The Recovery

Recovering from this whole fainting spell ordeal has resulted in a nasty case of cabin fever, one which I hope to remedy later today. I have not left my apartment except to return to the hospital since monday. With the exception of the boy's 16 hour visit, perhaps the most wonderful 16 hours that I've ever spent with anyone, the rest of the week has been wholly un-stimulating.

I'll hit the high points.

I still can't fully believe that he flew up here to see me. As soon as I opened my door I could see why he had. The look of distress and concern on his face was instantly apparent, and as he scooped me up into his arms, kissing the top of my head with tears in his eyes, I understood why he felt he had to be here. He was scared. A smile spread across my face as I started to cry. All I could say was "Thank You." He pushed my hair back to reveal the bruises and cut on my forehead, and tilted my chin upward to investigate the five stitches holding it together. His eyes welled and he pulled me towards him, delicately kissing the bruises and holding me close to him.

"I guess I look like hell, huh?"

"No. You're beautiful."

My god, I love this man. I do. What he has become is a complete amazement to me. Our history has been difficult and frustrating, but if that is what we had to go through to get here, then I wouldn't change a single thing about it. I have never felt so very happy, so at ease, in my entire life. I can't wait for the day when we are finally both back in the same city. I know that the time and distance between us has been exceptionally important, but I also ache to be near him. I feel like I carry him with me all day. He is the smile that I can't suppress. Even more exciting is that I know that he feels the same way. I don't wonder if he loves me anymore, because he tells me he loves me, and he shows me that he loves me, and he looks at me as though he loves me, and he holds me like he loves me. It's incredible. That look of guilt that used to overtake him in quiet moments, and that detached silence that he would adopt on the bus in the morning, have been replaced with a genuine smile, with gazing at me in wonder. He tells me "I think I'm learning how to be happy." I think he is.

The duration of his visit was wonderful and relaxing, and even though I woke up fifteen minutes before his 6:00 am alarm and woke him up whimpering "you're leaving. I don't want you to go," he always handled me with utmost love and care. He soothed me back to calm, "it's ok. We'll see eachother again soon."

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

And, as I said, I did spend the rest of the week taking it easy, catching up on tv and movies, reading a few books, and just letting the whole ordeal work it's way out of my system.

Yesterday I returned to the hospital, followed up in the outpatient clinic and headed back to the ER, this time the express care unit, to have the stitches removed. I am left with a diagnosis of Vasovagal Syncope, which is nothing too terribly serious. At least I'll know what's going on if it happens again. I won't go into the details. Google it if you're that interested. I am also left with what is certainly going to be a scar on my chin. I hope the swelling that still remains subsides in a few days. The other injuries are minor. The bruises on my forhead and slight black eyes are pretty much gone. The heroin-addict track marks left by the two IV's are beginning to fade, and the soreness in my left tricep from the tetanus shot is mostly gone. I'm on the mend, and ready to rejoin the human race, perhaps even contribute to society.

Last night around 2 am I recieved a call from an unknown number. It turned out to be him, covertly calling me from the film's "in case of emergencies" cell phone which is left at "The Compound" - a very large and secluded piece of plantation property where his film is shooting. I don't know how, but he somehow managed to convince them that he needed to be ALONE on the compound for a couple of days as he prepares for this role. So there he is, in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, with free run of an entire plantation, and a moderately functional cell phone. The thing kept cutting us off, but I know how it is to be in a part of the south where reception is spotty at best. You just have to fit everything into as little time as possible. I have such admiration for the way that he works and prepares for a role, and I can't wait to have the oppurtunity to work with him as an artist. When I told him this last night he said "oh, we will. There's no question. We have to." And we do. He tells me that the big empty place is creepy at night, but that he's enjoying it. He tells me that he misses me and loves me, as I do him, and we agree to talk more when he returns to civilization and reliable reception.

And I go to sleep feeling very, very happy.