The lovely 19th-century
people no longer party and mingle and linger in my back yard in the middle of
the night. Nor does the magnificent wild dog lie next to the wall and survey
his peaceable kingdom. My hallucinations are gone.
At first I thought
they were simply middle of the night flights of fancy. Then I thought they made
an amusing story. Neither my family nor my doctor were amused, and the latter
expressed his opinion in one word: hallucinations.
It’s not a bad
thing that they’re gone, at least from my point of view. I no longer wonder
where I am when I wake up. One morning I’m sure I scared Jordan by asking if I
was truly in my own space. Then I sat up in bed and pointed to the foot of the
bed—the baby? I asked. She moved a pile of clothes and showed me there was no
baby there.
Other mornings—and
one afternoon—I thought I was in neighbors’ houses. I remember when Subie let
herself in by the deck doors—my first thought was, “Subie, do you know these
people well enough to walk into their home without knocking?” Of course, it was
my home, and yes she knows to come and go without knocking. Other mornings I
woke up in a purple and lavender bedroom—not my style, I assure you. I soon
learned that if I closed my eyes and waited the bedroom would once again be a
soft yellow.
So, amusement
benefits aside, it was a disquieting experience and a huge lesson in the power
of modern medicine. Bless my physician, Dr. Richwine, who knew right away what
was going on. And my advice? Don’t accept strange behavior as just something
that happens—ask your doctor. Amazing what those trained professionals know!
Obviously, I can’t
find a picture to go with this. Wish I could. Some of those night scenes were
truly lovely. So instead here's a new picture of Sophie.
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