So every Friday for a little over a year I have been writing un a journal for my girls. Just a quick page to let them know what us going in with them and me and our family. Most weeks I’m spot on in terms if time, other weeks I miss it and the rub us I feel it harder when I must that deadline.
So I started it before I had a brain procedure for a fistula found on my cerebellum. The dr had to use super glue to block off the blind vessels and get blood flowing in the right direction. Hiw did we get to that point, well, a year earlier I came back from a business trip to San Antonio and my memory and speech were impacted. I didn’t know what was going on as it hit suddenly.
A number of MRIs and cat scans were done, then I was catheterized in my groin to my brain to get a better look. I opted for the procedure, and that is when I began the journal. I didn’t know how I was going to come out of the procedure, my older brother came up to take care of me after it was done.
It was a success in that the fistula was contained, I had headaches and vertigo after the procedure and the surgeon was more interested in explaining how anything he did could never had caused that. He wanted me to follow up in 6 months, I fired him. I’m about a year out, fir a time u was about 80% of my former self, I’m closer to 65 to 75 in a good day. Things take longer, I have to figure out different ways to say or write things.
My friends and family know, but they dont know what it’s like in this box of none and flesh. I think it is similar to my mothers aphasia and I had to teach er hiw to speak. I hear her voice every time my daughters speak, so that’s why I write every Friday, at my desk at work 0645 to 0715. I give them 30 minutes a week for their future to let them know about the past. Once they turn 18 they will get to look at the book and I’ll keep on writing, I’m sure they will find my podcast and this blog, maybe those who know me can reach to the future and tell my girls who I was in 2019.
All I’ve been doing my life is writing, it’s all that keeps me in and out of trouble. It gives peace and understanding sometimes, it brings remembrance and agony. Writing, talking and giving hope is all I do. I’m afraid that my writing and communication skills are strained as I relearn how to move the muscle and push through the blickages. My ability to inspire hope is waning and I may need to find something else to support the life. I’m unsure if the path, I dont have anyone interested enough to guide. So it’s up to me to land on my feet, again.