Woke up with the distinct sense that, sometime during the night, I’d gargled with hamster turds. Yeah, not ideal or at all tasty. How is it that I can brush my teeth before bed, not wake and snarf during the night and still wake up with toxic-waste-dump mouth.
In other early morning news, Coco doesn’t understand that she’s a cat NOT a puppy on speed. When she sees that I’m beginning to wake up, she races down from her castle perch and starts jumping up and down on my chest. Coco then scent marks every thing in sight. I know she’s excitedly meowing ‘you’re up! you’re up!” I hate to disappoint her by rolling over and going back to sleep—not that I’m able to with all that jumping and shit.
Yesterday’s big accomplishment here in Recovery Land? I walked up the 13 steps from our first floor to the second. Yes, I will totally accept a full and hearty round of applause. I was winded and needed a rest afterwards but I did it. This was a solid morale booster.
Next goal—a walk along the seawall. Yes, I’ll need to be wheeled down there—brace on and walker in front of me for the stroll. That’s my new reality, at least for now. I need to push myself—stretch and move up to the next level. I can do this!
In a couple hours Jen and I will head into town for a visit with one of my neuro-ophthalmologists to see what’s up with my right eye. This is the eyeball who had the dastardly temerity to get stupid (take a few significant drops in vision) while I’ve been busy coping with a mess of other shit. Motherfucking asshole eyeball.
Did I mention? Doc Plotkin commented that I’m ‘resilient.’ OK that’s one way to put it—obscenely-pigheaded-beyond-belief is another. I’ll take either and feel flattered.
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