Coco and I have come to an agreement—she’s allowed to sit on my lap anytime, anywhere she wants and for however long suits her. Negotiations were long and difficult but, in the end, I think we both won the the day.…sort of.
You may think Coco's spoiled but consider our dear Skitter. Now that the weather's definitively cold (and will be for wretched months, eons even), Jen's brought out Skitter's heating pad. Skitter whiles away the hours, when Jen and Oni are at work, soaking up the warmth whilst cuddling her stuffed animals. In contrast, Coco's practically living a life of desperate privation. Honestly.
Meanwhile, what was yesterday's big PT win? Glad you asked! Ten and Judy, my PT, wheeled me down to the seawall where I successfully walked, brace on with walker, 100 feet. I could have done more too. Why didn’t I? Emmm, something about not wanting to overdo (my favorite thing!), knock me out and incite pain. //shrugs//
I imagine these sound like impossibly tiny points in the overall battle to regain as much mobility as possible but, for me, it’s significant. I’m now, more or less, back to the recovery/rehab level I was at before the goddamn thoracic spine monster took me out. I can see a glimmer of light on the horizon.
Are these obnoxiously pointy, lingering pangs all due to October’s slice up? Could the unending aches also have roots in being old now? OK, OK ‘old’ is in the abused musculature of the beholder. Granted, at 63, I think we can all agree that I’m well past my physically resilient kitten years. Right?
Jesus-pectoralis major-christ, I’d sell my soul, (if there were any takers and I know there ain’t), for a little NON-chemical relief. A hot tub would come in handy about now. That or a nice float in my Icelandic silica heaven.