stupid drunk on the hope

The small celebration in my last post has opened up into this ginormous, blooming hope.  Wednesday night I woke up and realized my toes were uncomfortable.  It was a weird feeling.  I realized both that they were uncomfortable and that I really hadn't felt them since before the surgery.  I lay there in the dark pondering what to do.  Should I move them?  What if it was painful and the pain kept me up the rest of the night?

I took a chance.  I wiggled them.  Just the small toes, mind you.  I learned the day of the injury that there was something about moving the big toe that caused bright white pain, so that's going to be something I work on later.  

So yes, I wiggled my toes and nothing happened!  I was strangely elated.  Our bodies break.  But they also heal too.  It's tough to remember that second part during the times we're broken (or in self pity's chokehold).

The next day I felt some of the weight leave the leg.  It went from cement anchor while I waited for the nerve block to wear off.  Each move took effort from the rest of my body - "Here you go leg - here's a boost!" shouted the rest of me, from my teeth to hips.  Then there was just this heavy, throbbing weight.  And on Thursday it became, almost miraculously overnight, just a leg in a splint.

Where did I read that beautiful piece about celebrating just being alive.  Oh yes, that remarkable book I can't stop talking about, A Perfectionists' Guide to Losing Control.  The author's toddler daughter was wondering why they were having a party, and the author replied, "'You know why we're having a party? Because mommy is trying really hard at something! We're having a trying party!'"  Lots of weird parties here, the latest being a toe wiggling party. 

Josie has been doing hard work too, taking care of me.  She has been in bed with me more times than not.  She leans her body against the injured leg, sometimes uncomfortably so, but who can say no to such a sweet face?  Robert says that she is trying to absorb the pain from me, and who knows, he could be right. 

Look at how cuddly she is.  She's a masterpiece, stinky breath and all.

One morning I couldn't figure out why the bedroom smelled like peanut butter.  Turns out Robert gave the girls some peanut butter on their snooters, and Josie saved some for later.  She was insistent about having her crusty peanut butter snout in my business.

Margo has been going to work each day.  She is a creature who needs routine, which I can relate to and respect.  We have worked really hard perfecting our morning routine since I changed jobs in January and Margo officially became employed for the first time in her life.  Because I go to work later in the mornings there is time for more than a walk, brush, and goodbye hugs like my last job.  That was an easy routine for her.  

Our pre-injury routine began with me working in my home office (which is upstairs) on my personal endeavors (art, chaos, sometimes both).  Margo would take a nap on her pillow at the top of the stairs.  After I wrapped up in my office I did my workout (my workout room is also upstairs).  When I started heading downstairs she would follow.  If I took too long with chores, she began to not so gently herd me toward the door.  We would go for our walk.  After our walk, I brushed the girls, alternating each day between the slicker brush (which they love) and the FURminator (which I love because it gets so much more hair), and washed Margo's face with a warm washcloth and then her special tear wipes.  She has a tear duct issue that isn't uncomfortable for her, but it causes her to cry a lot and sometimes get crusty, which does look uncomfortable.  After grooming them I would get ready for work, and then we would head out.  First, we dropped off Josie at Robert's office, and then Margo and I would head to the shop.  If I deviated from any part of this weird equation that equalled Margo's routine, she let me know about it.  She would either try to herd me in the direction of whatever it was that we weren't doing (for example, no walks on stormy days) or give me deeply disappointed, borderline homicidal stares (if I failed to brush her if I was running late).  Here are a few of her stares, which she was born doing.  It's a little unnerving to see a puppy look at you like how did I get stuck with this obnoxious piece of garbage?!?  Robert often comments that it's a wonder she hasn't killed us one night while we're asleep.

(WARNING only look if you're not prone to nightmares).  Included is a video so you can feel the stare.  Most times we feel the stare before we see it, and on occasion she'll stare long enough for us to examine our souls.

Margo has not understood my injury at all.  In fact, I think it's fair to say it has deeply confused her.  Last Tuesday she finally had enough and started to not so gently herd Robert toward the door, remarkably around the same time we would normally go to work.  So Robert took her to the shop, and that's what he's been doing since then.  She really does have many important jobs at the shop.  She even has her own business card, which J designed for her.  Margo is there for emotional support.  She's the president of both HR and our social media.  And most importantly, she is there for all of her friends, which is almost every customer who comes in the shop.  One of our UPS drivers comes in even on his days off to see her, and one of our mail ladies brings Margo cookies (Margo hasn't won over the second mail lady yet).  There was even one customer who came back after he already picked up his item just to say hi to Margo.  He drops by almost weekly now to see her.  So naturally, when he asked if we would be a sponsor for his American Legion's upcoming mouse race, Margo wholeheartedly gave him our support.

One of the best things we did during the remodel of the shop was add cameras everywhere.  Since we do not have any way to see what's going on in the shop from the back room where we work, the cameras have been a life-changer.  We still have the annoying alarm for when customers come in, but we can now see them before we hear the alarm and also keep an eye on customers who need time to look around without us hovering.  Our outside cameras have been a riot as well.  We have had everything from people sleeping out front of the building, a wide assortment of animals roaming the wooded area out back, and even someone peeing on the side of the building in the middle of the day.  No joke!

We had some training on our sand carver last week, so I let everyone know that I would be listening in and watching what I could via the camera nearest the sand carver.  

A couple days Robert has needed to drop Margo off early or pick her up late.  So I played a little Where's Margo to check in on her.  Can you find her in this first camera screenshot?

She's behind the chair at my desk!  You can see just a bit of her foot and tail.

Waiting for Robert to pick her up.  You know she's wearing The Stare.

J has also sent me pictures of Margo hard at work.  Margo absolutely adores J, so I think a big part of Margo needing to go to work each day is because she misses her J!  Here they are together.  Margo is doing her job - making sure J doesn't work too hard.  It's impossible to turn down a squishy lip break!

It's lonely in the house without Margo, but I understand that her job is very important to her.  Once I'm capable of hauling myself around on a scooter again, I'll be right there with her, forming a new temporary routine and doing the important work of helping customers on their journey to celebrate, commemorate, congratulate, and recognize the special people in their lives.  It's not librarianship, but it's important and incredibly interesting work that I love and now miss the short time I've been away.  

With my leg officially letting me know it's healing, I can't help but get excited about everything I love in life all over again.  There will be coffee again.  Showering inside!  Scooting around work.  I'll be able to do workouts again!  I can take over laundry duties again (Robert, bless him, needs to stay in the kitchen where he belongs).  It's tough not to get stupid drunk on the hope.