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first New Years and finally my first year anniversary of walking out on the life I knew. I did it! Wahoo, my year of firsts was over! Then it occurred to me, now I have to have a year of seconds, and I was still single! Ugh! One of the ways I got through the first year was telling myself, “don’t worry next year will be different!” Would it really be or was I still lying to myself?
January had been a very tough month. While in New York for the Miss New York USA pageant, I got very sick. I called my super doctor in Beverly Hills and asked for my usual miracle cure cocktail; antibiotics strong enough to cure an elephant, pain-killers, steroid inhaler and the “really good” cough syrup. He told me he couldn’t prescribe a narcotic across state lines and that I needed to see a doctor in New York. Blah, so annoying, I didn’t have time to see a doctor, I had a hundred things to do before the pageant and being sick was not one of them.
Thank goodness Jack was there, I agreed to go to urgent care so I could get some meds. Jack drove me to the urgent care and I ended up in the emergency room. I found myself waiting in the hallway on a stretcher with Jack sitting at the end of my bed covering his face with his scarf; he looked a little like the paparazzi photos of Michael Jackson. After a chest x-ray and a few tests and a lot of waiting around, I found out I had come down with pneumonia, for the second time in my life. I was laid out on a stretcher and not even a cute doctor in sight! Jack filled out all of the paperwork and gave them my insurance info.
“Sorry ma’am, do you have another insurance card? This one is no good.” The admissions lady informed me as I lie in a hospital bed wishing I could just go home.
“Excuse me, what do you mean it is not good. We have insurance; you must have entered it wrong!” Jack said like the momma bear he was, his voice going into the higher pitch it reached when he was really getting angry.
The woman walked back and pretended she tried it again. When she walked back, she said, “I am sorry, this is no good” and shoved the card back to Jack.
“Where is my phone?” I said with as much energy as I could.
“Why?” Jack asked.
“Give it to me!” I snapped.
I started furiously texting my ex. “What the fuck! I am in the hospital and being told I have no health insurance, are you fucking kidding me??? After all the shit, you put me through and now I have to deal with this?”
He text back fairly quickly, acting concerned and confused. “What? Are you ok? What happened? Of course, you have insurance!”
“Well, I am being told I don’t, you need to fix this and fix it NOW!” I typed back.
“I will fix it! ARE YOU OK???” He demanded.
“I am fine, just get my insurance fixed!” I was in no mood to fill him in on personal details of my life, nor did I want his sympathy.
I had to sign my life away to get out of the hospital, but to be fair I found out I did have insurance. He had changed insurance plans, and I didn’t have the proper card. But it was his fault that I didn’t have the card, at least I did have some insurance though I would be paying off that ER visit for the next year.
We had just finished Miss California USA the weekend before, and the New York pageant was going to be even more work, it was a more green staff and I had spent months working on it. I was beside myself, thank God Jack was there. We left the ER, went to Walgreens for the usual; prescriptions, Kleenex (the hotel tissue was shit), Gatorade, saltine crackers, cough drops and gossip magazines. The doctor said I had to stay in bed and couldn’t leave my room. What? How the hell was I going to do that when I had a pageant to produce? I had two days until the girls checked in so I decided I would be totally well by then! Yes, it had been a rough year but I wasn’t in that bad of shape, I thought to myself. I was sure I would bounce back quickly; I survived the last year I could survive this.
As I lay in my hotel bed, which was only marginally more comfortable than the hospital stretcher, I found myself too tired to even operate the remote to turn the channel on my TV. Fuck, I was really sick! I hated being sick, especially away from home. I didn’t even have anyone to send me flowers or that I could call and complain about how sick I was. My business partner was nice about it, but I could tell he was stressed. I was staying in my room in order to not expose anyone else on staff and have them get sick!
As the days moved on, I wasn’t getting better. As contestants arrived, I told myself that I would stay in bed until competition night and then would feel better! Well, that wasn’t true either but after a couple of days the guilt and stress took over. I managed to take a shower and wash my hair; I had to lie back down after that. The most simple task simply exhausted me.
I finally made it the theatre where the pageant was being held and about half way through the first show and after finishing a bit of filming I had committed to doing. I had to go back; I was too sick. I felt so awful for leaving everyone else with all the work and not being there to the level I should have. I missed almost all of it; I missed most of the weekend.
At the end as sad as I was to miss the pageant, but I was happy it was over. I couldn’t wait to get home, I had less than a week before we left for Paris and I wasn’t about to be sick on that trip!
Ah, Paris. I was excited beyond description!
Single & Stylish,
*All of the events I have written about in the above and previous posts are about me, my life, my experiences and from my point of view.
© Keylee Sanders, Style Studio LLC and KeyleeStyle.com, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Keylee Sanders, Style Studio LLC and KeyleeStyle.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.