Halfway through the rotary meeting, just as the speaker's assistant was moving around the room handing out papers ahead of her speech, I knew exactly what it was I was going to write about. I remember clearly having the thought, and I remember the long, curly, brown hair on the assistant I was watching when it occurred to me. In that instant, my writing was completely sketched out. Then I started paying attention to the program, and the thought went away. All I know now is that I had it and lost it.
I could blame all of the waves of groundshaking news that has come down the wire since that moment, but I doubt it was so monumental. I just dumped that data from my brain-temp-files, and focused on the soft-spoken nutritionist speaking on a subject about which I already feel I'm well-versed. She started slowly, haltingly, about the benefits of a plant-centric diet. She ventured a bit into the topics of brain cell regeneration and telomere length, which was novel enough to draw me in a little more. She finished strong about the key nutrients that would have the biggest effect on an average person's health (things I'm already supplementing, namely vitamins D and B-12 and magnesium in any method possible.) By the end I wanted to ask her about my specific hurdles with synthesizing and absorbing all of these things she was describing (I used to subscribe to her method of getting vitamin D, by sun exposure, but taking hydroxychloroquine makes that too uncomfortable now). I let the moment go, not making the room sit through my outlier questions, and not wanting to stick around after the meeting ended. I'll stick with the doctors who know me and know my medical history.
There was a small magical moment this evening, while we all chilled out on the bed, watching TV. I had my usual contrasting cats on either side of me (Athena pressed against my left leg, Rabbit smushed on my right), when the kitten came up to find a snuggle pile. Neither of these adult cats has accepted him fully yet. They each growl and swat at him more often than not. But Rabbit was sound asleep when the little beige boy curled up behind her. She tolerated his presence at first just because she was sleepy and he was warm. But when Harvey got wiggly, as babies always do, after one half-hearted growl, Rabbit stayed put when he rolled and stretched and licked her ears. At first it seemed like peace was possible because what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Yet there was a sure sign of hope for the future. I still believe that Rabbit could be the mommy Harvey needs.
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