I wish I was one who could say I feel like dancing, smiling ear to ear, as each day goes by. But honestly, as of late, some days I don’t even feel like walking. I’ve been finding myself thinking
‘Are you sure about this, Lord? It sure doesn’t seem what happened to my callorbone six weeks ago exactly fits into a comfortable plan I prefer.’
I can’t help but think how my pillow knows my many happy thoughts as of late. That is why I’m sharing, of course with a wee bit of change, a posting I originally shared over a year ago.
‘Push’ – The last word from my last post.
Yes, it may only have four letters, but is can sure sound like it has six, eight, twelve, fifteen, or even more. When would that be? When someone is helping a women who’s close to delivering a baby by saying “PUUUUUUUUUUSH ! “Continue reading “Ready or Not . . . Now a Mom”
“Okay, the doors now shut. I’m home. I’m pregnant. Now what,” I, the most nervous nineteen year old in the world, asked myself. I walked into my home, having found out a few hours before that I was pregnant. There I was, facing the fact I had to tell my parents.
The first week of each new year gets me thinking of what the future holds. And, it also gets me thinking of what’s taken place in the past, specifically during the first week of January in 1991.
The next part of my encephalitis illness story fits perfectly right now being this new year of 2018 recently began. Why? Because it was during the first week of January in 1991 that I left my eighteen-day stay at Highline Community Hospital. (1*)Continue reading “That Unforgettable Drive”
I’ve shared before now what went on inside that hospital when it was discovered I had brain damage from what’s called encephalitis. Twenty-eight years ago is when the hospital had become my new home, since I was not remembering much of anything before the illness hit me. But what about my family and friends? Something about having their own friend, daughter, sister, mom, or wife in the hospital, with brain damage, put a big dent in their Christmas joy. A few even told me it was the toughest Christmas season they had ever had.Continue reading “Treadmill + Math = Hope”
That same day I ‘woke-up,’ or the day after, in walked someone new.
“Marianne,” one of the doctors said, “someone’s here whom you knew before you got sick.” In walked this man.
Who is he? He’s not dressed like everyone else here. He . . . he sort of looks familiar, whoever he is.
“Marianne, this is your husband, Chris.” Continue reading “Meet For The First Time . . . Again -part 2”