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I can’t come up with a title for this post. I found out today that Mark is being discharged with a loaner wheelchair, and a permanent wheelchair will arrive in a couple months. Will he ever walk again unassisted? Maybe. The therapists don’t know. For now, the one remaining muscle that attaches his quad to his knee is not firing. He can walk for about two minutes, tops, before the knee gives out. He cannot walk safely, at all, without a person right next to him to catch him in case he falls. He only needs assistance when walking, not when sitting, but with his frontal lobe injury, he impulsively decides it’s time to get up and do something. He still has a 24/7 one-on-one aid in his room, watching him. When he comes home, that job will be mine and the kids.

When he went into surgery, my greatest fear was that he’d have a stroke. That he’d come out with a greater level of need. I thought we dodged that bullet. We did not.

Tonight, I removed the living room area rug. I rearranged the living room furniture, the kitchen table. I removed Mark’s dining room chair. Our wonderful neighbor, Rob, is here installing grab bars for the toilet and a child-proof gate for the top of the steps so Mark doesn’t accidentally tumble down.

Mark is coming home on Friday.

In a wheelchair.

I am trying to figure out how to get him safely into the house.

I can’t believe it.

I’m not prepared.

Here’s how I felt today, when I heard it:

I.

Give.

Up.