Yesterday's MRI proved that I have a brain and there isn't a single spot on it. Yay!
Late last night I was chatting with a nurse and ended up sobbing through my life story. In one of his books, Patrick Carnes, who runs an addiction clinic in Southern California, comments that there is more cancer among survivors of sexual abuse. That makes sense to me because it would mean there's a lifetime of stress hormones. I would add to the statistics thanks to an incestuous uncle and the clergy I went to for help. I'm surprised that my life has been as joyful as it has. My parents loathed me.
Steve said that when he returned home last night Brix was totally bereft because I wasn't with him. He slept on my side of the bed instead of curling up against me the way he usually does. This is Demi - she wears a service cape. Parisse can never go anywhere because she seems autistic to me - no eye contact, afraid of everything, can't play, isolates several rooms away. Five veterinarians have tried to help her, but we never got very far. We love her.
Steve gave me a sponge bath this morning before we left the hospital - new levels of intimacy when you're lugging around a cast with strict orders not to get it wet. I love him so much! I came home to a clean house and everyone was cared for - three dogs, four chickens, Youngest Daughter. He got all the refills for my meds - 10 prescriptions these days. We're all exhausted and fell asleep at 7:00 for two-hour naps.
Oldest daughter is helping me use my juicer so I can follow a food-as-medicine regimen.
I have to stay alive.