my reality: brain injury

I have been circling around this writing for at least a couple of months, which means that all day long, I try to find something else to think about.  But, at some moments, the pain and horror of my situation threaten to overcome me.   I must find a way to express the daily realities, to let them wash over and around me instead of smashing me gasping under a wave, getting my face scraped off along the sand.

toasted

toasted

In the summertime, I think, heretherebespiders wondered where my upset was about all that had happened.  I didn’t have an answer.

I see now that the answer lay in the brain fog I lived in for better than 9 months.  The fog has been lifting steadily I see, and especially since about October.

This has been and continues to be a terribly lonely journey.  I have no map whatsoever.

Who can tell me what parts of the aftermath to attribute to the near-death by C. diff or to the systemic chaos and near-shutdown caused by septic shock?  (If you’re curious about the shape of the aftermath over the last year, at the top of the page on the left is the category Illness.  Choose the subhead “somewhere near the middle.”)

The truth shall set me free.  I hope.

The truths:

I have about two to three hours of brain strength per day.  If I exceed that, I become overtired.

Take a long moment right now and imagine having three hours per day to be “productive.”  That includes making breakfast and lunch, laundry, dishes, feeding the cats, and visiting with family at home.   Now add in something enjoyable like art.  How does it all fit?  It fits into a daily dance, a constant choosing.

The hints of fatigue are not broad, so I sometimes miss them.

Or, I ignore them because I just want to be the me of the before-time, with interests and curiosities and friendships and the energy to pursue same.

Brain strength is different than physical strength; brain strength operates the physical strength.  When I start to get tired, the feeling is thus:  every last one of my three gajillion body cells starts to shrink into flatness as the energies are squeezed out from those mini power plants, and I begin to crumble in on myself.

moods in collage

moods in collage

My brain goes vacant, with spaces of nothing between thoughts or conversation, my eyes blink slowly.  I have no idea that my judgement is impaired because, well….

Driving remains difficult and only attempted when I’ve checked internally for energy and tested for slow blinks.   The thought of injuring someone is too grievous to fully contemplate.

Music is still lost to me.  How can that be?

My daily life is a state of being tired.   If I become overtired, I become mush.  I melt.  Tears and sobbing amid confused heartbreak.  Apparently, this is quite normal with a traumatic brain injury.

I live in perpetual remove from the world–if you were with me, you’d see a flat affect, but might think I was being introspective.  But if you know me, you might wonder where the sparkly amusement was, the eyes crinkling as I understand a joke about to happen.

Now you’d see me waiting for you to finish talking, then I’ll probably laugh.  As long as I’ve understood the joke.

With the overtired, the hazy remove from the world intensifies and deepens, so that I’m very far away and it is too much effort to try to understand conversation, and words on a page tumble and blend into blobs of glop (‘though words tumble even when I’m not overtired).

lost

lost

Recently, quite by accident, I heard the best description for all these moments:  the becoming over-overtired is when the battery of my brain runs down.    The tears aren’t depression in the clinical sense.  Recovery time is whatever it is.

I spent a day with a friend several weeks ago, a day I have been pining for–she is wonderful people and has always fed my soul and spirit.

Two days later, I crashed hard, face-down, scraping against the sand, gouged to the bone, as the wave dragged me around.

The crashes are horrible–I want to disappear so Big Mister doesn’t witness the melty goo.  He used to hate it when I would cry; those before-time cryings were nothing compared to how it goes now.  I see the heartbreak in his face.  I want to run and recover by myself, let him not see the crying and agonies.

When I’m over-overtired, mundane household stuff can be beyond my ability.  On a recent night I couldn’t figure my way through putting dishes into the dishwasher.  Tears.  Explanation and departure.

nightmares

nightmares

My fears:

If I slow down as far as I need to in order to remain brain-unruffled, I’m terrified that I’ll just stop.

I will be left by myself in this mess.

The mess will be permanent.

The good news:

The brain fog has been lifting.

I have continued doing art since I began again in late spring, several months out of hospital.

pages and pages

pages and pages of painting

I walk better, needing less concentration.

My verbal language has returned to about 90 percent of the before-time.  I have always said quirky stuff, so it’s less upsetting now.  Mostly, it’s less upsetting because the balance shifted out of brain-addled to more ability.

