Tanja was eating a rather grim looking hamburg today at lunch, eating it with her own two hands, it must be said, and between bites she offered up some thoughts that indicated she is looking beyond life within the confines of the hospital.

“Don’t do anything special for when I come home,” she said. “I don’t care about that.”

“You don’t?”

“I used to,” she said. “I don’t any more. I just wanna get back.”

“Ok, well, we might want to make it nice for your return.”

“Don’t. Don’t do a thing.”

“But we might actually like to. It might give us pleasure to do something to celebrate you.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well that’s ok, if you want.”

She chewed her burger thoughtfully.

“When I’m back to a hundred ten percent, I’ve got some things I want to do.”

“A hundred ten?”

“That’s the new goal,” she said, disappearing the last of the burger down her earth devouring maw.

This attitude may be partially responsible for her supervising physician’s decision to release her from RIO on Friday, quite a bit earlier than expected.

As close readers of the blog know, transitions are psychologically tricky for team Tanja. We were worried when they extended her ICU stay, only to discover that they kept her longer because the BP therapy seemed to be working. So staying longer turned out to be a good sign.

Then we were worried about leaving the trauma ward because the people were so nice and she was progressing well, but it turns out she’d progressed so damn well that she was ready to go to RIO. So leaving early was a good sign.

Then we got the inside scoop that if you work hard and show progress at RIO, they will keep you longer and if you don’t, well, they shuffle you off. So staying longer is the good thing.

So she worked hard and showed progress and now she’s leaving early?

Is this good or bad?

Well, it’s good. Very good indeed.

Today Tanja spent most of her PT walking up and down 23rd. And over the 45 minutes her physical therapist coached her on how to handle outpatient PT.

“They’ll ask you your goals, ok?” she said. “And maybe you say, ‘well, I want to run again.’ Well, they’ll point you that way, but they won’t stick with you for ‘return to run.’ But I do ‘return to run.’”

“Return to run’?” Tanja said. “Is that a thing?”

“Oh yeah. That’s what I do.”

“Could I do that?”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

She handed Tanja a business card with her info on it. I have it now. One could quibble with the art direction–but why would one do that? It sends a strong message of strength and indicates a focus on things that matter more than the careful balance of shapes and colors.

And some might find the act of slipping a patient a business card to be, you know, mercenary. Or predatory. But it did not feel that way to Tanja. It felt like a vote of confidence. It felt like an invitation. It felt like progress. It felt like a promise!

That is a lot of things for a business card to feel like, but this little card did all that.

And now I fully expect Tanja to be a runner again.

Are we getting our hopes up?

Yes we are. Way up.

What’s the downside after all? Crushing disappointment if you don’t reach your goal? Maybe, but the alternative is to preemptively crush your goals right now so that you can never be disappointed because you never dared to hope.

One is familiar with that approach. One cannot recommend it.

Today I had a number of hours in a row to myself between lunch and dinner. I came home and considered a nap–the bed called my name rather insistently. But then I thought I’d try what Tanja used to do. When you feel tired, go out and do some yard work and pretty soon you’re not tired anymore. You’re exhausted.

So I grabbed the rake and started working on the front beds. And after a bit Wren came out and joined me. We moved from the front to the side yard and then along the back fence. Between us, we made a mountain of leaves in the back corner of the yard.

And here and there, as I coaxed the leaves from beneath the apple trees, or out from around the hellebores or whatever these various things are, god only knows, I would see signs that Tanja had been there before me, back in February and January, pruning here and trimming there. It was incredibly heartening. I don’t know why. It might’ve felt like a reminder of all the things she used to do that she can’t do now. It did not feel like that though. And, honestly, I have long been a sensitive instrument capable of divining the sadness hidden in any small token or sign. But I could find not sadness nor tragedy nor bitter irony in these bright little cuts hidden here and there around the place.

She’s been here. She’ll be here again. Not like she was, granted. But who wants to be like we were? We’ll settle for 110%.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44275/the-tuft-of-flowers