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Thursday, January 12, 2006

The counselor letter

So, things are moving a little faster now.

I had an appointment with my counselor, and ran through rain to get there, and we talked for an hour and he gave me my copy of my letter, and I cried on it, and then ran through the rain with it to the car, so it's awfully splotchy.

But mine.

Yesterday I wrote to the surgeon and he emailed right back (he's extraordinarily accessible and even answers his own phone) and advised me to talk with Anne, the woman-of-all-trades, about a date.

That would be in the morning.

So I drove (through rain you could cut with a cold knife) to my electro appointment, and lay still though two hours of torture, and got back on the freeway, heading home, through yet more torrential rains ...

... and failed to negotiate the curve on the exit.

I sailed out into the median between two exit ramps at fifty miles per hour, and hit the mud going just a bit sideways, driver side. I could feel the station wagon getting ready to flip. So I slowly cut the wheels to the left. The vehicle responded well (for a wagon) but then slewed to the right. So I slowly cut the wheels to the right. Just like hitting an ice patch.

There was sufficient momentum that I somehow got across the miniature wetlands in the middle without bogging down ...

... and found myself, undamaged, in an undamaged vehicle, on the other off ramp, going in the right direction ...

... and, this being Oregon, not only did I not hit anyone, I had no witnesses to the miracle, other than a couple of rather bemused deer.

And I thought: oh, please, not now. Not when I'm so close ...

... and drove slowly the rest of the way through the black night ...

... and got home and went to bed and slept ten hours.

:::

This morning I got up with enough time to spare for the phone call. There was a fire and coffee waiting; Beloved had already gone to work and still didn't know about my practically out-of-body experience yesterday.

I dressed to the nines, checked the mirror, and, to calm my nerves, transferred all the numbers from cell phone to address book that hadn't got there yet.

Then picked up the phone and called Anne. She was right there.

We established that my idea of going to Miami for Spring Break was unrealistic as the doctor isn't in during the last week of every month, and after that would be at a conference. So we investigated the available dates and came up with March 14th.

Wouldn't you know it ... my mother's birthday. That's in, hmm, 73 days.

A lot to do between now and then, my dears.

-- risa b

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