Apparently "feeling better" is not actually being better. I am reminded of my training in Recovery. "Feelings are not facts!" Generally this is a great mantra for people who feel as if they are going mad. Unfortunately, it works both ways.
I visited my new Neuro today, who I will refer to as Ms. Neuro. Not that I've never had a female before. However, this is a lady who seems competent and self assured. While things are not always as they seem--see above quote--I left the appointment a little more assured of subsequent proper monitoring.
At no point did she sound convinced that I am healing. I know I am healing because my knees hurt like hell. In fact, they hurt like never before. Frankly, to have my knees feeling anything whatsoever is a comfort. After a few walking demonstrations, Ms. Neuro began to explain some of the newer drugs available to improve my gait, as she said. No links until I know more.
I also feel as though my sight returned. Recall that I had an episode of double vision in September of 2009. My sight was sort of crummy for a while. This past spring an MRI done specifically to follow up on that showed a great deal of correction.
Feelings are not facts. Ms. Neuro determined that I am experiencing some sort of weakness in the side vision of both eyes, that creates double vision. Dumbass that I am, I simply said, "Doesn't everybody?" I was tersely given to understand that no, it is not normal.
Long story short: There is to be no--none--whatsoever--preparations for Tday. Husband RJ is incredulous, and suggests that Ms. Neuro can't possibly understand our situation. We must have Tday at our house.
B---s---t! I agree with Ms. Neuro, and am beginning to wonder about ole RJ. Her exact prescription is that we go to my daughter's place, bringing nothing that requires homemaking, and that someone else drive me to and from the party. Apparently, she detects a certain amount of SuperWoman complex, and wants to knock me down a few.
Funny thing is I agree with her. Wouldn't it be nice to enjoy a couple glasses of wine, sit back and watch the mob work without me, and go home to sleep in a tryptophan and alcohol induced coma?
Damn. I'm feeling better already.