|At the bracemaker|
The team at the wound clinic had warned us the previous day that a fresh pressure sore was about to erupt on her left foot and that the old one wasn't totally healed. They blamed her brace. I am loathe to let a day go by without standing C. up - actually, obsessive would be more precise. Since she can't stand at all without that brace, we raced to the brace guy the very next day.
The brace-guy refused make a new one until C. has been examined by an orthepedist because he suspects that the problem warrants surgery first.
But he did make a few temporary changes to her old brace and for some reason waived a fee. Previously the hubby - unaccompanied by C. and me - had brought him C.'s brace for repairs and found him to be surly. I attribute the guy's transformation to the pathetic image that C. and I present.
C.'s appointment with a "rehabilitative orthopedist" to assess her braced foot is in two weeks.
Interestingly, the spot that concerned the wound team has actually been in that state for ages and still isn't worsening even though I continue to stand her up every night.
Speaking of C.'s standing, as I've previously mentioned, it has deteriorated dramatically over the past year. Despite my obsession and hard work, she remains wobbly and can just barely take a few steps with enormous support from me.
The days when C. and I wowed the therapists with her standing and walking are a distant memory. And one I doubt will ever be a reality again.