30 steps

James is preparing for his return home and facing the stairs--fifteen steps each flight, two flights.  His occupational therapist, Jack, has mentioned to me that James will need to grasp the railings on both sides but as the photographs show, there is only one railing and the other is a faux rail which is wood embedded into the wall--there is nothing to grab.

I was thinking of installing another rail into the wood.  Friends have volunteered to come and have a look.  I welcome any strategies to make it work. I plan on sharing the photographs with the therapists for their thoughts.  I have yet to inform the landlord of James's illness and rehabilitation.

James mentioned the stairs to me this afternoon during our visit.  He had several back-to-back sessions today. He was sitting in a new wheel chair looking tired--it appeared he was waiting for me. The chair is more upright and not as fussy.  It looks like a chair utilized for moving rather than prolonged sitting--a good sign to me.  He now has a walker in the room. It appears the team may be encouraging transition out of the wheel chair completely which would be fantastic! He still could not tell me about the status of his swallow test. 

I went looking for Siobhan, James's speech therapist, and found her in her office.  She was disappointed that James continues to have aspiration issues, although, the latest test was better than the prior.  James has a strong cough and swallows well.  Siobhan explained that the neurological connections in James's brain related to his swallowing have not progressed at a pace she would have hoped.  She thought he would be farther along by now.  We have to be satisfied with small steps--it is up to his brain not us to set the schedule. We can only encourage those connections to reform. She left me a list of swallowing exercises to practice with James when we are together.  He does not like practicing anything outside of therapy with me.  He associates me with massage and relaxing!

Jack told me he had James standing for the entire hour they shared together this morning.  That's an incredibly long time for James.  I noticed today that his hair looked thin and grey.  I ran my hand through it and it was no longer a thick, red mane--it felt brittle and light.  It made me slightly sad.  He smiles whenever I fuss over him.  I look over his skin closely now since the incident with the therapist tape.

I brought proper paint brushes from home today and set him up to paint. I acted as model. He's much more himself when he is painting. As I walked back to the subway, I was thinking of a show we saw at the Met a few years ago of several paintings of Cezanne's wife.  I will have to mention that to him--he can paint me every day.

I felt overwhelmed this morning.  I had stopped at Grand Central marketplace before work to pick up bread for Imogen's sandwiches and toast in the morning (Zabar's makes a decent peasant loaf that I ask to be sliced).  I used to stop at the marketplace several times during the week after work but it's not part of my commute anymore because of the hospital visits--I transfer within the subway and no longer walk through the station in the evenings.  I exited out into the hot sunshine--the construction noise quite deafening and the crowds rushing to their midtown office jobs.  I felt out of my body--disengaged.  I know this is a sign that I am exhausted.  I find it all somewhat pointless.  I am not connected to the culture--James and I created a bubble from it but now, I am bobbing around in the ocean without him.

I think of people as zombies--they are glued to their phones or plugged in with headphones. What has happened to the city that I loved.  No time to dwell in this melancholic street corner scene because I have a pile of work in my drawer at my office.

James's room is a small respite from the demands that I need to quell.  We both watch the clock though because he knows I have to leave. He always tells me, "I wish I could just come home."  Me too.