Day 3 of constant rain. I don't know why I keep getting flood alerts on my phone. I am aware, all I have to do is look out the window at the swimming hole that was my back yard.
Even Gus is resigned to staying inside. He dashes out every morning only to dash back in, wet and mulch spattered.
Then he follows me around step by step, room by room.
Nothing is off bounds. He accepts no boundaries.
You're taking a bath? Don't mind if I do...
Due to the incessant rains he was unable to accompany me to the doctors office for my monthly shoulder check up.
So I had no witness to the doctor proclaiming that my recovery was " ahead of the curve" and he was very pleased with my progress.
Not as pleased as I was to hear this, little Ms.Competitive me.
You must be working hard he said. Oh yeah. But not as hard as my therapist who carries on stretching my arm in 11 impossible directions while listening to a steady stream of curses ( or prayers). Same words, different meanings. Homonyms?
But then he had to remind me that "gals" (there's that word again) tend to retear the tendon more easily than guys. So I have to be patient and wait 2 more weeks for that magic 3 month marker.
Then all hell can break loose...or at least we can up the weights at PT.
10 weeks out tomorrow!
Can I get a whoo-hoo?