Mental Health Advisor Identifies as a Turtle

Meet JD Hunt, Oregon’s Mental Health Advisory board member who doesn’t just like turtles…

…she identifies as one.

Shell shocked, you say? What sane person wouldn’t be? Too bad we’re all not turtles, we could absorb that jolt of absurdity a little bit easier.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I think “health policy expert,” I don’t immediately picture someone who might be munching on beetles or retreating into their hard-shell casing during a heated debate.

But let’s think about this for a moment. Turtles are known for their longevity, so maybe JD is just playing the long game. After all, if you’re going to sit through endless health policy meetings, you might as well do it with the lifespan of a Galápagos tortoise.

Even so, we can’t ignore the elephant in the room—or rather, the turtle in the boardroom.

For starters, what does this mean for JD’s day-to-day duties?

Will she require a sandbox in the office to lay her ovary eggs? Will her colleagues have to adjust meeting schedules around her hibernation cycle?

And what about lunch? Will the boardroom fridge now be stocked with snails and grasshopper smoothies? These are the hard-hitting questions that need answers.

When it comes to mental health advisory boards, I’d prefer someone with a medical degree over someone who’s mastered the art of retracting into their shell and hibernating several months out of the year.

I can see the headlines now: “Oregon Health Board Meetings Postponed Due to Advisor’s 4-Month Nap.” And imagine the logistics—does the boardroom need a water tank? A little sandbox for an egg-laying season?

Even at top speed, a turtle only moves at two-tenths of a mile per hour!

If JD’s migratory instincts kick in, good luck waiting on her to arrive at the next Zoom meeting from her egg-laying beach in Costa Rica.

Of course, JDs story is just the tip of the iceberg lettuce. As we wade deeper into the murky waters of identity politics, it’s becoming harder to tell where the line between “respecting individuality” and “losing touch with reality” lies.

Trust me. I can be amused by someone’s personal journeys as much as the next guy, but if my doctor starts identifying as a toaster, I’m not sticking around to see if he prescribes Pop-Tarts for my flu.

Mental health policy is already a mess—do we really need to add “species fluidity” to the chaos?

As we watch how JD’s tenure unfolds, one thing remains clear: Oregon is never boring. And I’ll give the Beaver State props for keeping it weird. This is the state that gave us legalized opioids and Voodoo Doughnuts, so a turtle advisor is just another sprinkle on the cosmic donut.

Only time will tell whether this leads to innovative new policies or, more likely, comedic fodder for late-night talk shows.

In the meantime, keep an eye on your local advisory boards—you never know who (or what) might be making the decisions about your health next.

Remember, anything is possible in a world where a woman can be a turtle. And in the end, maybe we’ll all want to identify as turtles just so we can crawl back into our shell, close our eyes, and finally say goodnight to this ugly madness.

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