A Quick Update That I’d Rather Not Have to Make

I write this in a moment of clarity, which, these days, are few and far between. But they exist, and for that, I am grateful. (Please notice and appreciate my attempt to practice positive thinking. The current arguably lame, but very affective, thing I repeat to myself is “go with the flow.” So yeah. But I’m getting off topic.)

And the bright side of being unintelligible every once in a while due to my neurological state is that blaming me for routine typos, etc. would be pretty lame, right?  Right?!?

Kidding, kidding. Judge away. And now I write for realz.

A few days ago, my husband was uncomfortable with how things were going (read: my behaviour was becoming ever-stranger), so he called 911. What happened next? I’ll tell you, in an overly detailed timeline: feel free to skip to the next paragraph. Here goes. The paramedics came; we went to the ER after I was evaluated by the aforementioned medical dudes, transported in a shiny ambulance (note: I have little-to-no memory of this ambulance ride and am relying solely on what my husband has told me about the trip); I spent some time in the ER and saw doctors there before being admitted later that night; I slept in the ER since there weren’t any beds available in the neurology wards (a remarkably quiet sleep) before being transferred to neurology relatively early the next morning.

I’m still experiencing some of the symptoms that drove my husband to call emergency services; thus, I’ll save describing them for another day (read: I’m currently cognitively unable to do so).

I will, however, say the following: this, to sum it up in one word, sucks. I was just settling in at home after my recent month-long brain-surgeries-related hospital adventures, and here I am back in a different section of the same ward of the same hospital. (5B whoop whoop!) Though I’m trying to be positive, to be grateful for the first-class care that I’m receiving and for the support of my family and friends, I’ll admit that I have my moments. I mean, when I often can’t remember my husband’s name, or that I’m married, it’s only natural that counting the many blessings that I objectively have should assume a certain difficulty, right?

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My new (very temporary, I hope) digs.

One step at a time. I’ll get there. This will happen.

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