My dear Henry had two seizures on Tuesday. One he remembers, one he does not. It's rather obvious that these are a lingering aftereffect of the injury he sustained last fall. He still refuses to admit this. He wants to believe it was triggered by the smell of chicken. I've heard that can be the cause, but usually in epileptics. Henry is not an epileptic, but he did sustain a traumatic brain injury.
But there's no discussing this. Henry sounded so fragile when he called me, over and over, Tuesday night and Wednesday afternoon. I couldn't call him back Tuesday night because I was on a train back from my client meeting. I texted him, explaining that's why I missed his calls. I sent him my office number and let him know he could call any time on Wednesday because I love him and wanted to talk. He did call several times on Wednesday, but he dialed my home and not the office number. That's how confused he was.
It's important that he's getting good care. They did a brain scan. He had bloodwork done. He was given new anti-seizure meds, and he's seeing the doctor again on Saturday. Henry may still be insisting that his brain didn't sustain any damage, but his doctor is not fooled. That's a good thing.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
Oh no--I do hope he gets good care!
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