On to the stairs

So I've eaten some breakfast, taken my pill and caught up on news and sports, etc., all the while trying to keep my robe closed and what's left of my modesty intact. Since I've gained most of my weight in my gut I find it difficult to locate the proper position for the belt on my robe. Too high and it slips down and slackens; too low and my belly dislodges. I might need two belts or duct tape down the road.


I need to get back to my bedroom, now transplanted from the third floor to the second, where Amy is waiting to dress me. I can manage, usually on the fourth or fifth try, to stand up from my office chair, with help from a nearby door knob attached to a swinging door, grabbing my walker with one point two good hands. I shuffle to the bedroom where Amy is ready to dress me. Sometimes I/we shower first, but that experience will or will not be reserved for another post. So Amy dresses me and I'm ready to head downstairs. I remind her to grab my phone and i-pad (an amazing product), she does, also hoisting my walker as I wait at the top of the stairs. She goes down a few steps and helps guide my steps backwards, ever so slowly, my right hand gripping semi-securely to the rail. The landing proves challenging as I need to release one hand rail, pivot and grab the next. Once I hit the bottom (figuratively) my Jazzy is waiting and I plop down and let out a breath.

I turn toward the living room, roll up to my special table, Amy opens my i-pad folder, places my phone next to it and hands me the TV remote. Life just doesn't get any better. Then it does. She kisses me on the cheek.