One year ago

I came home in a walker. Its so easy to forget, but a lot of my regaining my health and building on it is about having such a bizarre near death experience last year, losing my ability to walk and talk and write and learning how to do it all over again when I was surrounded by the elderly and the permanently brain-injured. I really am that lucky. Here I am, fine. About to inherit the socialist healthcare system of my dreams, well, better anyway. I still have my children, my love, my body and I’m trying to tune it up. How much of my relief when I woke up after being on the ventilator was the morphine and how much was me? I had a drink last night and it upset my stomach and made me feel really tired and lethargic. I realized just how sore my back muscles were from sitting upright during an hour lecture on building self-esteem in children. I got a great backrub and then got up in the night to snuggle Crane and wound up dreaming of being in a bunker that used to be a school with a bunch of other children and adults and we were in flak gear and had to defend our position and I remember firing a lot and getting way to close in combat and being relieved to realize I was wearing Kevlar after I’d been shot. I regret that there are young men on the other side of the world fighting a farcical war without it.

We are being visited by my mom this weekend. Crane is pretending to sleep with a dalmation puppy between two yoga mats on the floor. It has been cold and clear the last few nights. Thanks to Samantha for reminding me where I was a year ago. I don’t want to go back there.


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