FIVE FOR FRIDAY: (on Sunday) There's no crying in PT!

 

Happy Friday all!  First off, let's get this out of the way: YES, there is crying in PT.  But this wee was especially frustrating for me.  We know I generally only cry when I'm angry, so you know if I was crying in PT on Tuesday, I was in a rage. Everything just built up to a boiling point. Here's a countdown of five reasons why I cried in PT on Tuesday.

5) My recently replaced right knee.

Not really a problem except that it's not 100% and will never be 100% and it seems like I lost all of last year to this knee and now I've lost my inspiration to write since this knee was replaced. Is there where my creativity lived? In my now defunct right knee?

4) My left knee.

My left knee needs to be replaced. We've known this for a while.  It's just that now, since April, it's not responding to injections and it's starting to hurt in the way my right knee did last year.

3) My hands and feet.

My hands and feet are riddled with arthritis and hurt quite often, but since the first thaw this year they've been swollen and painful in spite of my usual treatments.  I hate spring, it always triggers the worst in my hands and feet. I'm like one of those Biblical guys they were always carrying around on mats in the New Testament.

No, seriously, I would LOVE IT if my friends could carry me right to Jesus to get healed!

2) My right ear.

See the blog from Wednesday.    Here's the link  Let's just say I'm suffering, once again, at the hands of incompetent medical folk who take my deductible and run over and over again.

1) My left shoulder.

This is a workman's comp thing. It's why I'm in PT right now anyway. I got hurt at work.  I'm going to PT like a good girl.  I don't mind PT, it's just that it hurts and the exercises hurt and I'm terrified this shoulder is going to mean something more than just a few sessions with my buddy, Bill, the PT guy.

So it all built up, all the pain I've got going on.  I can't sleep, because I normally sleep on my left side.  But that's my painful shoulder. I can't sleep on my right side because my ear drain blood and puss and the towel I cover my pillow with keeps slipping.  I can't hear much at work, so that's a pain in the rump.  My knees hurt so walking is a problem, but that's fine because if I did walk more my feet would scream more.

Do you get what's happening here?  Frustration overload!

Now Bill, my PT guy, is a gem.  He did my PT for my knee.  I love him, and not just because his office is a four-minute drive from my house.  He's patient, he's willing to try pretty much anything.  But...this shoulder might have him stumped.  So when I came in crying on Tuesday, he suggested we turn things up a notch and I go to the ortho guys.

You remember the ortho guys. The ones who neglected to ask if I snored and therefore nearly killed me with anesthesia during my knee surgery. You want to send me there?

In Bill's defense, he does believe in the whole, "there's no crying in PT."  He's wrong, but that's what he believes.

We went through our exercises and Bill's promised to not mention the ortho guys again unless absolutely necessary.  Stay tuned...

A doctor's appointment so bad, it gets its own blog! (Dr. House...we need you!)

 

Good day everyone!

So I was going to get a "Five for Friday" going about my day yesterday, and I had it all written in my head.  Until I had to go to the ear doctor...again...and emerged from that so angry I nearly crapped my pants on the way home. I'm not even kidding.

WARNING:  This post MAY include Rated R language as my internal speaker is not what one would call a good Christian girl with a clean mouth. No, my internal speaker is a 1940's sailor on shore leave after about six shots of the local alcoholic brew. This is really going to be more of a manifesto rant than a blog.  I'm not kidding...do not let the kiddies read this.

If you are offended by the verbal vulgarity arts, I suggest you not continue reading this.

Okay, so here's how this went down. (And I'm using actual notes from my actual MyChart, so...you know...I'm not making this up.)

On May 12 of this year, I went to urgent care because my ear was plugged and I was having a hard time hearing.  Below are some of the notes from that appointment:

Patient is a 87-year-old female who presents with right ear fullness and pressure for a week and a half prior to arrival. She reports feeling that her hearing is muffled and underwater. She feels there is pressure inside of her ear. Last week she had ear pain which resolved.

