I feel decent during the day but mornings kick my ass. If I sleep on my back, it wipes me out. If I sleep on my side, I crush my shoulder, jam my collarbone and irritate my hip. If I were to sleep on my stomach I'd be dead by suffocation in a matter of minutes. As it stands, I can hold my breath for about ten seconds. Really. Trust me. That's it.
Every morning I would like to check out. By the time Amy rolls me to my back, slides my house drawers up my legs, swings me and pivots me and lifts me to a sitting position, holds me with one arm so I don't topple, pulls my arms through each sleeve with her free hand, pulls my head through, places the pivot disk under my feet, braces my knees against her own, grabs me under the armpits, swings me first back then forward and up, squeezes me to her, holds me tight with one hand while the other reaches for my pants, pulling them up and making the necessary adjustments, twisting me on the disk and easing me into my Permobil I gain a new lease on life that lasts me until the next morning. Nobody really knows what it takes to care for me but her. If she goes, I go. Instantly. Somehow. I cannot imagine any other option. I would literally die of a broken heart. And panic.
Outside of all Amy does for me, her value as a lecturer is invaluable (?). I am bolstered not only physically, but emotionally and romantically, all the while maintaining a constant state of confusion that plagues me whenever she perches atop her soapbox, which is nearly a constant phenomenon. If I don't listen to her, I am a fool. So I do. While I may not always agree with her (dangerous territory), I always listen, even when my body language (severely limited as it is), says otherwise.
After all, what the heck do I have to offer? I have loved her forever. Now I know why.
Every morning I would like to check out. By the time Amy rolls me to my back, slides my house drawers up my legs, swings me and pivots me and lifts me to a sitting position, holds me with one arm so I don't topple, pulls my arms through each sleeve with her free hand, pulls my head through, places the pivot disk under my feet, braces my knees against her own, grabs me under the armpits, swings me first back then forward and up, squeezes me to her, holds me tight with one hand while the other reaches for my pants, pulling them up and making the necessary adjustments, twisting me on the disk and easing me into my Permobil I gain a new lease on life that lasts me until the next morning. Nobody really knows what it takes to care for me but her. If she goes, I go. Instantly. Somehow. I cannot imagine any other option. I would literally die of a broken heart. And panic.
Outside of all Amy does for me, her value as a lecturer is invaluable (?). I am bolstered not only physically, but emotionally and romantically, all the while maintaining a constant state of confusion that plagues me whenever she perches atop her soapbox, which is nearly a constant phenomenon. If I don't listen to her, I am a fool. So I do. While I may not always agree with her (dangerous territory), I always listen, even when my body language (severely limited as it is), says otherwise.
After all, what the heck do I have to offer? I have loved her forever. Now I know why.
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