Today is Bruce’s birthday. He’s 70.
He’s different like I’m different.
I have no idea what people think about me. My friends have seen seizures, spasticity and really bad speech. There are times when I feel my old self, but I don’t know if they see it. Bruce, I’m sure, knows he’s changed.
The “new” Bruce is much softer and quieter; sometimes it’s like he’s off in his own calm place. Everything is slower. Everything.
Soon he’ll be in a hospital that’s an hour away; it’ll mean a two-hour commute and I cannot imagine, right now, not going every day.
We were acquaintances for many years and then I had a heart attack and he came to visit often and when I came out of hospital we had became close friends. Now another illness is bringing us even closer, I think. I feel so engaged, protective and committed.
Perhaps that’s why I’m talking more easily. I noticed it yesterday and it’s continued today. Maybe it’s karma for visiting Bruce. (I’m kidding.)
Bill, the physio, is kissing me off and I’m quite happy about that. He’s armed me with exercises and I’ll go back in two weeks for a tune up and then I’m done. He really helped and I am glad to lose a weekly trip to VGH.
Next week: No Bill and no Dr. Shoja and, perhaps, ‘the’ decision. Wow. It’s a big week. I’m excited about a week without therapy.