Okay, I forgot how to pray the proper way. But there must be a translator Up There. I need some serious help.

Did Anyone-Up-There hear Lorna’s prayer?

I wasn’t quite finished with my hysterical pleading fervent praying when I noticed something, or, more precisely, nothing. My headache was gone; so was my dizziness, nausea, and my dogs. I looked around, careful to not move my head, not wanting to disturb the good juju, and noticed my dogs cowering a safe distance from me—within visual but not flailing appendage range. They knew something Enquirer-Worthy bizzare miraculous just happened and didn’t want to be the vortex of some apocalyptic transformation spell. We all stayed in place like mannequins for about 5 minutes. I still felt nothing, which meant I felt as healthy as I did before the moment I got dizzy.

Don't worry, that's grape juice.

I can’t sit here forever, I said to my dogs. They seemed to agree, so I moved my head. I felt perfect. I got up. No problem. I walked around. Fine. In a bold move, I spun myself around. No dizziness. I’m not sure how many “thank yous” came out of me in the next several minutes, but I was in Olympic-Gold-Medal-for-Gratitude territory. For the first time in seven years, I was dizzy-less. The dogs joined me in a frisky celebration dance. Once I got that out of my system and was still perfectly clear-headed, I called Chuck at work.

“Are you sitting down?” My voice was filled with giddiness.

“Yes.” His voice was filled with hesitation.

“I’m cured!” I was never great at keeping secrets, if you don’t count the 10 years I was a closet alcoholic.

“You’re what?

“I’m cured. I’m not dizzy. Not even a little.” I told him the whole desperation, dealing-making, dog-disappearing story.

Silence.

“Isn’t this wonderful?”

“It might be a fluke.”

“No! This is real! Aren’t you happy?”

“I’ll be happy if this lasts for a while.”

“You’ll know it’s real when you see me! I’ll join you down at the lake after work. We’ll celebrate, okay?”

“I’ve got that guy coming to help dig a trench tonight.”

“He won’ t be there all evening will he? Can’t he work while we celebrate?”

“I’ll need to supervise him. But I guess we can work something out.”

“Great! The minute you see me, you’ll know I’m cured. I promise!” I was bursting with exclamation points!

I'm not kidding. I was on fire, Baby!

I went down to our camp and danced on the deck while Chuck supervised this guy for a long time. They kept looking over at me and saying things. I just kept shaking my groove-thang and singing my heart out. Still no dizziness. Since I had time, came up with ideas about building a real home on that beautiful site. Chuck had often bemoaned my disinterest in the property because I so rarely stayed there overnight; he seemed to  forget about the animals and his allergies.

Guess what song I was singing: Sister Golden Hair Surprise. Perfect, huh?

When Trench Man finally left, Chuck joined me on the deck. He had a wine or a martini in preparation for talking with me. I was pure bubbles. Sitting still was hard. I told him the story again, twirling around for emphasis, and even shared my vision of our retirement home as we watched the dusk fall on the glassy lake. Chuck was unusually quiet.

“Whacha thinkin’?” I playfully asked.

He looked into his alcohol and replied, “I don’t know what I would do if you were really healthy.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

Sure, he’d gotten used to the role of caretaker. I think he liked it to some extent, even if it was difficult at times. But why wasn’t he happy for me?  I had even called Dr. M and asked him how to wean myself off the medications I’d been on all these years and when he thought I could go back to work. His attitude was the same as Chuck’s: let’s give this recovery some time to see if it’s real. But he was a doctor; they’re paid to be skeptical and would go out of business of all their patients up and got healthy. Chuck was my husband. Why wouldn’t he want me healthy?

Yes, this is more like it, Lorna. Be a good, dizzy girl while I'm at work.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean you don’t know what you’d do if I was healthy?” I was  honestly confused and tried to ask kindly, but I was hurt. The bubbles were vanishing from my voice.

“I don’t want to be on this roller coaster with you. I never know how you’re going to feel so we can never plan anything. It’s hard for me. If I get all excited and you’re not really well, then it’s just harder to recover from the disappointment.”  Although he would glance at me from time to time, he never held eye contact. I noticed these things.

“Maybe if you believe in me, it will help this be really real. I know I said I’m not trying to fix myself anymore, but I’m willing to accept this gift of wellness. Be happy for me. For us. Please.”

“I just can’t.” He got up. I think he took offense at my request to believe in me—it’s like I didn’t think he did, or something.

“I going back to the house. Are you coming?”

“No. I’ve got some stuff to eat here. I call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Have a good night. I love you.”

“Thanks. Love you, too.” He was busy fixing food and didn’t look at me.

I drove my un-dizzy-self home and danced with Reggie (my cockatoo) before he and I went to bed.

This isn't Reggie, but he has the same moves. I got some of my Bubble back when Reggie and I danced.

Was Chuck right to be skeptical?