Ch 4: Round 1.9?; Or, A Preview of What's to Come

(Technically, I'm furloughed. So between that and bedrest, I have absolutely nothing to do right now. Thus, more blogging).

September 2011.

While I'm still uncomfortable most of the time, things are by-and-large better. I'm working mostly full-time again; the days I don't feel well enough to work, my boss set me up to work from home for a few hours. I'm actually running again, and have worked my way up to a fairly steady seven-ish miles five days a week, so the weight I lost after almost a year on bedrest is totally gone. I still can't lift weights or anything weighing more than a few pounds, but that was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I knew I wasn't totally healed and completely back to normal, but it was close enough, and I was happy with it.

After a long day at work - at a brand new job in a historic house, just what I wanted to do - I went to Patrick's for whiskey and movies - as was pretty standard. We'd been together for about five months; he and Mike were packing up to move into a bigger townhouse around the corner in Reston with their mate Andrew, and were rightfully excited about it. On the 10th, Patrick and I were heading to Pennsylvania to attend some friends' wedding. But I woke up that morning and my brain exploded out of my skull as though a grenade had been set off inside my head. I tried to turn over to get Patrick's attention, and blacked out. I came to just in time to whimper and gesture for the trash can as the pain-induced nausea reared its head again. At first, he thought I'd simply had too much whiskey and was hungover, so he went to fetch crackers and water from the kitchen. I couldn't even stomach the idea. When he realised that I was panicking and freaking out and in such immense pain, he panicked and called my parents. I barely remember them stopping by, but I know they did, because I remember begging Patrick to cover the tattoo on my back as my parents didn't know about it yet. He didn't get the memo, but they were panicking so much themselves that I honestly don't think they saw. I spent most of the day passing out, coming to, throwing up, and then passing back out into a sleepless haze.

But the next morning, I woke up and was significantly better. By the third day, it was as if none of it had happened and I was back to the "normal" level of discomfort. Nevertheless, I still took it extra super easy for about a week, staying with Patrick, lounging about, doing a lot of nothing. Not exactly how one wants to spend the early days of a relationship, but it was far better than what happened two months later.