Right Ear: No drainage, swelling or tenderness. A middle ear effusion is present. There is no impacted cerumen. No foreign body. No mastoid tenderness. No hemotympanum. Tympanic membrane is not injected or erythematous.

Okay, I'm not 87, I'm 57, but that can be forgiven. I've had issues with itchy ears for years and this was the first doctor who actually listened to me and wrote me a referral for not just an ENT, but also an Alergist and a Dermatologist. This doctor suggested I take a number of decongestants and wait and see if the ear opened up on its own, as they tend to do this time of year because seasonal allergies, (which I have only recently started experiencing) are so big right now.

Thusly it was that I found myself at the office of an ENT on May 21 of this year. Below are some of the notes from that appointment:

A 57 y.o. female who I am asked to see at the request of who comes in with a plugged right ear with decreased hearing over the last couple of weeks. She was seen in urgent care and told to come here for fluid in her ear. She has not had a history of fluid in her ear. She has some mild allergies. She has a history of obstructive sleep apnea.

There is a middle ear effusion on the right. Discussed options with the patient what she wanted proceed with a myringotomy so right myringotomy was performed under topical phenol anesthesia under the microscope. Serous fluid was obtained from the middle ear. She notes dramatic improvement. Left ear was clear. Nasal exam unremarkable. Oral cavity pharynx clear. Neck exam negative for mass or adenopathy.

I'd like to point out that while he got my age right, he did NOT look at my left ear, my throat, my nose or anything other than my right ear. (I'm reading the clinical notes for the first time as I write this.) for those of you not familiar, a myringotomy is where the "doctor" (I'll be using quotation marks when referring to this fartnozzle now.) sticks a needle with a sponge of numbing meds in your ear. That burns like a BITCH for about 5 seconds. Then it's gone and he sticks another needle, this time combined with a vacuum cleaner, deep into the ear and cuts a hole in the eardrum and sucks out fluid. Yes, I did feel improvement which last all the way back to my car in the parking lot and the ear closed up again.

I contact the office and they said it was a process, and would take time for the ear to fully drain.  For a couple days a lovely yellow goo would flood out of my ear without warning. Super fun when one is at work.

Being a good girl, one taught to respect my elders, especially "doctors," I waited as I was told to wait.  I waited until the oozing stopped, the ear was still plugged, and my hearing got worse. But at least it hurt now, so that's great.

I went in on June 10.  Below are the notes: 

Explained options including a repeat myringotomy versus tube placement as she proceeded with the myringotomy. A right myringotomy was performed and the topical anesthesia with phenol. Serous fluid was obtained from the middle ear. Tympanic membrane was somewhat thickened. She noticed immediate relief.

Now, what's important here are things the "doctor" did NOT put in the notes. Like, how I asked him what he should do, another draining, or put in the tube. He said, "wait and let's drain it again, and see if that works."

He also used the word "infection" TWICE in the appointment. Now, I don't know about you, but the word "infection" especially when combined with "ear" means antibiotics. I didn't say anything in the appointment, because one's brain is not all that clear immediately after having needles and vacuum cleaners shoved deep into the ear. But I messaged the "doctor's" office again the next day:

Hello! it didnt click with me yesterday when i was in the office but Dr. Kass used the word "infection" twice. If I have an ear infection shouldn't I be on antibiotics? thanks, have a great evening.

The response was neither quick nor clear:

Your ear has fluid in it but this is not an actual acute infection which is why you are not on antibiotics. Treatment is drainage of the fluid. If the fluid recurs we would then place a tube. There is no acute infection requiring antibiotics but rather just a plugged eustachian tube.

That brings us to yesterday...June 17. I was already pretty fragile, for reasons we'll cover in my next Five for Friday. So when I called on Monday the 16th to schedule I was very clear that I wanted the tube in my ear. I was done fooling around with this. (Note: My portion of these appointments has been $120 each for the first two. Another thing to consider. Also, since when I can I get in to an ENT just any time I want? Can someone say "BIG STUPID RED FLAG?"

So I get to the "doctors" office. I get in the chair, we chat nicely for a moment. He shoves the stinging sponge in there and then begins 20 minutes of what I would call a mining expedition.

