My "spells" have ceased. Many doctors were consulted and Neurontin dosage tinkered with until a week ago when I decided spells were not as bad as drug dizziness. Whatever was pinching adorable little wristy nerve endings tapered off and stopped. My lame left hand no longer does the fandango. It just hangs off the frail arm like a spent dancer. Trembly and shy.

This month began physical therapy involving myofaschia pressure. The therapist is of course on the opposite side of town. Sue drives me. The therapist started out slowly but yesterday she launched an attack on arm muscles that had not moved since 1949. Most therapists are not interested in atrophied sinews but this gal dotes on them. She longs to train the Queen Daughter to do them. Today I rested. Tomorrow more pushing and stretching. She seems to be trying to teach the arms the Boogaloo.