stabLe_hips

 So.  This is challenging.  Bob has a golf tournament next Wednesday, but his Wednesday PSW doesn't start until after nine, and he wants to be there for fine.  He asked Wednesday's PSW to switch with his Thursday's PSW and come earlier, which they both agreed to, but then I reminded him that our cleaning lady is Thursday at 9, so getting showered and dressed at 9:30 will be awkward.  More negotiating and plans B and C were created. I suggested, not sarcastically, that perhaps instead of having three service people change their schedules to accommodate him, that he either go late or not volunteer at the event.  This, of course, is not being considered - they NEED him (they do not) and he's signed up. I can only imagine how many people will look at him next Wednesday and think, "geez, what a good guy" volunteering, in his wheelchair, out in the hot sun or cold rain or whatever the weather is like - and give not a thought to the two PSWs and cleaning lady that...

 One of the nice things about PSWs coming early, is being banished to the back room while they shower and dress Bob.  I can check my emails and - blog!   Yesterday's most frivolous purchase was several back issues of "Geez Magazine".  I LOVED Geez - it's rebellious nature, it's envelop pushing, and it's true commitment to the message of Jesus as it tore through legalism.  I spent over one hundred dollars, but will get about a dozen back issues, two t-shirts and some pins.  This is why I work. I wonder, sometimes, that if we had not stopped having sex 5 years ago if I would be this into my dog.  It's not sexual, but I do spend a lot of time making sure she's happy and exercised and mentally stimulated.  I wonder, if I was still acting as 'wife' and all that entails, if I'd have the energy or interest in pursuing dog sports and therapy certification with her.  I'm finding 4 dogs not a lot of trouble - knowing that two of them will not be ...

 I often think, "i should write about that", and then don't. I often get told, "that's really funny, you should write a book", but I don't. I know this is cathartic, and documents what I've been through and am going through - but it's hard in the thick of it to sit down and measure my thoughts and feelings and somehow communicate them in a post.  But I'll try. This week has been hard.  A return from an amazing trip with a friend - we traveled, saw mountains, lakes, and more mountains and lakes.  We slept well and often, we drank excellent coffee, and we laughed.  I did not think about bowel routines and lifts and making sure anyone but me was taken care of.  It's a small thing, but it was a glorious thing.  The return home smacked me in the face - "can you put me on the toilet?" was the greeting, instead of "welcome home" or "how was your trip?"  I was reminded, so simply and easily, that I am a caregiver and...