20 minutes of poking, drilling, cutting, and draining. Fun fact, the numbing agent that stings for five seconds really only works for about three minutes. So I started gripping the arm rests and pressing into the chair, as one does when one wants to stay still, but is experiencing extreme and sharp pain.

"Doctor" says, "oh does that hurt?"

As a wise friend said when I told her this story, "No shit, Sherlock."

More numbing, more stinging, only this time he didn't wait for it to take full effect, so more drilling, more sucking, more screeching sounds in my ear, more pain.

"Your ear drum is really thick. I'm going to try cutting it in a different spot."

Spoiler...THAT DIDN'T WORK!

Okay, here are the notes:

Patient comes in for follow-up. Right ear still feeling plugged.

 

Examination of microscope reveals thick mucoid effusion with retraction. A right myringotomy was performed under sterile technique and found to have thickened eardrum with very thick middle ear mucosa. There was some fluid as well. Tympanic membranes was too thick to place a tube.

 

Impression. Right otitis media with effusion with severe edema of the tympanic membranes and mucosa.

 

Plan. Omnicef. Ciprodex drops. Keep the ear dry. Follow-up in 2 weeks for recheck and possible tube placement at that time.

What does all that mean?

Well he put me on not one, but TWO antibiotics.

FOR A FARTING INFECTION I DON'T HAVE???????????????????????

(I did warn you.)

Now, fun fact, I have allergies to some of the more common antibiotics. So he's telling me, after cutting AT LEAST 5 holes in my eardrum, that it's too thick for a tube at the moment. He asks if I have a problem with antibiotics. I tell him what I allergies are. (WHICH HE SHOULD KNOW SINCE IT'S ALL IN MY FREAKING MYCHART NOTES!)

Why do we bother filling out those preregistrations every time? The jackwagon doctors clearly don't read them. This is not the first time I've been prescribed something that sent me to urgent care with a reaction by some "doctor" who didn't get enough of a shit to read the notes I have to fill in for EVERY SINGLE FREAKING APPOINTMENT.

The second I told him my allergies, one would have thought I just informed him that I also shot holes in all four of his tires. He was that inconvenienced by my allergy. He had to think of another two antibiotics that would heal the INFECTION I DIDN'T HAVE but not kill me in the process.

Oh yeah and come back in two weeks. Also, one of the prescriptions was for ear drops. Now, this is fine, but this fucktard's last instruction to me, after telling me to come back in two weeks, was

"Keep your ear dry."

I mean, other than the fact that I have BLOOD AND YELLOW OOZE coming out of the ear and WHITE DROPS GOING IN, I AM BEING SUPER CAREFUL about keeping it dry. Now showers for me. (That's going to go over great at work.)

By the time I'm at the pharmacy (those poor people) I was in tears and raging. My ear hurt, I can't hear out of it, but sound gets stuck in my head and it's like I'm underwater. I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything. I can't carry on a conversation with a person like normal, and my TV volume is way past 11. It's all I can do not to break down at the pharmacy.

This is how mad I was: I asked to speak with the pharmacist to make sure the antibiotics weren't going to set off a reaction.

I trust pharmacists.

I do not trust "Doctors."

Wise words from Keith Richards...and he should know. He's done just about every bad thing to himself and he's still kicking.

Okay, so you'd think at this point I'd just drive home and take my meds and write a funny blog about nonsense that only happens to me.

Nope, we are not done.

Outside the pharmacy, I realize my rage is so strong it's now affecting my intestinal system.

It is an 11 minute drive from the pharmacy to my house. That's taking into consideration hitting at least two of the multiple traffic lights on the way. I judged the urgency, weighed it against my loathing for public restrooms, and decided to try and get home.

And that's when I got behind the SLOWEST CAR ON THE WHOLE DAMN ROAD. Like "what the hell dude! At least get close to the speed limit!"

As a result, I hit the first three lights on RED. By the second one, I knew I wasn't making it home. NEVER FEAR, KWIK TRIP's NEAR! I had two lights between me and the nearest KT.

