A new moon

We all know about the harvest moon, blood moon and blue moon.

Astronomers today discovered (and by astronomers I mean me) what will tentatively be called the Therapist's Moon.

It happens when your physical therapist has you crawl on your belly 15-20 feet on two very sticky mats while you are wearing shorts.

I don't know that anything was completely out in the open, but with almost every step (crawl?), my PT was pulling up my pants.

And it wasn't like this was private either. We were in a busy therapy room and one of the mats was right next to this other therapist who was working with some woman. They were working on her legs while she sat in her wheelchair, so they did have plenty of opportunity to chuckle with me and cheer me on.

Someone commented that it was easier to do this exercise with me than a 16-year-old boy, who would be mortified. YAY! In at least one way, I am more mature than a 16-year-old.

The perfect service dog for me

I have written and rewritten this post for a week, both in my head and on my computer screen. Nothing sounded right. Either too sappy or too mean, too adoring or too dismissive. (Although the part about me being named Super Awesome Galactic Emperor was gold!) So here it is with as little schmaltz and as few modifiers as possible.

Which of us looks younger?

On Tuesday, I began transitioning Claren to stay-at-home pet from Service Dog. She is not sick or anything, so it will be a long transition, giving us both time to get used to it. She will eventually be a pet for Mom and Dad, but she will stay with me at night because Mom and Dad sleep upstairs and Claren dislikes stairs.

Claren has been telling me for a while she is tired. She is a little slower, but I am a bad wheelchair driver, so it is good for me to go slow. And when there is food or play involved, she is anything but slow. She still leaps over the wall to get to her ball. She is a little hard of hearing, but she hears my commands or knows intuitively what I need. She sleeps a little more soundly, but wakes when needed. She has recently also become reluctant to pick up metal, like my keys or a binder clip. I assume they bother her teeth.

She may be tired, but she is grumpy when I leave her, hence the slow transition. I am leaving her with Mom and Dad  Tuesday and Thursday morning. I have physical therapy on those days in the afternoons so Mom brings her with her when she picks me up to go to therapy. Eventually, I'll leave her more and more. I may also ask a work friend to keep her.

Claren is not the perfect service dog. She picks up just about anything I ask her to, but she holds it at arm's length so I have to bend to get it. I have always figured she is just trying to et me to stretch and exercise so I never asked her to change that. She sleeps on my bed only for as long as I pet her. She is distracted by other dogs. When we go to puppy plays, it is like I don't exist. After almost failing service dog school because of a reluctance to speak, Claren never speaks easily … unless she is playing or released or I am holding a treat. She is also a big fan of swimming -- once jumping in a friend's fish pond after a day of play.

She knows how to be perfect. Someone who knew her from puppy plays was astonished at how good she was the next day on duty. Being perfect just isn't as fun. And it isn't as fun to be with.

She is perfect at one thing: Being the service dog for me. I cannot imagine a better dog for a sorta lonely, semi-depressed, very quiet 32-year-old.

I will get another service dog. I'm not sure when but I am sure it will be the perfect service dog for me.

No time

I haven't been writing very regularly recently, but it is not like nothing is happening. Too much is.

I get real busy at work in November, working on this, which is fun but a lot of work.

Mainly, though, I am doing physical therapy on my legs twice a week so am working extra to make up those hours. Not sure that makes sense; I think I should just use sick leave.

The therapy is great. I am doing all sorts of things to strengthen my ankles, hamstrings, quadriceps, butt muscles and more. I am also learning why I have so much trouble with some exercises. My effed-up brain sends a signal turning on the right muscle but also turns on the opposing muscle for some reason.

If only I had a few extra  hours.

Seeing friends

I went to dinner last night with three friends. 

It was quite loud. I think I must have been smiling and nodding too much because one of my friends emailed me and mentioned the loudness.

I would love to hear better at dinner, but really just seeing three good people who enjoy spending time with me is enough.

Another reason to hate the cold

Apparently, when it is cold, you are allowed to act like a #$$*&%$.

At least I assume so after the subway elevator doors began to close on me, and two guys just stared straight ahead hands in their pockets.

The adventures of Sad-Man

I am sad.

I ran over the puppy today. Claren's skin allergies are acting up and she scraped up her head, which means she needs to wear a cone, which means she can't jump onto my bedd.d She just stands at my bed with her chin on the mattress and looking at me. A friend of the family also got a poor neurological diagnosis.

The last is really the worst.

Whenever someone is diagnosed with a neurological disease, I feel guilty. It makes no sense, I know. No one else should have to go through what I do. I know it doesn't work that way, but I feel like I need to apologize.

My sister heard me say I am sad and pointed out that everything makes me sad.

I said elephants don't. She disagreed, pointing out that they get poached and their tusks cut off. She was right -- I was thinking of the poaching crisis right after I said elephants.

I next tried superheroes. She said they make me sad because I think why can't I do that. Dammit! She  was right again.

I think that is my superpower.

Bathroom of horrors

When I was younger, I had all the normal fears: that we'd have a nuclear war, that my parents would die, that druggies sitting behind me in church would inject drugs into my back through the pew (really).

I am older now and have put away such childish fears.

Unlike a few Doomsday peepers, I am not too worried about a nuclear war. And if it happens, bring on the zombie apocalypse. Not that I'd live through it, but whatever.'

Unless they get assumed, which would cause all sorts of canonical issues, Mom and Dad will die. It terrifies me to think of all the gaps I will have to fill in my life, just the practical things like driving me to work and emptying urinals. I am pretty sure there is no hope for finding someone to do the really important things like keeping me sane. My SISter and her family will have to bring their A game is all. And that includes their dog, who French kissed me tonight.

As for the druggies, I have decided that:

1. Needles won't go through solid wood pews,
2. Druggies would not waste a shot on some random nerd, and
3. Just because they were jerky bullies does not make certain old kids druggies.

Most of my fears these days revolve around the bathroom.

That room has caused me to shed more blood than Sweeney Todd, but it is my own blood. I take off my slippers or shoes to shower, and hell follows my bare tootsies.

I might catch my toe underneath a part of my wheelchair or scrape my foot on my towel holder. Sometimes my ankle joins in the fun, smacking hard against some unforeseen metal.

Of course, it is not just my feet and it isn't just blood.

I have bruises on my forehead, a sore neck and cuts on my nose because the other day at work, I stood to go to the bathroom, my right knee buckled and my head slammed into the raised seat of the toilet.

Nor is it solely physical pain.

I slipped as I was transferring to my chair after a shower the other day. Not hurt but I did need help to get up. I called my sister and asked her to come help. I was a little surprised that she responded with a long stream of words. So I just said, can you come?

She did, only it was my niece, which is what she was telling me on the phone. She got her mom, but having your 10-year-old niece hesitantly peek in to find you on the floor in your birthday suit is not cool.  She told her mom I was having bathroom issues.

Or there was the fall a few weeks ago that I recovered from by having to put my arm in my trashcan. Eewwwh.

Bathrooms kind of suck.