written May 19, 2010
holy shit cakes. My record arrived. The disc from Texas, the 1,200 pages.
A friend of mine put it this way:
"No kidding?!?! You are finally getting your file AND IT'S 1200 PAGES! That is crazy. Do you have a plan for reading it, support while reading, working through things you didn't know about or are false, and ideas for celebrating? Or how you envision success/goal to celebrate?"
My response:
"My reading plan for now, is NOT to read it. I'm curious, of course. I want to know, for example, when exactly I had that herpes problem down the back of my throat.
1200 pages feels epic, as though that one piece of paper, recording that particular doctor's appointment is the needle in some razor-wire haystack. I'm not going to dive randomly in and thrash about. I need to figure out a more respectful (less bloody) way to handle it.
The second time I read the two inches of records that I already have from CFP, I read it with a friend. I sobbed my way through. Not so much about the words as the fact that someone was sitting next to me, reading them aloud.
So, when the disc arrives, I'll have my husband open it, check for actual data, then he'll make a few backup copies, and in the meantime, I'll create a plan."
But that's not exactly how it went.
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