Photographs are still not uploading.
Christmas posts will have to wait.
But my California Christmas was fabulous, thanks for asking!
I’ve been thinking about people a lot.
Human Interest type stuff.
I feel like I have a lot of those stories from work.
People are amazing.
Sad, funny, touching and amazing.
Like the mom who woke up at 4:00 a.m. to take the bus from Clearfield to Bountiful to come to therapy before work. She supports her husband and 8 kids. 4 of which are handicapped. 2 of which are severely handicapped and require around-the-clock care.
Or the lady who reads the Book of Mormon to her husband so he won’t fall asleep (it doesn’t work).
Or the nicest sweetest guy who when I called his house to confirm an appointment his wife told me he doesn’t live there anymore.
Or the patient who told me that we were all like candles in a dark room.
Or the guy who explained to me that the reason it’s so awkward to live with his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s daughter is that his girlfriend’s daughter is is ex-girlfriend whhaaaat.
Or the patient who told me her dad (who is also a patient and 85 years old) and her mom will just sit together for hours in their armchairs talking, reading, laughing and holding hands.
Or the mom who had to hold on surgery for months because she couldn’t afford the 3 days off of work it would take.
Or the 300 lb. biker who brought his autistic son in and listened and agreed with everything he said.
Or the patients whose spouses come to therapy with them everyday and follow them around just to talk.
Or the patient who, when noticing the sequins on a therapist’s shirt said, “What, what are those? Medals for all the patients you’ve killed??”
Or the patient who has a Phd and now because of disease can hardly make himself understood.
Or the 70-80 year old patient whose husband exercises right along side her and says, “babe no, do the other one, I already did this one, then we can be next to each other.”
Or the patient who when I complimented her on her execution of an exercise bounced up and proudly told me, “I’m 85!”
Or the guy who’s daughter came with him and he held on to her as if she were the center of his universe.
Or the patient whose husband fills her pockets with M&M’s before therapy
because he knows she likes to snack on them.