Dear readers,

It's been one heck of a month here at Casa Clare. Two weeks ago, I got up early in the morning and ... passed out, hitting my head on my nightstand as I fell to the floor.

I woke up with blood dripping from something—I didn't realize it was me—then struggled to my feet. I barely remember this. The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the bathroom floor. I tried again to stand, and again I hit the floor.

My sister heard a series of bumps. At first, she thought it was my very naughty but cute cats—Tazzy and Willy. The second time she realized something was wrong. She called out to me, but I didn't answer. Then she heard the third bump. She came to the door and asked if I was okay,

I said, "No." I was lucid enough to give her my cell phone number when she called 911. Firefighters came. Paramedics, too.

An ambulance trip to the ER, a hospital admission, and a 36-hour hospital stay later, and I have thousands in medical bills but zero answers. They scanned my brain, heart, and lungs, did an echocardiogram, x-rayed my injuries, and monitored my heart the entire time I was there.

Nada.

I was left with a concussion, a gash in my temple, a sprained finger, sore muscles and joints from landing strangely, and a dozen bruises and lacerations. My bedroom looked like a crime scene, with blood on the white carpet.

The experience is also quite unnerving. To pass out and not know why... That's scary.

I'm so grateful to my sister, Michelle, my younger son Benjamin and daughter-in-law Courtney, and my brother David who took care of my kitties and me in various ways and got me safely home from Denver again. My sister was my champion, staying overnight with me.

I'm recovered enough to start writing this week. Read on for more on the next book in the Wildest Alaska series!