Memories from there are sketchy.  I felt pain, but more often at first was discomfort from the hospital gear attached to me.  I’d gone from the kitchen to a beautiful white box to a hospital that seemed to have no concern for my well being.  They were, by far, the worst stop on the journey.  Or, maybe I just wasn’t seeing things properly.

I’m sure there were many things I wasn’t quite “seeing” properly at first.  I could hear more than I could see.  Voices came into my ears, but assimilating faces was a completely different animal.  Even Grant’s face was fuzzy and I knew him by the way he walked or what he was wearing.  I saw nothing clearly, but the news of the seizure that had placed me here.

I know now many people came to visit, but I was not aware of them.  I was in a world of drugs and plastic.  Numb to my own needs, I relied upon those around me to do their best.  Stating my opinion did not then lie within my ability.

Reaching a point where talking became attractive, I’m told I was quite funny.  I remember being quite charming.   Everything seemed tubular and I saw only what was directly in front of me.  My eyes didn’t seem to have a grasp yet on the complete room view, but I could hear laughter and my heart soared at its presence.

Tubes were soon disconnected, but my memory of this time is voices.  I remember best those few who boldly approached my bed and spoke close to my head.  I may not have seen their faces, but I heard their words.  I pray if the tables were turned I would do the same.

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