Steve and I are separated....

He is in San Jose and I am in the Chicago area.  

Rim Shot.  
He has been such a good caregiver and soulmate in the past days that I pushed him out the door and sent him on a dream cruise to San Jose.  Pat was out there with the Blackhawks,  my daughter in law, Rachel was there, a friend also had the Blackhawks travel bug- so off he went.  I have been gimping around just fine, watching girlie shows and eating copious quantities of carbohydrates.  It has been swell.  Mike worries about his invalid Mom, and so he came out with his fiance, Kathryn, to watch the Sunday game and have dinner. He is a very intense fan, and I was not permitted to talk during the action.  He has the same withering glance Steve has. Then we ordered five pounds of lasagna, and slowed our heart rates down.  

Before Steve left, I guilted him into buying me an exercise bike, because I know that it will help me to rehabilitate my knee.  I dropped BIG hints about it for Mother's day, but I am not his Mom, after all.  I am never going to be a spinner, or Lance Armstrong, and so I set budget guidelines.   I did not want some tricked up item to make me feel guilty after my leg is rehabbed, and I lose my attachment to yet another piece of equipment.  Steve went a little over my budget, (200 bucks) but to his credit, he bought a floor model from last year.  It has a few programs and those handgrip heart rate calculator, but it is not too crazy. We installed it in the family room, where it taunts me to use it. It also looks ridiculous, but my decor will suffer for my rehab.   The dog bed had to be relocated, and Mabel and Milly are not happy to lose their resting spot.  I'm glad they are girls, because they have the look of wanting to lift their legs and sully this usurper. 

On Friday night, I climbed aboard, and prepared to cycle.  I could not make ONE rotation- my knee is that weak, and my hamstrings are that tight.  I have to admit, I puddled up.  So Steve came over and gingerly assisted the gimpy leg.  And then, once things in my leg were greased up, off I went.  Motion is lotion.  If I hear that one more time from a physical therapist, I may throw up.  Anyhow, the prosthesis clicks every rotation, and I feel my skin tugging, but TA-DA- I can do it !  I have worked my way up from 7 minutes twice a day to two sessions of 20-30 minutes.  After which I am so tired that I want to nap.  It is amazing how your body goes to gummy worms when you are idled.  But I am fighting back! Steve marveled at my total lack of muscle tone as he rotated my leg.  That's what a woman wants to hear!  On the other hand, my ham strings are so tight I can not flatten my leg.  It is really fun when the physical therapist puts her hands on my knee cap and forces it down.  (at least the staples are out) She suggests that Steve do this to help loosen the leg, but I am not into sadomasochism.  Pain is not my friend.  I prefer that Steve retains his non-therapeutic role.  Like he could clean up the dog run, a chore which he abstained from while I was in the hospital, and has not yet shown an inclination to embrace since I returned.  It is a little awkward for me, but if I bend from the waist, I can accomplish this domestic chore.  Old roles die hard, and I am unable to answer how I lucked out with getting this role.
Steve returns tonight, and so I will have to return the remote to him.  Glee and American Idol are  taped and will be watched in Jansolation.  Mike and Matt are coming out for dinner, since when Steve returns, he will not allow any food that tempts him into our larder.  So tonight, (The Last Supper)  it will be burgers and mac and cheese at Nickson's Eatery in LaGrange. P1030245.JPGTomorrow, surreptitious nibbling and Lean Cuisine.  I guess my new knee would appreciate it if I deleted a few pounds.  There is some formula that helps to calculate the force applied to a knee, and every pound has a ridiculous effect upon the knee.  That kind of formula is why I hated Math Class.  
Matt was planning to bring the Grand Dog, but he got Spring Fever and is riding his motorcycle.  This will impede my appetite, for sure.  I dangled that I missed Walter, the Pound Puppy, to avoid just this scenario.  Even though Walter trashes my garden, torments my dogs, and cannot settle down, I prefer his presence to the worry that darn motorcycle brings.  I have ceased to be a guiding light for Matt.  He is Born to be Wild.  I am born to be mild. 
An update:  Pat and Rachel came to dinner after he arrived home from San Jose.  It was a Mom's best dream!! All her kids, good food, and Steve at home waiting.  P1030244.JPG

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