Silent nights, holy nights. . .

Saturday evening, January 9, 2011 . . .
Quiet days (and nights) at home. . . so grateful for them, ever so grateful, for each and every one . . . Bob's home, I'm back in the kitchen—strangers in strange lands—and lovin' every minute of it. I went grocery shopping Friday, fridge is finally full of good food again (I have a tendency to forgo the grocery store when Bob's not here. . . lots of bowls of cereal are consumed while he's gone . . .). Back to chopping, slicing, dicing, cutting a finger now and then, blending, mixing, swearing like a trucker when I drop the spatula for the 18th time, splattering my concoction across the kitchen floor (to the doggies' complete and utter joy). . . believe it or not, this is the one thing that gives me just a little bit of control (even though I am a tad out of control in the kitchen), a little bit of power in this big ugly thing. . . to keep fighting with Bob, he best way I know how, which is being by his side, taking care of him, whether it's cooking, helping him with showers, medications, running errands, home projects (finally fixed that pesky basement patio door latch . . .tomorrow, dog poop patrol), tending the doggies. . . keeps me busy and out of Bob's face, for a while, anyhow . . .

Trying to get back into the swing of creating delicious, nourishing meals for Bob, getting a routine down here at home and working up to getting Bob out in the world, as tolerated. Thursday night's menu was chicken enchiladas, with juicy organic, free-range chicken and black beans stuffed into sprouted corn tortillas, covered in tomatillo sauce and sprinkled with an organic Mexican cheese blend. . . Saturday, cauliflower soup (with carrots, broccoli, onion, garlic, all pureed, then blended with rice milk, home-made chicken stock, a generous handful of cheddar cheese, tumeric, ground black pepper, sea salt . . .) We split a chicken, avocado and tomato sandwich on grainy, sprouted bread and cottage cheese sprinkled with flax seedb for lunch . . . snack was a 1/2 granny smith and p.b. . . .(pic to the left is Bob and his new BFF, Rocco. Rocco is so sweet and loving with Bob, surprisingly, given how much Bob hasn't been around for the past year)

Bob's appetite has once again rebounded and almost anything is a go, so I'm experimenting with all kinds of stuff—scouting out the local co-ops, Trader Joe's, even Cub, for the best quality food I can find. Priorities, peeps . . . good food will not hurt Bob (or me, for that matter) and may very well help, in terms of improving his quality of life, giving him more energy, strength and stamina. In addition to the physical attributes, who hasn't felt the pure mental—spiritual, even—qualities of good food brings to our lives . . . "food as medicine," once again has become my mantra . . . out with the processed, refined, in with fresh, natural, organic when available. . . did a tasty juice this morning (now it's Sunday)—handfuls of spinach, lemon, lime, clementine, carrot, 1/2 green apple and 1/2 pear grinding through my juicer to produce a gloriously tangy, emerald green liquid that I thoroughly enjoyed; Bob choked down a third of a glass (I know our pal Paulie would have chugged the whole glass down and enjoyed it, too!) . . . humoring his nutball wife is one of Bob's many endearing qualities . . .

Bob's also been sleeping so soundly at night again. Granted, it's only been 2 nights at home so

far, but almost every night at the hospital the past few weeks was a bad night's rest for Bob . . . I can hear him softly snoring now, as I type . . .

It's quiet around here for the most part, but somehow the time flies by. Usually up by 6:30, to help Bob to the bathroom and get dressed (we're trying to fit a shower in every other day), a.m. meds, breakfast, dressing change, then a little R&R—I might run an errand or two while Bob rests (and yes, I call him relentlessly, to his utter annoyance. He doesn't say so, but I can hear it in his voice when he answers the phone . . .for the sixth time in an hour . . .), or we might have a visit from a home health nurse—then lunch, afternoon meds, maybe try to do a little PT or OT exercises, rest, and before we know it, we're eating dinner, cleaning up, another dressing change, p.m. meds and getting ready for bed. No set bedtime, just whenever he starts feeling the lids drooping. Had a random visitor pop in Friday night—a colleague of Bob's stopped by on his way home from work, to drop off a 4-pack of Surly Abrasive Ale. I had to try one, of course. Heavy on the hop-side. Just my style. Was good to see Bill, hear him and Bob "talk shop. . ."

Today (Sunday), we got Bob back down to his office, where he sat at his desk for a good hour and a half or so, cleaning up his desk, doing virus scans and such on his computer (wouldn't have to do that if he had a Mac . . . ) Tomorrow, we might try an outing in the car, just to see how it goes . . .

This working from home gig (sometimes from the hospital) for the past six months and counting, is the best job I've ever had. Wouldn't trade it for anything . . . It's also the hardest job (mentally and emotionally, more than physically), but I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather be right now, than with Bob, 24/7. It's a blessing, an honor, a position I take most seriously, with every cell of my being, with all my heart, mind and soul. . .