The recovery continues, if not exactly apace then at least with deliberate forward motion and continuous acceleration. My progress is measured by the things I can do for myself and by the aides mécaniques I have discarded. Number one in the latter category is my walker. When I got home I could not move two feet without it; now it sits ignored most of the day, called into service only when I need to schlep something. Of great importance in the former category is that I can now put on my own socks! Imagine! Even more wonderful is that I can take a shower. Really! I've done it – twice. Fabulous.
The exercises are still tough, especially when Mistress Wendy is here to crack the whip. But my range of motion continues to increase and every day I am able to lift my leg higher or swing it in a wider arc or hold a stretch another 15 seconds.
All progress. All good.
So why the tears?
Because Ransom has been so incredible through this that tears of joy have washed away some of the pain. He cooks all our meals, he helps me whenever I ask, he takes the dogs out half a dozen times a day, he does the laundry; he, in short, does it all, with very little assistance from me. And he's maintaining a full teaching schedule, as well as working on upcoming projects. Most remarkable of all, he's done all this with no complaints but with love and support and a willingness to do whatever it takes to get me through this.
Yesterday, for Valentine's Day, he brought me flowers and baked a cake.
Words fail as I try to express my appreciation. Through the pain he has been here and through him the pain has lessened. These tears are welcome.
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