This morning, I remember the endless neurological examinations of December 2011. “Date of Birth please?” they would ask, “Where are you?” etc. - same questions all day, and even at night. Hopkins being Hopkins, every intern and resident wanted a go at you. One of those blood clots had gotten stuck and you suffered a stroke. A tPA had been done, and close neurological monitoring was recommended post-surgery. So there we were yet again confined to the detested hospital room (Oh how sick you were of hospital rooms generally by now! My heart breaks all over again just to remember how much the prospect of another admission depressed you). Our entire worldview had been severely altered by a terrible and totally unexpected diagnosis. You could barely open your eyes at this point from sheer fatigue and possibly sorrow. Besides, you had several milligrams of morphine coursing through your body. You wanted to sleep. You wanted to live. And you wanted to be left alone. Yet with every rotation of the earth, it seemed, there was some well-intended specialist asking you what year it was (between us we wished it was the year before the entire nightmare began.) Anyhow, you bore this patiently for a long while until you decided it was time to do something about it. Sure enough not too long after, an unfortunate neurology Resident popped into the room chomping at the bit to play the doctor "game" one more time. You of course were no longer in the mood to oblige a game. We were hearing repetitive explanations where we looked for answers. We wanted a revised treatment plan with some innovation, and yes, some teeth - something to get excited about. The doctors had very limited options left from a pharmacological perspective. We had been driven right to the edge of the fabled medical boundary. The physicians were stumped. They were also shockingly ill-equipped to handle being stumped. They reverted to the endlessly ticklish med-speak, but after weeks of that fluffy stuff it had become less charming and frankly specious. Anyhow, you decided it was time to shrink the Shrink. “Hi, Banekee [sic], Where are you?” You did open your eyes this time, and boy, did I know what was coming! “I am heavily sedated and quite tired," you said, " And, please let everyone know I am not crazy!”(or something to that effect). I knew that tone quite well, the girls would have instantly picked up on it too. When you spoke that way - the few times that you did speak that way - we all knew better than to hang around. I smiled. Needless to say, no one else bothered you for the remainder of the day.