I had four seizures yesterday before I got into Dr. Shoja’s office.
I told her I’d been living with hope: I’d made a deal with “God” to accept the stuttering if my seizures stopped. And I believed they would go away because they’ve diminished since beginning in early 2016. But I have no hope for that anymore.
“So what now? Is there any point in coming here any more if I have no hope of improvement?”
“It’s up to you.”
She moved her chair close to me; I could feel her trying hard to help me.
“I’ve reconsidered my diagnosis. I believe you have an extreme anxiety disorder and that the source of your condition is genetic. I think your life events exacerbated the problem, but didn’t cause them…. You managed your condition successfully until you couldn’t any more.”
So I’m going to continue to see her. And she’s going to write to my eye surgeon to ensure I’m sedated when I have my cataract surgery—and thank God for that.
She said “it” must not win; “it” cannot trap me in my home. She applauded my plans for day trips to other islands.
I went to bed exhausted and had a good long sleep.
I have a meeting this afternoon with the Arts Council about organizing their raffle for the upcoming music and theatre festival.
I must heed the cliché, “Keep calm and carry on.”
|Last Sunday's dog walk.|
|We passed a wild Walnut tree.|
|This lovely man brings a huge tub of water for all the|
dogs at the end of the walk.
|Marina making ravioli|