Thursday had me choose to do an odd thing. I went back to where I collapsed on the seawall — actually to sit on the bench where the particularly nasty seizure occurred that got me ambulanced and hospitalized.
Saturday year of rain fell. (It was a sad day, too; Edward Albee died.
I had my electric fireplace on to make the place feel cozy and I binge watched American Crime on Netflix.
I finished the very simple crinoline during the week. (I loved making something so retro.) I bought an old frame made to host a wreath and took it apart to get the wire circles I needed; it was a fabulous find. I made the web with ribbon.
While I watched season one of A.C., I started on the peacock “slip.” I got as far as I could but I need green ribbon to finish it. Tonight, while I finish season two, I will make more of the eighty feathers I need.
Last night, Robin came over for drinks and dinner. She was the first person with whom I’d spoken since Wednesday. I am still shocked by my stutter.
When I was last with Dr. Shoja, we discussed what “better” meant. She keeps saying that I’ll get better and I believe her. But I am wondering if “better,” for me, means merely seizure-free or if it includes not stuttering. It’s a question to ask her next week — or not. Sometimes you don’t want answers; sometimes answers kill hope.