There have been zero trips to the emergency room today. The foot situation has largely stabilized. Tanja went so far as to say this: “When that PA told me the swelling and warmth was just my nerves healing, I think she was full of crap.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I think she was just telling me what I want to hear.”

“She did first employ all sorts of science to rule out DVTs and infection. Then she suggested it was just your body healing.”

“She doesn’t know,” Tanja said.

It was super tempting to say “neither do you,” but conversations aren’t things you always have to win.

Then the dishwasher people threw her a curveball. They were supposed to take delivery of the machine tomorrow at which point they had, contractually, a week to set up an appointment with us. In total disregard of this written agreement, they texted this morning to say they already had the thing and could they come by and put it in. We were doing dishes in it by 8:30 am.

“That was incredible,” Tanja said. “they were like a surgical team.”

In fact, the team leader gave us a little debrief before he left.

“We’ve run a cycle to check the installation. There are no leaks,” he assured us. “But you need to use it as much as you can over the next 24 hours to make sure the unit is running properly. There’s nothing I see that suggests an issue, but the first 24 hours are crucial in terms of identifying any possible factory defect or other issue.”

“We dont have that many dishes,” I said.

“Just do what you can,” he told me.

Tanja had a second appointment with her acupuncturist, then took a short walk with a friend and came home around one with two needles lodged in her head.

“The acupuncturist has a theory about my foot, why its so hot. Wanna hear it?”

“Of course.”

“She thinks it’s my nerves healing.”

“Huh.”

“So, I guess I owe the PA an apology,” Tanja said. “I still think it’s wishful thinking, but maybe it’s not total crap.”

What’s wrong with wishful thinking, after all?

We went to the store, ran some errands, she even came out into the garden during a break in the weather and answered a few pressing questions about what is and isn’t a weed.

It was almost normal. But the garden was, in a way, too much. It makes her aware of all she can’t do. Yet.

At dinner she said, “Have I mentioned how much I hate this collar.”

“What is it about the collar you hate?” Wren asked.

“I hate how it feels.”

“How does it feel? Can you describe it?”

“Uncomfortable. Constricting. Strangulating. Humiliating.”

“Great description,” Wren said. “I get it.”

38 more days, if my count is correct.