My written language has returned to about 90 percent as well.  Typing and writing are both still challenging–still I write words backwards or even words I hadn’t intended to write or type.  Forming the letters by hand sometimes comes in unfamiliar patterns.

The massive, nauseous headaches of the last several months are becoming infrequent.

I get the impression that the me emerging from this mess is the sunny, happy child I was:   sweet and loving, with less of the hard person I had become.

But if I’m tired, and struggling to understand, I may explode with the fatigue of concentrating on the moment and shout in frustration.  Probably only with Big Mister, unfortunately for him and us.

I want to live and I want to live well.  That much I have learned in these just-shy-12-months since coming home from a short hospital stay to discover my brains had been scrambled.

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54 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. neowatercolour
    Feb 09, 2013 @ 09:02:06

    it seems a double-edged sword, L – on the one hand, your acute awareness of your current difficulties and (un-surprising) anguish – on the other, the awareness of your improvements and the good things you do have. In my clumsy way, I’m trying to say that I think the awareness is good, I know people without it, after similar catastrophes,and its no life. Your art is tremendous, and shows real determination. I don’t like to think of you getting your face scraped off !! I’m wondering if there is a support group in your area, if even for a short time (minutes ?) to chew things over with, when you can (I resisted this like “wild horses wouldn’t get me to go there”, but it did actually help a little). Eggs are the only thing that should be scrambled :-(, very best, V xx

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:06:28

      I was talking to a friend (local) a week or so ago about a support group. She volunteers at the most interesting place! Nothing to do with brain injury, just a gathering place for women.

      The irony is of course that if I’m in the middle of a horrible time, I can’t drive there. But the between times may give me something, huh?

      Thank you, V, for taking the time to leave me a thoughtful comment. It was chock-full! I spent 9 months being *not* aware — it wasn’t time, apparently. Mostly I agree — to be aware is preferable. There are some moments when I wish for the calm distance of the brain fog, but that is no way to live if I don’t have to.

      Reply

      • neowatercolour
        Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:42:59

        well now, who said it had to be a support group for brain injury ?! :-) a gathering place for women sounds perfect – soothing, supportive and healing, and to go there when you can get there, rather than when you’re “scarmbled”, might bolster you. ? I love Ivy’s comments about the slow moving animal – so true :-) and I also would like to echo Ivys Best Wishes to you,L , as always, I’m cheering for you, long distance :-) , lots of love, V x

        Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 09, 2013 @ 15:06:28

          I couldn’t bear that, a specific group, V. Kicking and screaming and wild horses, etc. But this place would be a place where I could *give* to other people and not just take, which I would really like to do/be. doobeedoobeedoo. Now, I just have to get there. I’m not a joiner, not much for groups, so we’ll see. But my friend makes it so attractive! I’ve also been asking at the library about volunteering for an hour or two….

          Yes, it’s encouraging, really, to think of grief as slow-moving because that means it isn’t a stuck place, just a process.

          Thank you for cheering, V. It really *does* make a difference. >:-D

          Reply

  2. ~ Ivy ~ (@ivyft)
    Feb 09, 2013 @ 10:34:16

    It’s clear that you’ve been thinking about this post for a long time, L. I can tell from the way you presented your ideas and I think you are assessing all aspects of your reality very accurately.
    Like V above mentioned, it is like a double-edged sword. Besides, I would also suggest a support group so now I’m left with nothing else to say!
    Or maybe I would like to say one more thing: I wish you well! I wish you continuous improvement, better days and more productive hours. So with this message goes also my most positive thought… going directly your way!

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:09:19

      Yes, it was time to note my circumstances, here a year after the event. An ending, of sorts, before a beginning.

      Thank you so very much, Ivy, for the paragraph of good wishes. (See my reply to Neowatercolour about the support group idea.) Grief is a strange animal….

      Reply

  3. ~ Ivy ~ (@ivyft)
    Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:11:59

    You’re welcome! Yup, grief is a strange (and slow-moving) animal…

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:20:20

      I like how you said that — a slow-moving animal. I see the perfectly normal wanderings of the grief–it has a life of its own and wants to remember or not remember, just mosey through a Life well-lived. Facing the grief is taking courage, I will say, but I’ve given myself no other option.

