Nobody ever told either of us that this was gonna be easy. Boy, has it ever lived up to that. When I stroked out and slipped into LIS almost eight years ago, neither of us had a clue as to what we were in for – especially Jen. Once the initial shock of having her husband of three years come pretty close to biting it kind of wore off a little and she quickly realized that she would now be running the show pretty much by herself, she hit the ground running at full speed and she really hasn’t slowed down since.

My legs don’t work anymore so she has to do all the legwork for both of us. (rimshot. “Thank you. I’ll be here all week. Try the veal and don’t forget the wait staff.”) She has to wear many different hats throughout the week. In no particular order, she has to be: caregiver, nurse, physical therapist, amateur eyelid surgeon *, head chef, grillmaster, housekeeper, primary groundskeeper, gardener, chauffeur, personal attendant, bodyguard (when I’m behind the wheel, I can be a danger to myself and others!), breadwinner**, CFO, banker, best friend, spiritual advisor, psychiatrist, wheelchair mechanic, handyperson, tech support, entertainment director and probably a lot of other things that slip my mind right now. In other words, she goes nonstop from the time her feet hit the floor in the morning until her head hits the pillow at night – seven days a week.

To be continued…

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* My left eye had been acting up and really bothering me the last couple of weeks. So we went to see the eyelid doctor who was recommended to us by our cornea specialist (who was referred to us by the neuroophthalmologist). Who knew all these different types of doctors even existed? I imagined this guy back in med school on the day they made you pick a specialty: Pulmonology? Taken. Cardiology? Taken. Ooh, look! No one has eyelids yet. Cool, I’m all over it! You can barely find just a regular old general practitioner anymore that isn’t 75 years old (nothing against 75-year+ olds, Dad!). Anyway, he explained that my eyelid was a little cattywampus (my word, not his) and it caused a few eyelashes to grow sideways and touch my eye, irritating it. We had two options: 1. He could perform an in-office procedure where he would flip my eyelid inside-out and make a small incision and that would shape my eyelid correctly and make my eyelashes behave. –OR- 2. Jen could get a decent pair of tweezers, the kind with the magnifying glass built onto them (?), and just pluck them out every 4-6 weeks when they come back. Um, no-brainer? I’m sorry but any “procedure” involving a scalpel and stitches anywhere on my face is an “operation” and I’ll be having none of it. So we chose Curtain 2 and now we’re just anxiously awaiting the return of my rogue eyelashes!

‘** Jen and I both worked for NISC in 2006 when I had my stroke. Jen continued to work there AND they allowed her to do her job from home. This has been a huge blessing for both of us. I don’t want to get into it now because it’s a whole different subject for another time but suffice it to say that we are both grateful to work/have had worked there.