May 26th, 2016

(no subject)

I wrote a beautiful long entry and LJ argued with me and alas it was deleted. This is a shame for I was trying to wax poetic. This is probably not as great a shame as I think, for brain fog means that I think things I do are perfect when they're quite mistaken.

For those who missed the news, I had an asthma attack on 5 April and ended up with a quadruple bypass on 15 April. That asthma attack and an exceptionally clever emergency team at the hospital saved my life. Now my mother and some of my friends are saving my sanity. I stayed with one friend for two weeks, others for a week and have been home (but watched over by Mum) since then. Mum has gone and I am independent. Still on sick leave, but able to do many things. I've been very well cared for and I love my friends (and my mother!) very much.

my progress has marked stages. I was so proud when I could stand up to shower and then even more so when I opened my own front door (which is quite heavy) but now I can do laundry and make salads. For a bit longer (a few weeks, I suspect) I'll be reheating main meals (cooked by more awesomely supportive friends, for I haven't yet been approved of for financial help from the government) and then I'll be able to cook and catch buses and teach and all.

I'll be able to do a few hours work weekly from my desk at home from Monday, but it has to be timed to not coincide with brain fog. I shall build up gradually and by mid July I will theoretically be back to normal. The theoreticality in that statement is partly me being cautious and partly the suspicion that I will gradually return to my old normal over the next few months.

What is my old normal? I'm so glad you asked, but I can't explain it. All I can say is that every friend who has known me for long enough bursts into uncontrollable laughter when they realise that none of my newer friends have met my normal self. Two have described me as scary. I am not at all terrifying (if I were, they wouldn't be my friends!) but I am possibly hard to keep up with. It means I can be on committees and do my own work and help others and write novels and do folk dance and stuff all at once. I get a lot of joy out of life. I make many, many most excellent jokes. I get excited about the colours of autumn leaves and about shards of opal.

I miss the old me and I really hope that I return. And the fact that there was an old me and a heart-problem me certainly explains the slowness of the last few years.

Healing is fulltime work, so don't expect anything astonishing of me immediately. It's as hard work as the last three months of a doctorate and has far more emotional impact.

For those people (who are many in number) who want to give me advice, can I ask you to think first? My condition is hereditary and is now under control. I'm attending a lecture program as a part of my rehab and being given a lot of very handy background (this week was basic anatomy and we got to play with stents). Any advice you give needs to take both of those into account. And it should not relate to my weight or my eating habits, for both of those have been cleared as culprits.

My friends are just amazing. I came out of hospital just 3 days before my 55th birthday, and presents appear every few days, for I missed both Passover and the planned birthday party. Best thing possible for the moral of someone like me. I become very moody (it's apparently normal) and being reassured that one is loved by those who one cannot see (as well as the friends taking care of me) lifts the moods and makes me smile. When I retrieve the rest of my get well cards from the friend who was minding them, I plan to have a splendid line up and use it whenever despondency strikes.

And that's my update! If I can't give updates often (and I really can't) then you need a solid one when I am able.