A month ago I was getting ready in G’s bathroom in the morning, when I looked down at my scar.
“Have you noticed how much my scar has faded?” I called out, as I walked over to show him.
“Yeah, I noticed yesterday it was looking a lot lighter,” he replied. “That’s good!”
I went back into the bathroom and started brushing my teeth. G came in and kissed my forehead and hugged me tightly. As I tried not to cry.
The scar is fading, but the emotions are definitely still raw.
Confusion. When I initially woke up in my bed, not knowing why I was upstairs, or why my sweater was melted, or why I couldn’t remember anything from the past hour.
Fear. When I silently cried, trying to not wake up my elderly roommate, in my hospital bed after everyone left and I was alone for the first time. I knew I was on the cusp of a turning point but I had no idea what lay before me.
Frustrations. Every time the bus was late or I was late for the bus, because I felt fine and had a car, but just knew I shouldn’t drive because I made I promise I wouldn’t. When I didn’t get answers after medical tests. What I still feel today.
Worry. Almost daily concerns that I may have another one, in public or while driving. And for my future, when I want to have a baby but am terrified that stresses from that major life upheaval will trigger something.
Happiness. For now. Because the scar is fading. And every day I’m seizure-free is another day I can put between me and “that” day.
365 and counting…
(My blog titles are song titles. This is “Battle Scars” by Chemical Brothers, which seems fitting considering I also picked a Chemical Brothers song for my first post about this, here: https://hilarydarrah.com/2012/03/19/the-pills-will-help-you-now/)