Saturday

Two steps forward and a half step back. Friday was Mick’s best post-surgery day so far, and at dinner he ate heartily. He slept a little better, too, and woke feeling good, but achy enough to forgo today’s walk. The swelling in his feet continues to plague him; not only are they fat like sausages, but very sensitive, especially on the soles. For all the years I have known him, he’s been militantly barefoot at home, but right now surfaces like the sisal rug feel like gravel to him. At his request, blogger went out and got him a pair of slippers (probably the first he’s owned as an adult), size twelve and unfortunately a perfect fit. His sister Penny came up from Philadelphia for an afternoon visit (Tim had to work), and he laughed like a kid at her stories. He snoozed for a little while later on, which I believe to be a sign of healing—though the pain med regimen he’s on is enough to put Keith Richards under, the pain, even when sublimated, is a kind of relentless stimulant, so I have to think these catnaps are a sign of healing.