And I'm scared.
I'm not flailing-about talking-a-mile-a-minute scared. I'm quiet, pulled-in scared.
Spooky is going to try to come down and be with me in the hospital. If she can't, Gwyn says she'll try. My parents have also offered, but that's the nuclear option. We'll try to exhaust all other options first!
I forgot to ask if I'll have an internet connection. If not... well, I'll get a lot of writing done!
(And a lot of reading. I've told Mom that she needs to hit my Amazon wishlist.)
I will be allowed visitors. I would like it if people would bring me JavaMonkey chai and chocolate cake. Because hospital food sucks.
The procedure: They will be electroding my head. (I will have funny hair!) And fixing a video camera on me. All 'song, all the time. And they will crash me off my meds to provoke seizures. They'll also sleep-dep me, if need be. Basically, whatever they can do to deliberately throw my brain off the rails so they can record it happening.
I predict many tears. (I never used to cry.)
I also predict a lot of fibro pain, as lack of movement = bad for fibro. We'll have to see what can be done about that. And manifestress, have you ever done massage in a hospital? :)
Here are some articles.
This URL is long.
So. Yep. I'm just going to be in the corner being quietly terrified of status epilepticus, thanks.