But my publishers are worried. They fear that two events on one day may be too much for me. Carolina Writers Night is the most important event, so they offer an alternative for the Book Fair. Author Frye Gaillard, one of Novello’s founders, will take my place. I can join him there to sign books but not to speak for more than 10 minutes. I know Frye and have tremendous respect for both him and his work. Yet I think about a night in the hospital when I was unable to sleep, when I spent the time jotting down ideas for the Charlotte Latin talk. Ideas I really want to talk about. I tell Novello that I am happy to have Frye there, but I may need more than 10 minutes. They decide to have Frye speak first and allow me whatever time remains. This will be a casual event, no reading, mostly just question and answer and I will do it seated. I believe I can carry this off well.

I am very worried, however, about Carolina Writers Night. I had planned to read from the novel, but my damaged eyesight makes reading difficult. And I will be on a stage under hot lights. I was standing under a hot light in Greenville, reading from the novel, when the hemorrhage occurred. This was the horse that threw me. Do I dare climb back on? So soon? I recall how tense I was in Greenville, how thirsty I got while reading. The event in Charlotte will be far more stressful – and far more important. I am not at full strength and tire easily. Would speaking under these conditions risk another stroke? And what if I had a migraine and could not discern whether it was a migraine or a stroke?

As I have done every morning since leaving the hospital, I check my blood pressure. As the first week progresses, I realize that it is going up. I call the doctor in Charlotte who is supposed to handle the neurological follow-up. I’m told he is a brain surgeon and not the doctor to consult with me. I try calling the neurologist who treated me at Carolinas Medical. He has already told me he cannot follow up with me because he left his group and has a no-compete clause. His office cannot tell me what doctor I am supposed to contact. After two frustrating days of runaround, when I imagine my blood pressure soaring off the machine, I reach my primary care physician who increases my medication. I ask his advice about Carolina Writers Night. He suggests I sit on the stage but not speak. This was not the advice I wanted. However, the extra pill he prescribed works. My blood pressure comes down.

I talk to Novello and tell them that I will definitely speak at Carolina Writers Night. I also suggest ways to reduce as much stress for me as possible. I would like to speak from a chair on the stage. I would like to have my son John do the readings from the novel. And I would like Novello to ask the tech crew to lower the stage lights while I’m talking. Novello agrees.

October 16th - My husband Tom, son John and I drive to Charlotte for the Book Fair luncheon. The event goes very well. I enjoy sharing the program with Frye and am delighted by the questions from the women attending the luncheon. I get my first opportunity to sign books and love every minute of it. After all, I have imagined this for 27 years. Afterwards, we drive downtown to the hotel where two college classmates and their husbands will join us for the evening. But once in the room, I realize I am exhausted. I send Tom and John off with our friends and go to bed. I stay there through the afternoon. I’m still tired when I get up to dress for the evening. My college classmates help me with make-up because I cannot fully see to do it. Suddenly, time rolls back forty years and the three of us are in the dorm again as giggly college kids. When they leave with Tom to go to dinner, John and I drive to the theater where I will share the program with writers Judy Goldman and Fanny Flono and blues pianist Rev. Billy C. Wirtz. I am still tired and worry about getting through the evening.

Novello has food for us in the theater green room. I am not particularly hungry but I try to eat. Although I would like to chat with the others on the program (Judy is a good friend and Fanny a writer I’ve met and talked to before and Billy a most interesting man) But I sit quietly, trying to conserve my energy. Thirty minutes before the program begins, I am escorted to the stage for a sound check. Seated in a large wicker chair, I stare into the empty theater and experience a surprising calm. The calm stays with me when the program begins and while I speak from the wicker chair and John so beautifully reads my words from the podium. I am calm afterwards as well, greeting friends and signing books. And later in the hotel room where friends have gathered to party and talk into the night. I wait for the exhaustion to come, but this night it never does. When I finally crawl into bed long past midnight, I sleep well. In the morning, I wake up feeling deliciously relaxed, more so than in months. And why shouldn’t I be relaxed? I have survived Carolina Writers Night and even enjoyed it. I have ridden the horse that threw me. I am back to the life I love.

The morning after at the hotel: a very relaxed Miriam with college classmatess Karen and Gayle