Bad days down south

Henry's weekend got off to bad start. Patrick -- a lifelong friend of Reg's who stays with them each winter -- came home Saturday to find him sitting naked in the living room, talking to himself, and impervious to Patrick's being in the room. A seizure? A hallucination? Who knows?

Sunday, while shopping with Reg for tires at Sears, Henry had a full-on seizure. He lost consciousness, bit his tongue, the full 9 yards. He was taken away in an ambulance.

In the ER, Henry was stabilized with intravenous medication and sent home to rest.

I've heard all this from Patrick and Reg. I don't know why I haven't heard from Henry. Maybe he's still mad at me, maybe he's embarrassed, maybe he's still disoriented.

This all serves to remind me that Henry cannot help his condition. There are thing he can do to mitigate the damage, things he's not doing, but that's a quibble in the scheme of things. He rode his bike into a van. He has a traumatic brain injury.

So now I'm back to where I was, when my weekend began. I have to learn how to integrate his injury into our relationship. I'm still tossing counseling around in my head.