The Earles of La Mirada: From Secret Spot #2

I'm holed up in the most perfect corner of Kaiser Downey's Garden building. On the 4th floor in the far corner of the hallway there is a quiet table and chairs that no one seems to know about with a huge window, view of Palos Verdes and sometimes of Catalina. This is where I sit to write my thank you notes, schedule babysitters, pay bills, etc. It's been a sweet little gift to me.

Steve is continuing to progress slowly but steadily. In the Race of the Snails, he is sweeping the field. He is back to work almost full-time now, doing well there, though still making adjustments (who knew that it could be a huge pain to close and lock your office door?). He has one more month with his back brace (look for the gigantic bonfire when that thing comes off!), and is getting around the house a good bit without the walker, just using chairs and walls for balance. If he keeps forward momentum, he can maintain his balance pretty well, though he is still pretty slow and unsteady on his feet. He looks a little as if he's trying to get around on swim fins.

Steve's endoscopy/colonoscopy went well -- only one residual bleed that is on its way to healing. And hey, now he's good for 10 years on that horrid procedure! We are not sure yet when he will start anti-coagulants, but I'd assume it will be in the next month. We do not know whether they will pull the IVC which protects the blood clots, but won't need to cross that bridge for another 6 months or so.

The big news is that we finally have an evaluation scheduled at Rancho Los Amigos next Thursday! We continue to hear nothing but the highest praise of Rancho and can hardly wait to get there. The big hurdle will be schedule availability for them. Some of their programs have a 6 month wait list. However, we understand that the spinal recovery may not be quite so impacted. In the mean time, our Kaiser PT has really stepped up her game and is pushing Steve a little harder, incorporating much of what Denise and Jaclyn have put together. He is seeing lots of acute improvement in particular areas where they work.

Sleep continues to be a bit of a chore for both of us, but it is adequate. It takes a very long time for Steve to get ready in the morning, but he is getting much more efficient. He is down to only two meds, one of which is an over-the-counter that he might be able to stop soon. He has very little pain, though still a lot of discomfort and is still somewhat ginger with his back.

So how are we doing? I have been trying to figure out how to answer that. In so many ways, life seems pretty normal-ish now. He's at work most of the day, so the kids and I are doing our regular stuff--shopping for school clothes and school supplies, swim lessons, working on piano and phonics and handwriting, cleaning and re-cleaning and re-re-cleaning rooms. I have a house-cleaner coming once a week to do the bathrooms for the time being, and will likely have a Biola student coming when she returns to campus. The kids will start up their music lessons soon. School starts in 3 weeks. It feels very busy with constant scheduling of either rides or child-care, but then we have moments and days that feel very run-of-the-mill. We're not emotional, we're not feeling a whole lot about all this.

But it is the great Weight around our ankles, around which our world is now centered. I sometimes forget that Steve can't brush down the pool or bring plates over to the table or drive. I'm pretty ashamed that I've felt childishly sorry for myself over that kind of ridiculousness. I've certainly been able to appreciate my dear single-mom friends and the weight they bear, and I still have Dad in the house, parenting with me. I've been so, so thankful that Steve is not in constant pain, nor does he feel sick, and he's not in bed all the time. And we are not functioning under any fear that we will lose him. We have only hope that he will recover fully. How many people can say as much?

So I have struggled to know how to answer the question "How are you guys doing?" Normal and not normal. Fine and not yet fine. Hurry up and wait. Frustrated and hopeful. Crisis is where your world sees what your faith really looks like, and the long, quiet marathon is when you see what your faith really looks like. God is so very, very good to us daily. Momently.

To get in the pool, Steve takes his walker to the chair (a different one), lowers his butt with his arms down to the pool deck, then lowers himself step by step. He is doing his daily walking therapy in the pool, which has been a huge blessing.