Home for a week now, each day I am more awake, more alert, more me.
Each day I walk a bit more, usually with Sean, at a glacial pace. First to the end of the block, then around the block. On Saturday Dan escorted me a full slow mile around the neighborhood, and on Sunday we visited Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins and Ribsy at Grant Park. I am disappointed not to participate in the Women’s March this year, but have given myself permission to temporarily ignore the outer world as I heal from this event.
I have been thinking about trust. What is it that allowed me to trust people I’ve met only briefly, including some on the team I never will meet while conscious, to thread some sort of mechanism into my brain and perform this surgery. That is the foundation of civilization, I suppose, that the standards put in place by experts will be upheld, that we all expect to do our best by each other, that we trust.
Some time is passed in the evenings with Dan and Sean, watching ‘The Good Place’ and adding several repeats to my Girl in the Neurosurgery Ward shawl. The yarn is Tosh Merino Light in the Mandala and Flashdance colorways.
A mantra for the week from one of my favorite podcasts: