If you'd rather read the story of my cavernous angioma in book form, and in chronological order, you can order a copy of the biographical work created from this blog here.

But I'm just fwee

That would be 'three', if you count from the time I got out of Rehab. Sometimes I feel (and act, according to Chris) three (or, she says, seven on a good day)...

Three years and counting

Another year, and things have not significantly changed. My vision is still doubled, my balance is still iffy, and my memory is still spotty. I work at remembering everyone and everything, but without total success. I remain unemployable, but work at something (usually my writing, but always my blog) every day. Chris still loves me (and I still owe her my very life), and we have two delightful cats and a beautiful home, so life ain't so bad...

Two years, tonight

It's been a very confusing, interesting, frustrating, wonderful, terrible two years. Two years ago, 29 November 2006, late in the evening, the landmine went off in my head, and nothing's been the same since.
Some things, like my relationship with Christine, are as good, if not even better, than it was.
My employability is about zero, but I find things do to, and some of them even make me money.
My friends, mostly, have continued to support me.
Life, all in all, ain't bad, and it sure as hell beats the alternative.
Keep a watch here (or at Rico's Rants) for future events.

Two years, soon enough

I continue to fall into the gap between sadness over what I've lost and amazement at what I have.
The best thing, of course, continues to be my lucky association with Christine; not only the founder of this blog, but my savior (literally and figuratively). Without her, no Mark, no blog, nada. I am truly blessed.
I just returned from a whirlwind tour of the Northeast with my father (who, like Chris, had to do all the driving), visiting relatives (his and mine). They were, in chronological order:

Richard and MaryEllen Wilson (he's my cousin on my mother's side) in Cincinnati, Ohio (we flew into Columbus and Dickie, as he's known in the family, drove us down and back).

Carol Jones Tama and Larry Tama (she's my father's cousin) in Blossburg, Pennsylvania.

Larry and Sue Frey (he's my cousin and my father's nephew via his sister) in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York.

Mimi Palmer (she's my father's relation) at Schooley's Mountain, New Jersey.

Dorothy Jones (she's the second wife of Morton, my father's uncle, and step-mom to Skip Jones) in lower New Jersey; we had dinner with her and Skip and Yung-hui Jones (he's my father's cousin; she's his wife from his time in Korea).

It is good to have such wonderful relatives, direct or indirect; they are all incredibly nice and kind people.

Better yet, if still slowly

It's mid-October, and things inch along. Christine continues to take care of me in all ways, thank goodness, and I continue to improve, if by tiny increments. We have two cats now, both foundlings, and they provide daily merriment and comfort. I was never a cat person, always having had dogs, but I'm becoming one thanks to them. We're still awaiting more input before this goes off to become (hopefully) a book. I shall report progress as it happens. Thank you for your support.

Better, if slowly

Chris posted this back in May:
"He also has problems concentrating and gets easily flustered. If you keep up with his blogs, he sounds like the "same old Mark", but he writes early in the morning when he's most clear... I'm sure that for someone as smart as Mark is, living in his confused and foggy world is very difficult. It also depresses him when people don't understand that he can't deal with issues, converse and respond like he used to... Mark is trying to learn to live his life the best he can. He has good and bad days, like the rest of us. On top of it all, he has to contend with isolation and loneliness too."

It's August now, a year since I got off the drugs, but things haven't changed all that much, alas. I still have problems concentrating, but I still sound good, so everyone thinks I'm fine. I don't get to see my friends as much as I'd like (they've got lives, too), so I still contend with isolation and loneliness. Fortunately, Chris hasn't given up on me (thus far, anyway; day's not over yet), and I'm still being cared for better than I deserve. We're still awaiting input from one of my docs and the head of the Angioma Alliance to put all this into a book (which I now owe to a lot of people), but we'll get there eventually.
It's been a long strange trip, and it's still strange. But now that I'm going to live, I will have to figure out what I'm going to be when I grow up...