"This will be good news," I hope, answering the long-awaited call. It's the nurse from the neurologist's office. "The doctor has reviewed all your records. He's referring you to Stanford Neurology," she reports.
The nurse interrupts my thoughts. "Ma'am,... Ma'am, are you there?"
"Yes..., I'm here," I hesitantly reply while silently questioning, "God, are You there?"
I'm physically on the phone, but my mind's recalling my body seizing over and over again for three more hours on a narrow hospital bed shoved somewhere along the ER's neglected hallway. I softly implore, "Why can't they make them stop?" My husband shakes his head while gently holding my hand. Then my body forcefully thrashes again.
"No, ...No questions," I whisper.
Recently I prayed, "Should I continue pursuing medical options or accept the reality of my brain impairment?
Image from: Stock.XCHNG www.sxc.hu/ clouds-and-blue-sky 1387467-s. Accessed 4/18/2014.