Today was Tanja’s first outpatient PT session and it was gratifyingly similar to the OT session. Her therapist remarked that her story, as it appeared on paper, did not match up to the reality Tanja presented and, after running Tanja through the gamut of exercises, the therapist felt their time together would be brief– maybe a month of weekly sessions followed by monthly check ins for the rest of the year.

We celebrated by coming home and sleeping the afternoon away.

We’ve been getting meals delivered nightly by friends and it has been incredibly helpful. It might seem like we’re napping all the time– and we are–but there are also an inexplicable number of things going on that serve to keep us hopping, so when nighttime rolls around, having the meal dialed in is incredibly helpful.

It does mean that we are collecting various containers across a wide range of clever configurations–mason jars, Tupperware, snap top baking dishes, etc.

“Have you been tracking what containers go to whom?” Tanja asked.

“I haven’t, honestly,” I admitted.

“How will we get it back to them?”

“I guess they’ll ask?” I said. “Or maybe it’s like, ‘holy shit, you almost lost the use of your limbs, I suddenly am not worried about my tupperware.’”

Tanja was unconvinced by this and set a plan in motion. She sat at the dining room table with scrap paper and a pen and scissors and began making paper strips with various people’s names on them.

Sadly, the dishwasher–a stalwart ASKO of ten years service–choose this day to throw a service code indicating a pump issue. The Appliance Hospital had been notified but they did not show the kind of urgency we’ve come to expect from hospitals. A team had been dispatched and would arrive by April 11th.

So, I began washing the various containers and bringing them out to the dining room where I saw she had multiple strips labeled for each meal deliverer.

“Why the multiples?” I asked.

“Every meal has several containers. Each container needs a label.”

“Couldn’t you just have one label and put the various containers sort of together with that label.”

“But I’m going to put them all this box.”

She showed me a big cardboard box she had at the ready.

“And when they’re together in the box,” she continued, seeing that I was not following, “they will each need their own label.”

“What if you put each person’s containers in their own paper bag,” I said. “Kinda grab and go.”

“I don’t want fifteen bags in my office.”

“I don’t think if would be fifteen, would it?”

“But you know what I’m saying.”

I felt like I knew exactly what she was saying. And I didn’t love it. So, in a weakened state, I said the snarkiest thing I’ve said in four weeks.

“Since you’re the one doing it, let’s do it just the way you want.”

“Perfect,” she replied.

So every container now holds a little handwritten tag indicating to whom it belongs.

Except for two nearly matching, rectangular tupperware containers–translucent body, red lid, one a little deeper than the other–that we cannot place with a family. If these are yours, please let me know and I’ll have some name tags generated and they will move to the official box of dispersal to await your arrival.

On an upnote, we’re seeing strong signs of the return of Tanja’s fine motor skills. She is once again able to press my buttons with unerring precision.

It does tire her out though.

So, as last man standing here on Saratoga Street, I will offer up this tune, a long-time favorite of mine which, truth be told, simply does not move the needle for Tanja. It turns out nobody is perfect 🙂