Of course, I hit both the lights on red. By that last one I was yelling out my window, "COME ON!" in a voice that can only be described as desperate.

I got to the Kwik Trip, parked my car, and raced as fast as I dared to the door. However, there's an unwritten rule at Kwik Trip: You must keep the door open for the person behind you. It's the way we are, Midwest Nice. So even though I was, in all honesty, hanging on by the tiniest of threads, I held the door open for a guy who, I SWEAR, slowed his pace once he saw me holding the door.

COME ON!

Finally, I get into the bathroom, lock that door behind me, and let loose a hot steaming flood of rage from my bowels. It took several minutes to fully deshit my colon, and my relief was, unlike the crap with my ear, real and lasting.

I got home and went to cry on hubby's shoulder. Thank goodness for him. After that, I took my antibiotics for an infection I DO NOT HAVE, and I turned on "Downton Abbey" and that was the rest of my day.

Dr. House, we need you! I'm pretty sure you could kick my ear "doctors" ass, even with the cane!

Five for Friday: Terrible movies Peaches is making me watch.

 

Good morning, everyone!

So, you know when you give birth to a baby girl and you look at her, and think of lacy curtains and pink frilly dresses and playing tea party with the Barbie dolls?

Let's say, Peaches has always been a bit different from that. Especially when it comes to movies.  She and I DO NOT have the same taste at all...I like sprawling historical flics, and she enjoys...horror.

So, last fall Peaches and I decided it was time for a movie challenge:  Each of us would pick a movie that we liked but the other historically, famously, hated.

My pick was that perennial holiday favorite: Love, Actually.

I love this movie, but for several years, Peaches has shouted loudly how she hated the movie and also it wasn't a Christmas movie. Thus, we watched it. Her opinion now?  "It's pretty good, and it's definitely a Christmas movie."

Now, Peaches has a little different taste in films than I do.  She's a big horror fan. If you've read more than a couple posts on this blog, you know that I, famously, cannot be in my basement alone at night since that day, more than 40 years ago, when I watched "Night of the Living Dead."

I didn't even like looking at still pictures of the movie, like when it hit Netflix and I accidentally saw the image there.

Anyway, so we watched it, and Hannah kind of mocked the film (Apparently it's just not that scary anymore) and in doing so, killed the horror for me.  I can now go fetch laundry and beverages from the basement after dark without panic running up the stairs. Which is good since running up stairs is not exactly something I'm able to do.)

In that spirit, then, Peaches, (Who also understands I'm a bit blue since Skippy, my TV watching buddy, moved out a couple weeks ago) brought over a couple flicks to enjoy last week.  The challenge was now to bring movies that maybe weren't all that good, but she loves them, so she's sharing.  We actually started doing this without realizing it a few months ago...but now it's a thing and I have a recap of the last several movies Peaches has had me watch.

Which is why we're here in the blog.

So, buckle up.  Here we go:

5) SAW 2-9

To be fair, we did not watch all of these this week.  I've seen this series with Peaches a few years ago. Still...

  

I watched the first installment with a friend when it was in theaters. I thought it was brilliant. Not exactly my cup of tea, but Cary Elwes was in it, and it was an original idea for movies.  And that was great. What is not great are the other 8 (and counting?) in the series.  Oh sure, it's fun to talk about what your own "saw" death would be (mine is I would wake up sewn to my couch with a 10,000 pound TV hanging over me. If I don't leap off the couch, tearing my skin to pieces, the TV will crush me.  Clearly, I've given this some thought. Also, thanks to Peaches, I've seen every weird, twisted, pig head wearing minute of the series.) This just in, Peaches brought "Saw X" for our movie watching enjoyment this week.  What can I say? I'll do anything for my kids!  

4) Evil Dead: Rise

"Family disfunction" is such an understatement for this movie.  Two estranged sisters, both of whom have their own problems, try to save their idiot kids from the Book of the Dead that one of the previously mentioned idiot kids decided to open.  This is the fifth film in the Evil Dead universe, and the first one I've seen. Production value is high, and I have no complaints about the gore...although it is more than I typically look for in a film.  My problem with this one is that the people, every single one of them, are so infinitely stupid, none of them deserve to survive. Seriously.  

