Waiting for the Straw
There are days I feel like the round peg trying to fit into the square hole. Who’d of thought a few months ago, when all I had to worry about was my hubby’s safety, recovery and well being, doctor appointments, meds, therapy et al, would feel like the “good old days”!.
This relocation of our home, packing and all that involves is really stretching me way too thin. Finding a suitable place to rent for four to six weeks that will accommodate both hubby on wheels, and his dog (can’t put him in a kennel, hubby has to have him) has proven to be a much bigger challenge than I could have imagined! Our “pretend” vacation on the beach has become a dingy, very old mobile home down the street which will allow hubby to move about freely in half the house. Our “free” move is already in the four digits with pod rental, storage, helpers and rental home.
The stress is taking its toll on his rehab. His legs aren’t working that well at PT. We have an appointment with the neurologist tomorrow after a new MRI. I pray the decline we’ve seen is stress and not the regrowth of the dreaded syrnx. I can’t even say that out loud. After which we will run over to the podiatrist/wound care doctor as one of his ankles and heel has become discolored overnight. So it goes.
On the bright side, my mother is still alert and smiling. I talked with her on the phone awhile ago. She brightens my day, and for those few minutes all is right with my world.
God Bless all you wonderful caregivers, and once again, thanks Denise for a safe place to hide for awhile.