So much has happened and continues to develop.
I'm in my last week of rehab.
The last 4 weeks have dropped me way low.
I have been to see the immunologist again (and again: it's some pre-phase of some systemic auto-immune disease).
The immunologist gave me Lyrica which made me high as a kite.
Buh-bye, Lyrica.
Rehab might continue after the summer.
I'm still waiting to hear.
Son#2 got his hand stuck in my treadmill, which unscrupulously ripped the skin off of 2 fingers.
Second degree burns.
My bunny.
Then the results of Sons#2 and 3's tests.
Son#3 is a wee genius, his IQ off the charts - regular schools won't offer him much for long.
Social emotional level at age 8 (he's 5).
It sounds so promising, to have an uber gifted child, but really, it's the other end of the special education spectrum.
Plus, it has so little to do with performance, but rather the need to be stimulated on an entirely different level.
Son#2 is starting to get all the problems they predicted at birth.
Considering he's missing 25% of his brain, I am proud as freaking punch.
We think he's grand.
But it felt like grieving all over again.
My nose spurted blood when the psychologist told us, high blood pressure brought on by acute stress.
What fragile beings us humans are.
Next week we are exchanging homes with a British family close to Dartmoor.
I'm looking forward so much.
Then, at the beginning of September, I'm returning to work.
We'll see how it goes - I might work in research or as student dean (which I would love).
I'm trying my best to just let it happen, without my stirring.
It's hot here in the Nether Lands.
Terrorist attacks strike closer and closer.
Trump might become president (and what a horrific day that would be).
The husband has gone off to some food festival.
Son#1 will turn 11 on Wednesday, and has slight scoliosis.
Sigh.
First, holidays.
We shall overcome.
Right?
.
