Point of View: Robert Goren only

You came with me to the first physical therapy session. The therapists assumed you were my "significant other" and I didn't correct them. There is no "other" more significant than you in my life. I don't know why you didn't correct them and I am too afraid to ask you.

I was sure it was a fluke…an accident. I assumed you didn't wanted to be there but you didn't know how to leave without appearing rude.

It was embarrassing to have you witness my limitations but my embarrassment was soon forgotten in the sweat and strain of the session. You sat quietly watching everything, participating when asked. I found myself looking for your reaction when I accomplished a task and you never disappointed me.

Then you showed up the next morning…and the morning after that...and each morning this week. You arrive about an hour before the session with a newspaper and your cup of coffee. When the nurse (yes – I can remember that word now) shows up to take me down, you follow behind the wheelchair. When the morning session is over, you push me back to my room. Lunch comes and you excuse yourself for a few hours, returning just before the afternoon session.

I asked once where you were going while the aide laid out my food. I knew it was none of my business but I couldn't stop the question before it was out, sitting in the air between us. "I'm going down to the cafeteria for a while. You've got your lunch and you need to rest up for your afternoon PT." You are right, of course.

I should've told you that you didn't have to come back. I should've said something about you having other things, more important things that you need to do. But I didn't say it; I won't because I need you here. I feel…uncertain…without you.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tomorrow is our big day.

You will be returning to work. I wonder if Ross will assign you a new partner. Maybe he'll ask for Daniels again. I noticed that you liked him. You smiled and shook his hand when he left last time. I heard you tell him it had been a pleasure working with him.

And I am moving to the rehab unit tomorrow. I've been friendly with the females working there. I know you've seen me because I've made sure you did. I want you to know that I don't need you, that I won't miss you.

It is a lie, of course. I'll be wondering every minute what you are doing. Are you interviewing a witness, hauling in a suspect, working with the DA on a warrant?

Will you and Daniels stop at McGill's for lunch? Will he offer to pay? You always refused my offers but then you've seen my credit union records. Will you let him pay?

Yeah, tomorrow is our big day. Yippeee??

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You know what I hate most about this stroke? I hate the inequity it has brought to our relationship.

You visit each evening after work. You tell me about your day. You fill me in on the latest office gossip. And I should be grateful right? I should be appreciative of your visit. I should be thankful you find time for your friend, the stroke victim.

Instead I'm angry. I'm angry at how eager I am for you walk through the door. My whole day is spent anticipating your visit.

Most of all, I hate that I can't walk away from you. How many times have I stepped on the elevator leaving you standing alone? How many times did I walk away when things got tough? Now you get pay back. You can walk away any time you want and leave me behind. What can I do to stop you?

A dark cloud settles over me and as fast the anger rose, it leaves replaced by depression. I've imagining the day you call to say you are too busy to come by. Maybe you won't even call. You just won't show up. It will happen, I know it. I remember how I felt visiting Mom. Some days it was a chore and she was my mother. What am I to you? An obligation.

The therapists warned us that frustration and depression are normal. For the first time I'm actually "normal" and I wish I wasn't.

This is what I hate most about this stroke!