My poor Cecilia. It never fails that, in those few hours each day when she is left alone with me, some new adventure occurs.
As usual, I needed help getting to the bathroom. Cecilia has mastered the art of getting me up from the stupid chair and onto the potty and there were no issues this time around. After I'd finished cleansing, drying, and flushing, I called her to help get me back to the stupid chair. She very ably lifted me up, pulled up the knickers, took hold of my wrists and we minced our way back toward my stupid chair. As we approached, we noticed the very lovely (but very slippery) zebra pillow had fallen forward and was in a position to wreak havoc. This is where the fun began.
Desiring to move the pillow out of the way, Cecilia attempted to hold me with one hand. I am much higher maintenance than that and I immediately began to teeter. Fortunately I was able to move toward the upholstered bench and there I landed, albeit precariously near the edge. It was no easy task to shift the land m-ass but I managed.
I wrote not long ago about taking a tumble in this very same area; my caregiver's attempt to stand me up failed and I landed on my knees. Frightened that Cecilia lacked the strength to lift me from this lower position, I quailed at her insistence that she could do it but agreed to try. It did not take long for my legs to prove untrustworthy and down I went, onto the bench.
At this point I was considering my options, but Cecilia insisted again and again that we try, that she could do this, why didn't I trust her, she wanted to help me, and on and on. Her frustration caused her to raise her voice; I began to cry, explaining that I didn't trust my legs, that I didn't want to fall, knowing that if I did fall she would feel worse and I was trying to spare her that. I suggested we take a minute to calm down, my suggestion was drowned out by her begging me not to doubt her. She came toward me because she wanted me to move further back on the bench; I wriggled and rocked the land m-ass back as far as I could go; I looked at my daughter's tear stained face and pleading eyes and knew I had to let her try.
Cecilia bent down and, holding me as if in a hug, lifted me and got me to my stupid chair. I won't say we weren't both nervous -- there was a lot at stake -- but she did it. The look on her face, happy and relieved that she had succeeded, is a look I will never forget. And it was the best hug we've ever shared.
Some very intimate and therapeutic conversation followed. I know -- we all know -- my disease impacts everyone connected to me, and Cecilia is very fragile. Helping me as she did gave her a feeling of strength, both physically and emotionally.
16 hours ago