3) Night of the Living Dead

See above. Most terrifying thing ever, until I watched it with Peaches. If you're not familiar with this foundation film for all zombie flicks, well, find the George Romero version from 1968.  (They remade it in 1990, but why?)  Make your own decision about this. All I know is that I never need to see it again.

2) Saltburn

Lordy, this one.  Not horror, they tell me.  But this weird little tale of a blue collar English guy lying about his background to get in good with a wealthy family, while a trope I typically enjoy, is...as I said...weird. Like super weird. Anything involving getting turned on by someone's dirty bathwater is a red flag for me, sorry, I'm kind of a prude that way.  Dirty bath water...no sexy.  So...yeah.

Now, before we do number one, here's an honorable mention we have yet to watch together:

The Grand Budapest Hotel.

I cannot stress how much I hate Wes Anderson's work.  And don't come to me with "Moonrise Kingdom."  Every time I say I hate Wes Anderson, people throw that one up to me. Sure, Moonrise Kingdom isn't horrible. But if you give a monkey long enough he'll type out a novel that might be worth reading.  It's the so many other piles of crap that happen before and after that aren't worth it. I'm also well aware that many of my friends, my daughter, and most of the world loves Wes Anderson's movies. I do not.  And while I've seen "Grand Budapest Hotel" twice, that's not enough. I'm going to have to watch it again with Peaches who is convinced I'll love it this time.  I doubt it. Stay tuned.

And now, drum roll please...

1)  Cannibal Holocaust.

1980 brings us...this.  Where do I begin? The title?  At least it lets you know what you're in for.  The source code for all other "found footage" movies (Think:  Blair Witch Project) this happy little bit of cinema is overloaded with blood, gore, and just plain ickiness.  The word "graphic" isn't strong enough for the violence and crimes against women, animals, and viewers.  Peaches and I both watched most of the movie covering our eyes with our hands.  

Yeah, the good news, if there is any after watching this one, is that "Dude where's my Car" is no longer the worst movie I've ever seen.  

Now, all that being said...I have to figure out a movie for Peaches. What can I show her that might create the same experience of "What the dickens am I watching right now?"    Here's a list I'm pondering, I could use your input.

1)  Platoon.

2) Apocalypse Now (This would be painful for both of us.)

3) Heaven's Burning (One of my favorite Russell Crowe movies...but it is B list at best.)

4) Saturday Night Fever followed by Staying Alive.

Let's hear it readers!

ALL I WANT IS THE SUSHI AND MY CAR!

 

Happy Memorial Day to all my American friends! Let's remember those who gave their lives so that we can have a day in May to relax and grill meats of all kinds.

Okay, so last week I was tasked with picking up a tray of grocery story sushi on my way home from work. We were going to a gathering at a friend's home and needed to bring something. Since I'm supposed to be dairy free, I find that gatherings like these with their cheese and sausage trays and buckets of delectable dairy dips problematic.  So, hubby and I have a couple non-dairy treats we bring so I can eat without guilt or dying.

And one of those things is what Americans have come to know as grocery store sushi.  

Cool, satisfying, and impressive, it's a perfect thing for any gathering.  People who bring sushi to gatherings here in Wisconsin are thought of as exotic and adventurous.  Believe me, I'd rather be eating the crap out of that asiago cheese dip in the crock pot, but after reading that my particular dairy intolerance goes beyond the unpleasant gassiness right to death, I guess I'll be exotic.

Anyway, so I drive past our local Sam's Club on my way home from work. Sam's has a great sushi party platter, so it's kind of a no brainer that I stop and grab that before getting home.

When I stepped outside of my building, it started to rain. Not the kind of gentle summer rain that smells good and cools the skin...nay nay.

