Dear Darling Ones,

This is a letter to tell you I’m a mermaid now.

It’s not the best timing. Last week, a young woman who loved Stevie Nicks and boygenius lopped off six inches of my hair. I meant to write about taking my walker and stroke-addled body out into a public space that wasn’t a medical facility for the first time in 563 days, but I was very busy shoving every episode of “Facts of Life” into my eyes.

Despite my lack of flowing tresses and tail, I’ve still declared myself a mermaid.

At least, that’s what I told Sister #4 at one pint yesterday when I was spending four or five hours in her pool. YES! Her pool the was supposed to be finished by the end of June was finally finished in mid-September.

I got to spend one day in it a week or so ago before the concrete and railing were put in, but it sucked. Getting in and out of the pool was a three-person operation, and I was wearing the stupid heart monitor which couldn’t be submerged in water.

But yesterday the monitor came off and I spent the afternoon feeling like the pre-stroke me, albeit with a little more knee & ankle pain than before.

There’s something about being the water that calms the weirdness in my head. I still haven’t found the right words to explain the hazy, wooshiness that’s been near constant since the stroke in March 2023. The only time it goes away is when I’m laying down or in the water. I suspect it has something to do with my brain worrying about keeping me balanced when I’m upright or not buffeted by water. But my medical knowledge is based on vague hunches, some magical thinking,, and seeing every episode of “Scrubs” an embarrassing number of times.

What I do know with 100% certainty is, Darling, it’s better down where it’s wetter.

I might have sang “Under the Sea” a few times whenever my sister would take a break from work and sit by the pool.

Yesterday was so wonderful. While in the pool I could walk, mostly, without wobbling. I did my physical therapy exercises, floated around, and chased the autumn-colored leaves that fell into the pool. I did not worry about money, my eyes, the floppy scoop, recovery, work, or if I’ll be able to get on the dole.

I was, I believe, living in the moment and I dug it immensely. I cannot wait until next summer when I can be in the pool on the reg.

Hotter under the water,
Jodi