Update: My fever broke (Yay! and thank you for praying) but I’m still feeling poorly and spent the larger part of the day in bed. I missed VT on Monday, and PT today. I’ll also skip VT tomorrow since I can no longer take chances on the nausea front. Mommy felt sorry for me and let me sit in Jack my “wheelchair” this morning but then insisted I come downstairs and eat something later since “I can’t administer the Heimlich from downstairs.” If you’re wondering, I’m not writing these posts now – I’m accessing the stockpile I made in preparation for RLP’s visit.
A long time ago some friends were telling a funny story and after the punchline, Sgirl/SMBF turned to me and said, “Don’t worry, Ning – that never happened.” I think she said that because the funny story likely contained something she knew grossed me out, e.g. touching feet or inadequate food hygiene. I appreciated her attempt to edit reality for me, plus she did it with such deadpan delivery it was hard not to laugh.
These days I think my reality is continuing to be edited but I’m not sure to what extent it’s happening since I still operate on a “need to know” basis and I trust Mom and Dad to tell me about things if they’re really important. Sometimes things are important but they don’t want them to adversely impact me – e.g. I’ve found out after the fact about some financial or employment issues since my parents were busy shielding me from the anxiety they might produce while they dealt with them. Thanks, Mom and Dad!
I just think it’s funny that editing reality occurred in my old life, too, when I was just dealing with my own personality tics as opposed to a brain injury. One instance I’m glad was not edited was my one and only interview with my surgeon. I was still living in the 3rd Hospital but had gotten a “community pass” and car transfer training so that I could have a follow-up appointment with my surgeon before I flew to MD.
A few days earlier I had seen the PDG (the ENT) to get scoped :/. He had mentioned that he had read my file and Dr. So and So had been present at my surgery. I smiled inwardly – hah! This was the first tangible inconsistency that proved my theory that none of this had really happened. Out loud I said, “But I thought Dr. Dogan was my surgeon,” I mentioned the name I had heard bandied about as the mythical character who had opened my head up. You’re right, said the PDG – Dr. Dogan was your surgeon, but Dr. So and So was the ENT present. <Sigh> I didn’t argue with him after that.
Dr. Dogan’s recollection of our meeting may be different, but what I recall was being confused that he was a real person, and then upset as I began to understand that if he was real so was everything else, and I wanted to hear him say what happened since I could walk just fine before he intervened. When I asked him what happened he essentially he played the trump card. He did not edit reality to accommodate my mental or emotional state – he just made me understand that my family would not have been in time to see me after they flew from D.C. had he not done what he did.
I’ve spent more than a year thinking about what he said. For several of those months I polled on the subject of the severity of my situation to see if he had been exaggerating. The consensus was that no, he was not exaggerating – furthermore, he would have no reason to do so since people don’t make stuff like that up, and I was a naughty girl for implying that he would. Anyway, I decided that he did everything he did since there was no viable alternative, and I’m so thankful the Lord sent me to someone who knew how to handle my situation. So although my inner thoughts didn’t express it when we met, I am grateful. Thanks, Doc!