After two strokes, I am spending most of my time in a wheelchair. I’m practically a bionic woman. I have to be fed through a tube that has been inserted into my stomach. I can look at my left arm, which is nice, but I can’t make it do anything. I cannot see well enough to read, which is a real bore. I can eat only bits of pudding and thickened drinks like tea and coffee. Whitley reads the papers to me in the morning while I have a cup of tea so thick it has to be eaten with a spoon–and then, only in tiny bits.
This is depressing, yes, but mostly boring. Very boring. It includes a return to childhood: I pee in my diapers and have to get changed every morning; I cannot walk and am trying to learn how to do that again; I cannot read; I cannot feed myself. In other words, I’m 68 and 1 at the same time! BUT I am working hard to recover what I can of who I was.
One thing remains the same: I still have my mind. Instead of editing Whitley’s books like I used to, he reads his manuscripts aloud and I comment.
I won’t try to put a good face on my situation. It’s hard. But there is one thing that has not changed: we still have our love and companionship.
(This has been dictated to my scribe Whitley.)