Chapter Seven

I stumble into the kitchen and Ken is standing by the coffee pot. Little black and white shorts, no shirt. He turns and smiles at me and opens his arms. There’s more than one way to stop your brain spinning. We have time if we skip the shower. Hell I can call in late. Or I can play hooky and just stay home. No, my dear sweet husband, there are things I need to face and handle in me. But not right now. Right now I am snuggled close. My feet fit perfectly on top of his feet. He is snoring softly now against my neck. I hate to wake him, but I do. He goes to shave, I make his lunch. He loves me. He really meant those vows. I am blessed.

I still watch his truck disappear. I notice I am just breathing. I am no longer having to count when Ken leaves. Baby steps. I see my list.

Laundry
Dishes
HEB?
Appt with Nancy
Eat
Sew?

I open the washer and there are the clothes from the other day. I restart the load hoping it gets the slightly musty smell off the clothing. I modify my list.

Laundry
 wash load
 dry load
 fold

I go stare blankly at my sewing mess again. I need a maid and an organizer. Evidently my brain was mushy when I hauled all this out and i’m overwhelmed with how to get it to a workable state. Jake whines in his kennel. Oh good! I know how to do this. I can water the tomatoes, and that wasn’t even on my list. I laugh at myself that I’m proud. I have a lot of ground to make up. The tomatoes are looking good. Currently we have planted 10 different varieties of heirloom in assorted colors and sizes. I can’t wait. We are planting cucumbers and some peppers too. At least that was the plan before I melted. Someone will have to add it to a list at some point. I am getting cocky about how well I am doing.

I am 10 minutes early for my doctor appointment. I wonder if this is a sign of OCD. Nancy is an hour late seeing me. Sitting in a quiet exam room with nothing to do is too close to a cubicle. ½ pill, I can pop them down dry now, and the edge is off, but I am still jumpy.

Nancy comes in and smiles her sweet reassuring smile. What a fabulous doctor I have found. We review the meds, the dosage, how often. How are you sleeping. Perhaps you should take ½ a lorazepam or a whole one as needed to get to sleep. Nightmares? Yes, but I don’t remember them. They are instantly gone when I wake up. Ok, take a whole one for a couple of days, then back off to a ½ and we can see how it goes. I will call more of those in. Are you seeing your counselor? Are you having any thoughts of hurting yourself or others. Absolutely not. I am blessed and I want to get better. I have wished a few acts of god on a few people, but nothing that I instigated or could tie back to me in any forensic way. Thank goodness she gets the joke. It feels good to make someone laugh. To not have that look of concern on a face looking at me for a moment. Strangely I get the same advice from her as I do from Mr. Attorney. Document, protect, get better, I am praying for you.

Now I have a whole day to fill. I sit in my car. I don’t want to hibernate today. I need to start being out and about with people. I’m lost.

Sarah calls. Lillian is sick at daycare, Dr. Garcia can see her now, can you take her. Absolutely, yes I can. I now have a purpose. I pick her up from daycare and head to the doctor. It was nap time when I get her and she is not happy about being awake. She sits in her carseat and glares at me. I bribe her with yogurt drops and she relents and smiles. Score two for me today. I’m on a roll.

Her tube in her right ear is blocked, here I can clear it. Yes, this drainage looks infected, what pharmacy? ValueMed, I have to go there and get my meds anyway. Dr. Garcia is an old friend of mine. He was the pediatrician for my six kids. You get to know your pediatrician when you have six kids. Three of whom are boys. He looks at me and says yes, I can see you are off your game. Please, call me if you need me. Get better. I will pray for you.

Crap. I am noticeably crazy still. I thought I was getting better. All the cocky is knocked out of me. Lillian says nom nom. That means she is hungry. Ok, we are going to try a new place. The restaurant has no highchairs. Crap, no way to trap an almost two year old. Thankfully there is another two year old there and Lillian and she become friends. First they stare blankly at each other. Then Lillian pokes the little girl, Mariquita, in the tummy. Mariquita pokes her back and they both giggle. And off they go. Lillian chattering away in her few english words, and Mariquita in her few spanish words. The baby babble sounds the same. They are fast friends in 15 seconds flat. At what age do we start complicating things? When does this human interaction become stressful and full of innuendo and jabs. When does a poke in the tummy become a threatening thing.

We eat, we go home. I lay down with Lillian for a rest and we both sleep for the next three hours. Ken comes home, I feel him softly stroke my leg, but I return to sleep.

Sarah is home early so Lillian is nursing. She glares at me from her visible eye and wrinkles her forehead. This is my warning to stay away. No tickling allowed Mimi, this is serious business here.

Ken wants to paint a sarong. I am swept up in his wake, mixing dyes, discussing strategies. What would happen if I used these spray bottles? How would these colors blend? I don’t want to end up with a brown muddled mess. We hang the silk from a line in the Monkey Hut we built for Burning Man. Ken has devised an ingenious way to weight the bottom of the sarong. He starts spraying. It’s coming out different than he expected. Ha! Welcome to my world. I warn him about how addictive silk painting is. My hands itch to take the spray bottles away from him and take over. I look at my husband and call him a tricky bastard. He just laughs. I know that tomorrow I will be dyeing silk again.

I go to bed this night and I sleep. No nightmares. No wakefulness. No moaning and sighing in my sleep. I am still crazy, but I have hope. I am safe. I am in my fortress, but it is expanding. Ken is here.