It has been over a month now. My throat feels weird. When I talk, it hurts afterwards. I wear a sign that reads “can not speak”. I avoid people. I feel a burden to others. I feel afraid that my throat will never get better. I feel stupid for possibly straining my voice. I feel worried about lamotrigine allergy. I feel I am not assertive enough when it comes to talking to doctors. I feel this is all my fault, no matter what the cause is.
My throat takes me to Nelson, where the doctor says that saunas are good. So I go to the pool and buy a great dress at the Sally Ann. The day after, my throat takes me to the cute town of Kaslo, where the psychiatrist says it might be the lamotrigine. With the prospect of bloodwork, Linda and I enjoy a wonderful lunch overlooking our lake from the other side.
When my throat seems on the mend, I start the course I am enrolled in. Recertification for Hidden Language. One glorious day I happily make collages, and enjoy two Hidden Language classes. During the second class, my throat starts to feel like a razor blade. I cry my way into the little bridge. When I ask my body, it simply says: STOP.
So I do.
|"My mind doesn't do that usually"|