January 2, 2021

Halloween arrived.   An important holiday for me.   I settled down by my computer at a Zoom meeting to celebrate the holiday.    I had been mostly successful in joining a variety of Zoom meetings during the pandemic.  With anticipation, I entered the required password.

Nothing happened.  I am only mediocre at any computer skill, but typing itself had never been a problem.   So, I tried again.

Time passed while I tried uselessly to Zoom in.   My fingers would not go where I wanted them to go.  I gave up and tried the next couple of days and slowly figured out how to type again.

I did succeed, but too late for Halloween.  I figured out that my fingers and my brain had not been in sync.  Was that the first sign I had been waiting many years for?

I had troubling memories of my dear grandmother,  and my artistic aunt going into Alzheimer’s.  I considered it the curse of the family that would be my fate too.  Was this the first sign?

I had loved walking Laguna Woods Village in the dark of night and breathing with the many trees planted all around us.  I had done that for years since my circadian rhythm had unexpectedly shifted at menopause and thrown me into the pattern of an extreme night owl — a difficult time shift for sure in a land that works otherwise.

For 22 years in Laguna Woods, I had never fallen while walking at night — until that night.  My legs suddenly grew longer,  wrapped around each other, and pulled me down.  I felt the skin on my lips pull away while my face was being pulled across the gravel of the street.   The memento from that experience was a generally weaker right leg, and a much less curvaceous  handwriting.

I had had a heart attack more than two years before that.  I had stayed overnight in the hospital, but did not have the procedure and medication that the cardiologist had wanted to give me.  My promise to myself years ago was not to hold off death because I believe we are human, a part of nature, and meant to die.  Pushing it away as a senior meant unwanted time,  suffering, and overpopulation.  So, I left the hospital the next day after the heart attack.

I waited for something else to happen, but I seemed to repair from that experience — except for one thing that started several months later.

A small child seemed to be pulling a piece of light material across my legs and arms.  It went both left and right sides, and then seemed to settle on my right side only.  It was always gentle and lasted for differing amounts of time.

I wondered about it, but all I could find online was “Rippling muscle disease” that was supposedly hereditary and a precursor to losing the use of that leg.  My gym teacher, and no doctor could make much sense of it.  I was curious about it, but didn’t find out anything helpful.   It has come from time to time for over 2 years now — always gentle and making me think of a child playing with me.

My most delightful memory of what probably was a TIA was a feeling I have no adequate words to describe.  It was  freeing, limitless,  gentle, very pleasant dancing with the air.

My scariest memory is waking up and somehow knowing I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.  Since I lived alone, I called a friend to come stay with me and tell me what was real and what wasn’t.  I felt calm while she was with me.  Nothing happened, and it hasn’t happened again.

In the “really strange” column, I would put that I have now been flipped back 25 years ago to a more regular sleeping pattern.  It came with no warning.  So, I am now more “normal” except for all the strange things my brain is doing to my thinking.

%d bloggers like this: