We are coming up to a year (this Friday) since this blog started. And I always said I would do a year, every day, and then reassess.
I had planned – if I hadn’t been interrupted by laptop bereavement – to have covered all the history of Bink’s illness by now. I haven’t, quite. We still have mid-2016 till the Priory in 2018. I will. I hope. But from Friday onwards, it will be when I can spare the time and energy, rather than a daily commitment.
In the meantime, let me update you for today.
We are hoping and praying that next week, we will all be at the seaside together. That is all of us, yes.
Which depends on Bink’s not taking any chemical support that she shouldn’t be taking.
By shouldn’t, I don’t mean: shouldn’t from the point of view of common sense and her own health. I mean: shouldn’t, legally. According to the medical profession and letter of the law. As in: if it’s a prescription drug, you shouldn’t be buying it from street corners.
As we all know, yet another idiot of a psychiatrist has just prescribed her more of the poisonous muck. That’s not something we can rightly hold Bink to account for, really.
if she is the windy side of the law, Bink and the Little Viking can consort together on the beach.
So…, last night, she had been eighteen hours clean of anything she shouldn’t be taking.
Let’s continue to hope and pray, eh?
Hope and pray.
Much of what being Bink’s mother is about.