      Recently I was talking to Big Mister and told him I was relieved that my “original equipment” of Stubborn and Curious were not broken in the mess. He agreed wholeheartedly, but wasn’t exactly talking about the curious part of me! <:-D

      Reply

  4. ~ Ivy ~ (@ivyft)
    Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:23:19

    :-D

    Reply

  5. sweetdaysundertheoaks
    Feb 09, 2013 @ 13:40:06

    Well L I wanted to know exactly how this was messin’ with you and now I know. It was good to get it out of your head huh? I now I understand so much better when I don’t hear or “see” you for a few days. You say it isn’t depression but it does look familiar to me. Thank you for writing this. I am incredibly happy to hear that you feel the funky freaky brain fog is beginning to lift. You know my wish for you is to continue to improve and find you or at least find a you that you are happy and content to be.

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 09, 2013 @ 14:57:27

      It was good, Pix, to get it out of my head. I’m happy to be understood–it eases the loneliness. Yep, sounds like depression except for the odd way it presents. I go along fine, living life, then WHAM.

      And thank you for being here with your good wishes. I think they must be the map I don’t have. :-D

      I also thank you for the “funky freaky brain fog”!

      Reply

  6. midlifetraveller
    Feb 09, 2013 @ 15:18:10

    My first thoughts on reading this were “how sad for you”, and I still think that, but also how wonderful for you to be progressing out of your terrible brain fog. You must have had an awful battle but wow, look how far you’ve come. I can only wish I could write half as eloquently as you do and that my art spoke as yours does. Sending you big hugs (because a hug can do wonders you know) and good thoughts and best wishes for your road ahead and I hope it’s a good road for you.

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 09, 2013 @ 15:55:08

      Welcome, Midlife! And thank you for leaving such a lovely comment.

      It actually helps me to hear people say what you did–that you’re sad for me. Lends reality to so much unreality. As a new person here, you probably don’t know that on the day I was hospitalized, I was 9 days away from flying to Italy on my month-long dream trip. I still can’t quite believe this has all happened instead!

      I thank you for the hugs–community is how I have progressed this far. I will try to stop in to your blog–you are artful, also!

      Reply

  7. neowatercolour
    Feb 10, 2013 @ 04:32:37

    just another (?!) thought, I really believe “hope” plays a bigger part than we realise in these things, and I’m nudged to say this by a post from a blog I recenty found, dropping in my email just today, all about hope. :-) ? synchronicity ! I hope you have time to have a look, I’ll shut up now :-)
    http://counselorssoapbox.com/2013/02/10/hope-is-contagious

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 10, 2013 @ 06:30:40

      Firstly, V, don’t ever “shut up now”–you have way too much to offer!

      Hope is a delicate thing and has been a quiet companion recently. I will certainly go look at that post–thank you for sharing it. L.

      Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 10, 2013 @ 06:42:52

      Back from reading the post. My response could be a whole post, but let me see if I can keep it Blurt-y.

      My personal dance has been to keep a certain hope alive (full recovery) while living each day with hope for only that day–or moments during. Add in the wish/requirement to live gracefully in whatever form I am or will be.

      No wonder I’m tired!

      Reply

      • neowatercolour
        Feb 10, 2013 @ 08:10:37

        No wonder you’re tired L, :-) maybe your personal dance could chill a little – more, slow waltz than highland fling ? I’m still liking the idea of the womens group support (can your friend take you there ? ) let us know if you make it :-) (eg. post a photo of everyone with their new orange hair !) :-) lots of love, V xx

        Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 10, 2013 @ 08:31:07

          hahahahaah on many counts! I think we’re doing more waltzing these days than Flinging now that I begin to figure out the new patterns (moving target, remember?!).

          I will report, probably. Apparently, I’m willing to share about anything now! <:-D

          Reply

  8. FeyGirl
    Feb 10, 2013 @ 06:04:03

    There’s so much to be said for hope, faith, and SUPPORT… I totally agree. So happy for you, you’re on the path!!

    Reply

  9. Dianda
    Feb 10, 2013 @ 07:30:48

    Sounds like you’re on the good way, right?
    And it looks like you got a lot of people backing you up and supporting you! :)

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 10, 2013 @ 07:38:10

      Oh yes, Dianda, I do continue on the good path. I have had a ton of support, especially here in virtual-land.

      The loneliness I describe is about the enormity of my situation, and that I am the only one who can live through it. A strange kind of loneliness….

      Thank *you* for being a part of my support group.

