I meet Koko the gorilla. She's had some setbacks. A truck ran over her and completely severed her legs. Pelvis mostly gone too--crushed. Sterile, now; so much for the hope of baby gorillas who can sign. She doesn't even sign much herself these days: using her arms as legs means she rarely has them free, and she's gotten out of practice. She hardly seems like a gorilla; more like a huge black wolf or dog, strangely shaped. I pat her, feeling helpless and sad. Poor Koko! The losses are so severe...

NOTES NEXT MORNING

Inarticulate: after months, I just talked with a kid I know who's doing speech therapy. She still sounds garbled--little progress so far.

I have an inflamed cyst on my shoulder, it hurts and I have no energy. An old story for me--much of my life has been limited by chronic illnesses. They've limited my mobility, income, social life, ambitions... Not much drama, not much fun--except for dreams. And this sad dream seems to be warning that my losses are permament--it's a miracle I survived my childhood at all.

NOTE NEXT YEAR

Some months later the other gorilla living with Koko died--a devastating blow for her and the Gorilla Foundation. Now I wonder--the dream may have been more psychic than psychological.

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