A dear friend, who is a retired RN and who served in the medical field for more than four decades, called me to urge me not to leave our home. She stressed how that exposure to this quickly spreading virus could be life-threatening for LeRoy, and how easily I might bring germs back home to him. That confirmed what I was already thinking.
“We just don't know.” That's not the words you want to hear coming from your care team (who operates under the direction of one of the world's most respected neurologists). The words hit hard. When my husband and I make our regular trip to his doctors at UT Southwestern, we always go hoping for answers, looking for a solution, praying for an encouraging prognosis.
I’ve never liked roller coasters. Ever. I just don’t get the point. Zooming through open air, way beyond heights that are safe, and then dropping so fast that you prepare to throw up. Not to mention slinging around corkscrew turns so hard that it triggers muscle spasms in your neck. And why in the world would any sane person enjoy risking flying off a track that probably hasn’t actually been inspected by someone truly concerned about safety? Really.