      I have the biggest support group in the world–stretching all across the US to the Nederlands, Italy, England, Ireland, Australia, France, N. Ireland, Brazil…. A lovely net of caring people. And I didn’t have to drive to get there! <:-D

      Reply

  10. ~ Ivy ~ (@ivyft)
    Feb 10, 2013 @ 08:03:27

    Awww… What a wonderful realization! It makes me think that if you, L, are capable of attracting/creating this ‘net of caring people’, why wouldn’t you be able to make it past this difficult passage in your life? Nobody is saying it’s easy or fast, but I think if someone can do it, it’s you! :-)

    Reply

  11. IsobelandCat
    Feb 10, 2013 @ 23:41:04

    It’s the first anniversary isn’t it ? I was thinking about that. This blog is a record of your recovery, and I see you doing mother and more. I visit other pages, and you have already been there. My impression, from this side of the pond, is that you are coming along pretty well. But of course I don’t see you when you crash, the tears and the distress. You may not ever be the old you, but in this new normal your ability to express your elf and connect with others still puts you in the higher percentile. Chin up, don’t be so hard on yourself. And do I see some Scroobious Pip influences here?

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 11, 2013 @ 07:36:26

      Hi Isobel–Thank you for remembering. Yes, today is one year since I went to the hospital instead of continuing to pack for Italy. I often think of you saying that this blog is a record of my recovery–sometimes it’s the thing that pushes me to post this horribly personal passage.

      Having other folks’ perspectives helps me to form my own since I’m still stashed in a fog. And, hearing reflections of my obvious-to-others abilities helps to give me a sense of my own depth because my experience is so very flat.

      In this case, I will believe you that I express myself well (and I think it was an iPad typo, but I loved the “elf” in your comment instead of self–and you can’t make me change it! hee hee).

      The moving target of Me makes it a daily job to know Me. Unbelievable. At my age with so much life behind me.

      I hadn’t met the Scroobious Pip when I’d done these pieces. But once I did meet her, I immediately resonated with her work. We can see why!

      Isobel, your presence here is precious to me. Thank you.

      Reply

      • IsobelandCat
        Feb 11, 2013 @ 07:53:06

        An inner elf is important to cherish. so is doing mother and more. Out of the errors of typos and predictive text…
        BTW am reading American Gods and enjoying it.

        Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 11, 2013 @ 08:06:11

          Kind of spooky, how well the predictive text “corrected” your meaning! >:-D

          So pleased about the Gaiman book. !!

          Been meaning to tell you: wasn’t sure I had the fortitude to read Mantel’s autobio, what with the chronic illness, but read it voraciously! Amazing writer, is she! Half through Bring up the Bodies–riveting of course. i kept confusing the two titles, so this book became Bringing up the Ghosts. <:-D

          Reply

          • IsobelandCat
            Feb 11, 2013 @ 08:14:28

            It is some book isn’t it, Giving Up the Ghost. It packs a huge emotional punch. Have you read Lorna Sage’s Bad Blood? Also an autobiography.
            I think Hilary Mantel is at her peak at the minute. Wolf hall and Bring Up the Bodies are streets ahead of her other books, good though they are too. I hope she reamins on this top form for a very long time to come. I was reading an article about reading yourself well, which is something I believe in strongly. I think good literature gives us a place to go and explore and to heal.

            Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 11, 2013 @ 08:31:57

          Oh!– interesting thought: reading yourself well. Good literature makes us feel, rockets through the protective layers. Which explains why sometimes we need to read lighter fare.

          I haven’t read any other Mantel, but with your observation in mind, will do so.

          I shall go look up the book you mention. I did get from the library the Why Be Normal book, but didn’t have enough personal ooomph to read more pain. Quite limited I am in that way right now. Slow and easy is my new motto–which is the polar opposite of the last 50-plus years! yikes!

          Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 11, 2013 @ 08:50:25

          first–hee hee that I got the title backwards for Why be Happy! I have the title saved….

          A Little, Aloud–you read that with your mother if I recall. I don’t know if there is a US equivalent, but we need to have one. I have taken for granted my access to books, to reading, to the *ability* to read. Quite timely, Isobel. I sometimes wish I could be a person who reads to folks…. but not right now….

          Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 12, 2013 @ 08:53:01

          pretty much missed that idea, Isobel. :-{ but I’d *love* to be read to….

