The weeks seem to fly by with never enough time in the day to get everything done. We've created a new routine, or as much of one as possible with constant physical therapy and doctor's appointments. Moby's currently doing outpatient physical and occupational therapy at Peace, the same hospital he did inpatient therapy with. He goes for two hours a day, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I take him there-since he still isn't able to drive-then take him home, before going to work, three hours late.Cam's been more than accommodating, allowing me to work eleven to seven instead of eight to five. I usually don't take a lunch break, so I'm not there quite so late but a couple times in the last month I've had to use it to take Moby to different doctors appointments. He has regular visits with his neurologist and nephrologist, not to mention an internist. The bills keep stacking up but somehow; something always comes through to pay them before they're due. Moby's short-term disability helps
If Piper knew the half of the depth of my betrayal, there'd be no chance to attempt to revive our relationship. The truth is I'm not doing anything I should be doing. Yes, I go to therapy, and I do what they tell me to while I'm there, but when it comes to what I should be doing at home or on my own, it's not happening. If she checked my log she wouldn't know the different, it's all there, I take the time to write it down, make it believable, but I can only count a handful of times I've actually attempted any of the exercises.None of my physical therapists or doctors have been able to tell the difference, so why bother? They sing my praises, showing me my statistical progress in comparison with other stroke victims, but none of them seem to take into consideration I'm forty years younger than their average patient. I was in prime physical condition prior to this. Parts of me wonder where I might actually be in my recovery if I bothered doing half of what's assigned, but I don't have
I know Piper won't be home before seven o'clock, but I've been sitting at the bar in the kitchen waiting for her to walk in the door since about six. I cooked dinner, although I can't guarantee the quality, I made vegetable soup and cornbread, both from a package. I'm hoping they soften the blow I'm going to deliver over dinner. I can't keep it in; I have to unload the burden.When she comes in, I see the exhaustion just beneath the surface, the darkness under her eyes. Through it all, I still see the gorgeous woman I married even if she's lost a good bit of weight and her cheeks have begun to hollow. I wonder if she'll ever be able to see the man I promised her I'd be."Hey," she says, dropping her stuff on the counter. "What's up?""I made dinner." I point out like a daft duck.She returns my gesture with a smile. "It smells fantastic. I'm starving. Let me go change and I'll serve it up."I attempt to do the chore for her. I can't get them to the table, but I put the soup i
Lying on the down comforter in our room, staring at the ceiling above me, I wonder how we got so far away from where we once were. I've always considered myself a realist, not a pessimist or an optimist, but the reality of what remains in my glass is obvious.We're at a pivotal point in our marriage, the precipice of change or demise. Overwhelmingly, I want to give up. Our situation is bleak, dismal. The issues compounded by our unintentional isolation, Moby's due to a sheer lack of transportation, and mine merely the circumstances surrounding my life. Life has stopped being about living and morphed into surviving. The days seem longer and less fulfilling. I get no joy in coming home or seeing my husband. In actuality, I can't find happiness anywhere anymore. My job is a means to an end I used to love. My husband a burden at times I wish to unload. I miss my friends. I miss the time before any of us were in relationships when it was just the Fish.As tears fill my eyes, what I'm ac
Waking in the morning, I realize he hasn't slept next to me. Tearing the covers back, I whip open the bedroom door to see him asleep sitting up on the chaise lounge. My heart descends from my throat back to its rightful place in my chest. I realize in this very moment, I'm not ready to give up on him. The thought of something being wrong sent me into a tailspin. There's still something worth fighting for even if I don't have an inkling what the hell it is.I plop down on the couch next to him, startling him, disoriented he glances around, trying to get his bearings. When the sleep clears from his eyes, he sends a rather pitiful grin in my direction."I'm calling in to work today."Scrambling to sit up, he questions, "Why?" "Because we need to go see your parents, and I'm going to see if Cam can get everyone together this afternoon at Healing Wings.""What for?" I love him, but sometimes he's not the brightest bulb on the porch. I give him a pass since I woke him unexpectedly
The afternoon flies by faster than either of us expects, and before we know it, we're standing inside Healing Wings as our friends pour in the door. "Hey, guys, we're going to meet in the building out back. There's pizza and beer out there." Cam waves her hands like a flight attendant pointing to the exit routes to direct the traffic. I can't help but giggle."I told you no food, Cam," I holler at her over the noise of our friends."I didn't listen," she calls back before the gaggle of people moving to the other building carries her off.When I turn to Moby, he's stark white, having lost all color, fear marring his face. "Moby?" I question in concern. When he doesn't respond, I call out to him a little louder, "Moby? Are you all right?"His head snaps in my direction. "I can't do this, Piper. I can't go in there. I can't tell my friends what a piece of shit I am. My brothers are in that room." The words fly out of his mouth as he points to the building in the back. Tak
Unfortunately for me, the plan Piper and I came up with, using Ralph for guidance, keeps my time accounted for...all of it. Instead of sitting at home, I now accompany Piper to work, along with Phoenix. Dax drags me around the facility forcing me to do things out of my comfort zone; everyone alternates taking me to physical therapy and doctors' appointments, and I fill my time doing mundane work no one else has time to do. As much as I hate people treating me like I need a babysitter, having Dax around to do the therapy with makes it bearable. Not enjoyable, but I'm getting it done. I've noticed a huge improvement in my hand strength and my ability to walk in the two weeks he's been working with me. He'd make a great personal trainer if he decides to go into a new field.My physical therapist at the center has noticed the improvement as well. We, Piper and I, decided against telling my doctors about my faux pas for fear of losing my acceptance in the program and instead opted to make
Piper goes into an all-out fundraising mode. We've been fortunate, our out of pocket maximum was ten thousand dollars, and the insurance company picked up the remaining seven hundred thousand dollars in medical expenses from the hospitals and different treatment centers. Between the money we got from the gym, our 401K, and the sale of the condo, we were able to pay our portion as the bills came in but it wiped us out.Piper never once asked either of our parents for help. Had I not gotten into this program I have no idea how we would've paid for on-going physical therapy. I never thought she'd be the type to ask for a handout, especially financial but she's on a crusade to come up with four thousand dollars in a week's time to pay for the Aid. Having this contraption is the difference between night and day. I can walk unassisted. If I wear pants, no one can tell I have it on; my limp is almost undetectable. She sees what it does for my confidence, and she's determined to secure it fo