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Show 262 "I had no idea," he is saying, more to himself than to me. "He should have known better," he is muttering. He is shaking his head, looking at the floor, apparently trying to deny this ramifications of this information. "We will just have to turn off the pump," he is saying in a subdued voice, looking at me. "There is no hope of surgically repairing all the damage done to your dura." He is talking with a deep grief in his voice about the horrible risk of the overdose-under-dose cycle and the impossibility of continuing that risk now that he understands the cause of my compromised dura. He is explaining that, yes, mine is a very bad case of this disease, but that maybe, just maybe, there are some other things that will help me besides the pump. He is angry but not with me. He is not even angry at himself because he is not able to repair this damage. "Maybe, with time, the dura will heal on its own, without the continual added pressure of the medication," he is explaining. He is looking past me, out the window. There are things he is wanting to say and it appears that he is conferring with another self to decide whether or not he should say them. He is taking a deep breath. "If you would ever need my support..." he is saying. I understand his meaning and nod my head. |