Ah, where were we? I had to
take a few days off from the brain tumor book. Going back over the notes and
talking to St. Kenny and Jan to fill in the gaps of my memory is a hard, hard
thing to do. I notice I feel like I can’t breathe, my head hurts, and I want to
cry.
Sometimes I am a brave
soldier about it all, and sometimes I get the shakes and am very sad. I want to
clarify this. I’m not sad because of the events themselves, and the recovery
process has been mostly a joy. The sadness is for that woman who lay there,
with no expectation of recovery, no understanding of the stakes of the game,
dependent on the willingness of others to help her to the other side.
To recap, I woke up on
November 9. No one knew what, if anything, would be left of me. But there I
was. Paralyzed, on a ventilator, but there. Waking up was magnificent.
There followed another week
of semi-awake. Lots of drugs, feeling cold, angry and frightened, but I was
making my way back. The wonder is, quite frankly, that anyone recovers from any
traumatic illness. What is it about our minds that says “hell, no” when the
body wants to shut down?
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