Tomorrow is back to work day. I don't know how long I'll be there and I have no idea what I'm fit to do but I'm very excited to be climbing back on the crazy train, as we call a day in the shop. And to bring home some fresh flowers and new to me stories.
They totally worked me over, and out, in PT today so I know I'll be sore as hell.I'm trying to imagine getting my bus pass out of, what, my pocket, the little passport bag I carry on my good shoulder, or just carry it clenched in my teeth?
I'm going to wear a sling in the hopes the bus driver will have a moment of compassion and let me sit down before he speeds away.....
I''d better stop this, I'm scaring myself.
In PT I'm told to let my therapist know when the pain level gets to an 8. I am my father's daughter so these words don't spring quickly to my lips.
I tell her when my knees knock together and my eyes roll around in my head I've hit 10, Code Red, time to back it up a tetch. But this only seems to encourage her to try one more, just a little bit further. And whenever I think we're done, I'm wrong, there's another even more challenging exercise to get through.
And yet I love it all, the movement, the stretching, the idea that one day I may be able to shave under my arms again. Maybe chop an onion, plant a pansy, fluff my duvet.
It is with a great sense of relief that I can tell you Gus is in da house. Last Lucy and I saw he took off after a long haired smokey gray cat twice his size.
And I don't think they were going out for a drink.
So as I've been typing I've been nervously glancing over to the storm door hoping to see his furry face peering in at us wanting some dinner. Lucy just kept watch at the door, tail twitching.
Finally I found him at the back door, hale, hearty and hungry.
I can now relax and have a cup of tea.
Enough of my ramblings.
Tea, Advil and an Epsom Salt soak, in that order.
More will be revealed.