All too often, during the first few years into my recovery, feeling of it hanging there by a thread was almost tangible—whenever the headaches were particularly bad, when a new symptom appeared, when I was on the verge of collapse from neuro-fatigue. I feared the possibility of another brain bleed.
Granny was a story teller. Her stories mesmerized me. A few years ago, Dad gave me one of her notebooks, where she wrote about her adventures. Were her genes responsible for the writer in me?
“Life’s funny”. “Compared to what?”
The problem is we just don’t know.
What ‘selfish gene’ caused your angiomas
(Or mine, for that matter)?
Can medical miracles protect the kids?