Forget

The last week is a blur, literally.

I remember going to bed on Sunday thinking that maybe I pulled a muscle in my back while playing with the Best Nephew Ever. I remember waking up over and over, each time hurting more. I remember getting out of bed at 4am to find medicine, only to start throwing it up an hour later. I remember our hoarse, crusty conversation debating whether I should go to Urgent Care or the Emergency Department. Patrick had to get Colin up and ready to go – he was so mad, scowling at me across the room as I rocked in pain.

Then, I remember Patrick dropped me at the hospital and I walked into the ED. I must have looked awful, they got me right in and on a bed. They drew blood, sent the intern, I called my mother. Shortly after that started morphine and, though I have snippets of memories of the next three days, they are so foggy and blurred I can’t even relay them. I am just missing those three days.

My mother and Patrick have been filling me in on what I have forgotten. I was devastated to miss my hair appointment on Tuesday, apparently. I was really worried about who would pick Colin up from day care on Monday, so much so that I had to approve every part of the plan. A plan told to me yesterday as if for the first time, when I suddenly asked, “How did Colin get home on Monday? Did he even go home on Monday?”

My friend called last night to check on me and I said to her, “I am sorry we’ve been playing phone tag! I tried to call you back last night but I didn’t get you.”

“Katie, we talked for almost an hour last night.”

“We did?”

Today is the first day that I feel almost normal, almost fine. I remember things that I did and said earlier in the day. I am sore and tired, but I refuse to take any more medicine that makes me forget my life. It is too sweet to miss, even if it is punctuated with an occasional reminder of the stent in my right side.