PT...good for you, good for me...

After breakfast and a valiant attempt at moving to the bathroom and failing miserably with your left leg deciding to buckle under your weight, Deborah came over and helped move you up off the floor and the two of you sort of three-legged your way to the bathroom at the end of the hall, which just happened to be the master bathroom. You were a bit ashamed to let her realize that you actually trudged your way to the .5 bathroom in the garage, which was a bit longer and too small to do much of anything in there, but it was easier than going up the stairs to the bathroom next to your room and coming back down.

"Come on, you can do it," she grunted, her body being a bit extra loose and more capable of supporting you and your weight as you moved from the door of the bedroom to the bathroom. "Phew...good think I was working out all those weeks..."

Your ears perked up at the mention of the workouts but you didn't bring it up, the blush on her face told you Dad had remembered it too. "Thanks...I can get it from here."

"Okay, well, if you need help, just holler." She turned and quickly skipped out of the room before you could say anything. As you managed to slip/slide your way to the toilet, you couldn't help but wonder why she looked so hesitant to come in to the bedroom. As you pissed into the toilet, making sure not to make any splashes or hitting the rim, you wondered if it had something to do with all of your dad's stuff still laying around, untouched since the morning he left it. Did that make her suddenly a bit overwhelmed by it all?

"Shit!" you sighed, finishing up and then hobbled to the counter, washing your hands, and then looking at your reflection in the mirror. You were so caught up in the blogs that you forgot the simple truth: Dad was trying her best to be a help to you. Awkwardness was a bitch, yes, but you had to pull it together. Plus, you suspected that this was something that the nurse had arranged. But why did Dad do this? Why was he..she..trying so hard? Was it a way to hold onto you as a link to her past?

"You okay there?" she called from the bedroom door after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, just a minute." You turned and took it slowly, bringing your right left out and steadying yourself against the doorframe before you managed to pull yourself out and into the bedroom. "Sorry, just had to..."

Your Dad had changed from pajamas and an apron to a sports bra and a matching pair of yoga pants. Pants that should not be worn in front of teenage men who had not been able to relieve themselves in weeks. "Um...ah...."

"I figured I could help with your PT, I saw your discharge notes. I know you're trying, I can see your notes on the document, but I figured that maybe if I helped, we could start?"

You looked at the smile and the hopeful glance in your direction and slowly you nodded. "Maybe things will help a bit more with two of us." You didn't hope she heard the double meaning in your statement. The flush on her face, though, told you she did. "Damn..."