          Reply

          • IsobelandCat
            Feb 20, 2013 @ 01:51:57

            Audio books? I think it is interesting (and frightening) that you are getting yourself well through art, literature and blogging. No drugs required. What a saving in health care. Frightening because here art therapy jobs are impossible to find. They have gone with successive cuts as though they are the icing on the cake. Yet to have an art therapist working with a group of people probably does as much to heal them as anything else, to have a reading group likewise. There is no doubt in my mind that we need to be engaged, to find ways of exploring and expressing where we are to start the healing from within.

            Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 21, 2013 @ 09:24:52

          I’d be afraid of any drugs offered me right now. But, letting time and artful activity be the healing mode does suggest that we oftentimes don’t give ourselves time to heal. We just go on to work… etc…. Makes sense because it’s appalling to think of putting our lives on hold….

          Audio books–great idea, Isobel. I’m off to the library today or tomorrow and shall try a recorded book. Thanks for suggesting.

          By now, MasterB is home and telling you how you wronged him by abandoning him–or he simply ran round your legs to the outdoors and is tree-climbing and chasing foxes!

          Reply

          • IsobelandCat
            Feb 21, 2013 @ 15:13:50

            Somehow we have reached a point where medicine is done to us. Physician heal thyself. But we do need help so to do. I find I listen to different books to the ones I read. I love Barbara Vine on audio. I have never read one of her books.

            Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 21, 2013 @ 15:25:43

          Yes—*to* us. I so often feel left behind in the speed of modern medicine office visits. Never mind the emergencies.

          I don’t know Barbara Vine–I shall look her up, thank you.

          Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 21, 2013 @ 17:25:14

          Thank you again! I’ll go tomorrow and see what I can find. :-D

          Reply

  12. speccy
    Feb 11, 2013 @ 11:34:53

    Such a great post, and wonderfully supportive comments! I’m so glad Isobel sent me in this direction and that I’ve started to get to know you :)
    Blogging- both the act of writing and the community- help me enormously with my daily muddles. Volunteering has been really important for rediscovering some sense of what I can do- I can make a contribution and be valued. How cool is that?
    It seems like you have taken enormous strides in your recovery- keep on putting one foot in front of the other :D

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 11, 2013 @ 12:04:59

      Hi Speccy! You know I take strength from your raw, honest posts (the fun ones too!), so me too, very grateful that Isobel introduced us.

      Yes, the blogging has been amazing, truly amazing. Since it was already in place before the hospital, it was here for me. Thank goodness. Being on the hurting side of the community–so many people being openly caring. I get to care in return and in continuation. Good mojo. <:-D

      Volunteering = good!

      Reply

  13. nadbugs
    Feb 12, 2013 @ 07:02:39

    Dear L — “I want to live and I want to live well.” That is it in a nutshell, for me — defining what “living well” means, in the face of suffering.

    You’ve learned to articulate that, as a life goal given what you’ve been through, in the space of one year? I can’t imagine a more important value to stick to, to pursue, to never give up on.

    Last night I watched a PBS documentary on RFK and MLK’s assassination and RFK’s speech in Indianapolis. One of the most touching amongst many heart-rending moments was that RFK quoted Aeschylus to a huge crowd of furious people, and the fury calmed, and the crowd went home, evidently taking RFK’s plea to pray there, and there was no violence in Indianapolis. Unlike many other American cities.

    Then one of the interviewees, noting it’s not every politician that quotes Aeschylus to the ghetto, said: “Art tends to elevate.”

    “Art tends to elevate.” Words to live by, for you, I think, yes?

    Check out the sculpture that rose up on the site of this brief, tragic, incredibly precious moment in American history:

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Landmark_for_Peace_Memorial

    The movie is called “Ripple of Hope.” http://www.rippleofhopemovie.com/

    This is the Aeschylus quote: “In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls
    drop by drop upon the heart until, in our despair, against our will,
    comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”

    Sending love and a prayer for wisdom your way –Anita

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 13, 2013 @ 14:25:49

      Hi Ahhnita– Have had to let your comment percolate a bit….

      It’s weird that you would mention RFK and MLK, Jr. because in the last couple of weeks I was realizing that the Me who became hardened against the world put on a fully-formed shell during 1968’s assassinations. At JFK’s assassination, it began–and I was not quite 7 years old. It’s a long story, but I seem to be re-visiting the 1960s a fair bit.

      Amusingly to me, it turns out I *remembered* my life goal (live well) rather than having made it up recently. Or perhaps just re-learned? I wonder what else is stashed in there?

