November 12, 2019

White Dog barely squeezes into the bedroom that is packed with White Dog Army spectators. She jokes that Steve should install bleachers to hold the crowd. Steve worries that enough room be left for the main event to happen safely.

The momma's physical therapy has reached the point where we are seeing actual progress. My legs are stronger; the water retention way down; and the exercises are increasingly more demanding. I am surrounded by love and support; all have learned that part of that love means giving me space to DO what I must. That crowding in to "help" is actually not help. I know in my heart that if asked every one of the WDA, including 12lb. Bella, would carry me but that is not really what any of us needs.

It was a little daunting at first, nine pairs of eyes staring intently at me as I grabbed the handles of the walker and stood. I felt everyone in the room counting seconds with me...twenty-nine...thirty! Before sitting back down.

The other day in a moment of daring I counted my 30 standing seconds and went right into 30 marching steps while holding on. There was a gasp of amazement. When I re-sat, Bella could not resist running over to check my breathing. Tails wagged.

I have a long way to go before I can get to the living room on these still wobbly legs but today I made three steps in a row to where the wheelchair waited (a new one that fits through doorways). Steve held up his hand to stop the blizzard as I got up and walked the three steps again back to the bed.

THEN the joyful smothering could not be contained. Steve knew what to do...he brought in the duck jerky and cued "The Rocky Theme" on is cell phone.

For the first time in a LONG time, I feel we are on the Road to Recovery.