No this was a winter into spring rain, angry, cold, hard like nails. And I, of course, forgot my rain-coat.  Dressed in a T-shirt and slacks, I had no protection against this deluge so I was soaked by the time I got into the Mighty Cube.  I wasn't dried off in the short drive to Sam's, and the rain hadn't let up a bit, so when I got into the AIR CONDITIONED STORE I was wet and cold.

As a side note...a few months ago I crossed that magic one year line (women of a certain age will know what I'm talking about) and since then my hot flashes have tapered off enough that on a growing number of situations I feel cold.

Now I'm in the store, freezing, wet, and eager to get my sushi and get out.

If you've ever been to a Sam's or a Costco or really any store, you know there's no thing as getting one thing and getting out of a store.  I'm kind of an all or nothing sort of gal.  I'll get into a store and think of no less that ten things I absolutely need once I'm in the building. This was quite true last week. As the automatic doors slid shut behind me, I suddenly thought of any number of things I needed. Fruit, bread, laundry detergent...all of it. To my credit, I still remembered to grab the sushi. On more than one occasion, I've been known to pick up a dozen things and not the item I went into the store for.

I got my items, checked out at self check, and headed to the door.  The guy at the door, the last bastion of security at Sam's, scanned a couple items in my cart and waved me off.  As I approached the doors he looked outside and said, Oh no.

Oh no, indeed.

The hard rain had turned into...something more, if one can believe that.  

I hesitated at the door. The guy said, "Hey, Ma'am?"

Oh, yeah, I guess he's talking to me.  I forget that to anyone under the age of forty I look old.  I turn to look at him, and he's holding a box.  He says, "I don't know how you feel about it, but some people put these on their heads to keep the rain off."

Faithful readers of this blog know that my life has been one long attempt...and fail...to be cool.  I knew I would look ridiculous with that box that formerly held Tide laundry pods. Maybe NFL star Rob Gronkowski can get away with wearing a Tide pod box on his head, but I cannot.  For once in my life I was not going to chose the ridiculous option.

And thusly I went out into the ferocious rain, headed to the spot where I'd parked the Mighty Cube.

And everything turned out great.

Yeah, this wouldn't be a blog if it had.

That's when I realized that I didn't remember where I'd parked the Cube. I knew I'd tried to park close to the door, but as anyone will tell you, the spaces by the doors are always, always, always full.  Generally I park pretty far away, but always in the same general area so I don't get lost in the parking lot.

Kind of like I did in the middle of a Noah-and the Ark kind of rain.

Much like the cast of Seinfeld, I found myself wandering. Unlike the cast of Seinfeld, I was outside, in the rain, and I didn't have a Tide Pods box on my head to stave off the water.

I walked up an aisle, pushing a heavy cart loaded down with groceries.  I walked down an aisle, and the cart got heavier. My clothes stuck to my shivering skin.  I wept, and my tears were lost in the wind and the scouring drops of sleety precipitation.  I screamed to the sky, "I JUST WANT TO GET THE SUSHI AND GET INTO MY CAR!

And yes, I considered going back into the store and trying again from that starting point.  But I didn't. Instead, I kept wandering, my hands frozen to the cart handle.  I couldn't keep my eyes open because the wind was stinging.  So there I was, a blind, soaked, old lady with a cart full of food, just wandering up and down the parking aisles.  Granted, I probably was out there maybe five minutes, but it felt like an eon. I felt like one of those Artic or Antarctic explorers. I was freakin' Ernest Shackleton on my way to Elephant Island.

Then there it was, rising out of the storm like a beacon of hope, my Mighty Cube.  

I'd never been so glad to see anything in my life.  With trembling hands I unlocked the back door, stowed my groceries, parked the cart and got into the driver's seat. I pushed the heater to FULL and sat for a moment, shivering, crying, and oh so thankful I hadn't put a box on my head because no matter how stupid I felt in that moment, I knew a box on my head would have made me look even more stupid.

All in all, it was a big step in my goal to becoming cool.

Either The Oscar movies are getting better or my brain is breaking.

