There's a part of me that asks "Why do people share with me?" Today for instance I heard from one RN how his wife of 37 years died two years ago, his eyes bright with tears as he spoke of his love. Then just now the assistant RN told me of her murdered 25 year old daughter, the one year anniversary of her killing by her boyfriend of seven years in front of her two grandsons coming up this month. Of how she's trying desperately to gain at least part custody and how difficult it is with a public attorney.

Both of them telling me these things as I go in and out of wakefulness due probably to my lowering blood pressure. Why do people trust in me to share these personal slivers of pain? Both Philippine? There's definitely an affinity between me and their culture. But perhaps that's a truth buried in the fact that the Thai dietician cooked at home for me some delicious (though too spicy) tofu and basil with rice and two Ethiopian RN assistants have said they will bring me some injera and veggies from home.

The flowers from my Philippine roommate at Alta Bates are slowly drying after all this time but they bring me a reminder of my promise which I look forward to fulfilling of a day where we play dress up with my wigs. And perhaps that's the answer, in a way? My attempts at cheerfulness in the midst of a physical misery and this ongoing multiple trauma perhaps helps people feel that I can share in their pain. Can understand it better than maybe others can understand.

But for now it's only guessing as I think of how many hands I've held in recent memory as I allow them to share their pain without judgment and with a real caring of their own traumas.

I can honestly say that I wish with all my heart that one of the people in my life would sweep me up and take me into their home and life so I could be cared for while I heal to the best of my ability. If I can heal. Getting an automatic blood pressure cuff is on my wishlist.

Getting financial charity so I could stay in this SNF as long as I need instead of when my insurance runs out would be nice but I have no clue how one successfully gets donations for things like real help when needed. I've read stories of successful cries for help that aren't even anything more than for a computer for a blogger or a boob job for a cute Asian chick. How does one get the aid that can help a person gain the help they need to heal? I just don't know.

And with that I'll end this and go back to reading my $1.99 book, "The Best Essays of 2011" - there's already been so much I can connect with. Later on I'll distract myself from my nausea and pain by watching "Lynch" and the second DVD of the Tim Burton version of "Sweeney Todd" in the hope of seeing a documentary worth my time.

"Black Books" ends in an oddly sad manner in my mind. I just hope I don't keep falling asleep due to this blood pressure issue and that even though I'm being picked on by Disability that somehow I'll still make it through successfully. The Social Services guy said that it's not my imagination. It appears to outsiders that I'm being picked on unfairly and not just to those who have seen my lack of luck in my health and life.

But my friends still love me and I need to focus on that and not the bad truths overwhelming me. The flowers from friends and from a local nature group help cheer me up and I can say this is how I can cheat and look better in a self portrait than in real life.