After three angiograms, at least seven CAT scans, seven doppler exams, an MRI, an echocardiogram, and who know what else, we still don’t know for sure why I had a subarachnoid bleed. Their best guess is that I had a burst aneurysm that sealed itself off.

I’m recovering well. TIRR released me from PT after 4 or 5 sessions, and from OT after one when I passed the pre-driving assessment. In cognitive therapy, my evaluation showed that I have above average scores for the general population my age, except for in one area—story recounting! I had to laugh. I’m sure it’s an accurate score, though, because I was supposed tosay the story back word for word. When the speech therapist got to the long story about “Doug,” I just didn’t give a rat’s ass and lost focus. Anyway, I’m grateful to TIRR for their support. As I age, I need all the help I can get in the memory department.

The next time we see each other, I’ll have short, white hair. After twenty-five years of dying it, I’ve thrown away the bottle. Now I consider the white hair a badge of honor for living this long. On the shaved part of my head, the hair is about an inch and a half long, but it’s growing.

Thank you all so much for the prayers and good thoughts that have held me in their warm embrace. Your friendships and love have motivated me every step of the way. I’ll hold them close as I end my Caringbridge blog with this:

Three months since the brain bleed

what a wild ride

an uninvited psychedelic dream

with distorted voices,

tinny Christmas carols

and memories layered in gauze

appearing and disappearing

I’ll never know why the clock

in the hospital always said 8:10

They say I’m a walking miracle

I trudge through woods for miles

celebrate when I choose my own

fruit at HEB, pump gas, yank

clothes from the washer

but I have seen others at TIRR

who couldn’t dodge bullets

I have questions without answers,

wonder if I deserve to ring the victory bell

Eyes sting, tears spill

What I’ve learned:

I’m not a patient patient.

Trying to rest my brain 

and stimulate it enough 

to repair itself 

is like dancing on hot coals

Leap year, for sure.

They didn’t lie when they said

Six months to a year for full recovery.

Out here, clock hands fly.

I’m not sure how best 

to spend my flickering time.