 

The Oscars, the one and only awards show I watch with any sort of full interest, is airing in a couple of weeks which means that, in spite of my protestations to the contrary, I'm scrambling to see all ten of the Best Picture nominees.  Last week, I wrote reviews for the 5 best known pictures of the group.  Today, I want to talk about my brain.

I'm pretty sure my brain is breaking.

Either that, or the movies Oscar is nominating are getting better, less stupid, more coherent, more worthy of views.

Emilia Perez was the first surprise. I can't stop talking about how great a story and how great the writing is on this film.  

But I thought that was the last surprise because the remaining five movies looked wildly stupid and I'm not about to spend time and money going to theaters to see a movie I'm 98% sure I'm going to hate. I'd rather do that in the privacy of my own home.

But, yesterday, I broke my vow (The one I made after BUYING "Nomadland" from Amazon) that I was NOT going to buy or rent any of these films.  I rented "The Substance" from Amazon and watched it.  Bob and Brian had been mocking this film on their show all week and since I had the afternoon off I figured I'd give it a look.

Six buck and two hours later I was agog, aghast, and everything else.

I not only didn't hate it, I liked it, I was entertained by it, I GOT IT!

"The Substance" starring Demi Moore, opens as a commentary on society's value of women over the age of 50.  Set in Hollywood in what I believe is the 80's or early 90's (based on the clothes and the omnipresent mauve carpeting in Moore's apartment, although they do have cell phones, so take that for what you want). Moore is Elizabeth Sparkles, and aging actress who's starred in her own jazzercise show for decades. On her 50th birthday her boss (Played wildly by a clearly deranged Dennis Quaid) fires her and begins the search to find someone younger, hotter, newer.

In the immortal words of "How I Met Your Mother's" Barney Stinson, "New is Always Better."

Elizabeth Sparkles is in a car accident on her way home from work.  In the ER she meets a fairly weird male nurse who slips her a card for "The Substance."  She follows this weird rabbit hole, taking the substance which creates a younger alter-ego.  Each one lives 7 days and then switches, NO EXCEPTIONS.

Pretty cool, right?

The new girl let's call her Sue, because that's her name in the movie, auditions and gets the job as the star of a new jazzercise show.  She works and lives 7 days, then switches and Sparkles lives for 7 days. In the meantime, the one lives the other lies comatose in the bathroom, living off of some premeasured goo through in IV.

Still with me?

Almost predictably, Sue's life spins upward, with talk show appearances, screaming fans, all of it.  Sparkles' life is a complete downward spiral sinking into the world of TV watching and late-night binge eating.  The Sue starts to take extra time: at first a few hours, then a day or two.  What can that hurt, right?

While the ending of this film does devolve into some kind of over-the-top 1950's era space horror, the message is clear:  Women of a certain age are not valued in this country.  Not for employers, not for the younger generation, not for themselves. There's a scene where Sparkles is getting ready for a date with a man her own age, someone who thinks she's the prettiest girl anywhere.  The scene is heartbreaking for me, a woman in that age group, to watch this beautiful, glamorous star doubt herself to the point of violence.  

This is not going to be everyone's cup of coffee, I know. There's a ridiculous amount of nudity, although it's hardly there for titillation, more a sterile, medical, comparative look at women's bodies as they age.  The language isn't terrible, just turn off the sound when Dennis Quaid shows up.  There is a ton of blood and gore, I'm not going to lie. I had to cover my eyes a couple times.  That said, I thoroughly enjoyed this weird picture.

Demi Moore should absolutely be the front runner for Best Actress. Unlike when she did "Striptease" (And everyone said she was so brave) she really shows courage here, allowing her body to be used and abused by the Substance and by Sue.  I haven't seen her do emotional work like this since "St. Elmo's Fire" and I'm very excited to see a 62-year-old woman look as awesome as she does and then be confident enough in herself to allow the film to twist her into something unrecognizable.  

It's doubtful "The Substance" will win best picture.  I won't be shocked if it does, but it's unlikely.  There are too many other films that are just better and more accessible.  But it's worth the six bucks for a rental on Amazon Prime.

You be the judge.  Is it a good movie is my brain really broken?