I just looked at a calendar and realized that I left my home 7 weeks ago. 7 weeks, almost 2 months, and I am still not home. That seems like such a long period of time. Why do I live in a home built for a billy goat? I don't really expect an answer, I just want to get back there as soon as possible. Now don't get me wrong my parents are being great hosts, but still 7 weeks- UGH!!
I am making slow progress and every day I can do a little bit more than I could the day before. I cheer my little accomplishments and think wow I did that. My mom keeps thinking that I am walking sooner than I did after surgery number 1, but allow me to remind you that 1 month after surgery number 1, I made it to the 87th row of the LA Coliseum to see Notre Dame stink up the place. So, faster this time, NO. Of course, after the last surgery I didn't spend two weeks in a hospital bed and then another two weeks only being allowed to be upright for 30 minutes a day. There that is my justification. So, now off to physical therapy I must go. More exercise for my poor atrophied muscles.