      It *is* however brand new to realize strongly that I want to live. The question has never come up so vibrantly before this time. I confess it was a nice situation: taking for granted that I wanted to live.

      As for Art tends to elevate, I can’t think how that applies to me–any further comment would be appreciated. I *did* think that for me Art Tends to Levitate. <:-D

      I should write a book with all the words that pop up instead of the ones that "should" be there! hahahahahaha–it does make me laugh.

      The Aeschylus quote gives shape to deep sadness, but suggests not a confining and bottling-up, for which I'm grateful. I am also grateful to myself for gaining wisdom instead of drowning… and for the people who have been helping me along the way.

      Thank you for being here, dear–it means worlds to me.

      Reply

  14. heretherebespiders
    Feb 12, 2013 @ 12:49:46

    Hey love. You know it takes me a few days to cogitate over a serious post, so I hope you know I wasn’t ignoring this :) My brain is always all over the shop, so it’s hard for me to pick what hits me the most and run with it!
    First: slow blinks are the way a cat says it is happy. I always thought that it meant ‘I love you’ in cat-speak, too. So there’s a good thought next time you find yourself sinking into sluggishness. It’s a very good thing you have found this way to test yourself!
    Second: Big Mister understands. He’s a good man and knows you’re on the way back. Two 90%’s and a 100% (in art, and I agree based on the pics)! That’s a good grade in three subjects. Lets face it, none of us got straight A’s in every subject in school, and you’re in the shockingly surprising position of going back to class. It even could be a better report card this time, as it sounds like ‘cutting up in class’ isn’t one of the nasty notes teacher is leaving for you :)

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 13, 2013 @ 08:43:50

      (How’d you know about the “cutting up in class”?!!) Thanks for those words: shockingly surprising position of going back to class. When I post these highly personal treatises, I wonder whatthehell am I doing? But this is the reason–for community.

      You’ve given me something to think about, MissE.

      I love the thought that I’ve come back partially as Cat–completely happy with that iteration of Moi!

      Reply

  15. writeovertheedge
    Feb 13, 2013 @ 13:38:36

    It was so interesting to read this, L. I hadn’t realised it was an anniversary for you, as I’ve come to your blog more recently. What a long way you have come – and how valiantly you are moving forward. I suppose sometimes it’s only when you look back that you realise just what progress you’ve made.
    I hope you keep on edging forward a bit every day. It’s so good that you paint as well as write, because it’s two outlets for you, two valves to let off whatever needs letting off!
    It must be a difficult day in many ways, but hopefully a very positive one.

    Reply

    • lahgitana
      Feb 13, 2013 @ 14:33:06

      Hi Lorely, Honestly, I didn’t plan to turn this time into an anniversary; it quite tiptoed up on me. Even on the 1-year-later day of going to hospital near-dead, I didn’t even think of it for an hour after waking! At which point I burst into tears! >:-}

      Yes, it turns out that I needed to take stock of the last year as honestly as I could for myself–again, quite unconscious, I just started writing. In estimating my verbal and written abilities, for instance, it was good to attach some sort of measure to them. The horrible months-long confounding of both was devastating.

      Painting has been an outlet I would not have thought of–I’m new to it. In late October a friend came over and got me started. But I love it and know it is a great portion of my pressure-relief, even if I’m not aware of that.

      Thank you for leaving such a thoughtful comment, Miss.

      Reply

      • writeovertheedge
        Feb 22, 2013 @ 16:45:43

        It’s interesting that you didn’t realise the day was upon you until after it had begun, and that you then burst into tears. What a release of emotion, that must have been tied up for so long.
        It made me think immediately of my husband who didn’t cry when his mother died 23 years ago (of cancer, in just 3 months) – but a year later it suddenly all came pouring out.
        Sometimes it takes our hearts and minds a long time to process things and make sense of them – but it can only be good when feelings come out like that.
        I think there is also an unquantifiable need to come to some sort of terms with something before that release can take place.
        I’m glad you are so much better, and hey – look how many things the year has brought you that you might not have had without the disaster! Painting – writing – to name but two!

        Reply

        • lahgitana
          Feb 27, 2013 @ 09:38:54

          it’s weird, to have a temporal release, as if we’re saving it up until…. ??

          someone said to me recently that continuing to blog after the hospital has quite likely helped my brain knit itself together. I wonder if the emotions are getting sorted, too?

          Reply

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