The first night I got to my parents' house, I did yoga on a mat in front of the TV.
The next five nights, I slept on a sofa in my dad's ICU room.
I think I burned calories jumping up to intervene each time he tried to pull the oxygen prongs or NG tube out of his nose—but in the end, that wasn't enough of a workout and now my muscles feel sleepy. I'm a little stiff and sore in the wrong way.
My sister flew in and took over nights at the hospital and will stay through our mom's surgery next week. I'll be back after that, and meanwhile, I vow to exercise. It keeps me alert and resilient.
Exercise and sleep will keep me strong and focused. Exercise releases sadness, somehow. When I feel strong physically I feel strong mentally, emotionally.
I flew down here with such good intentions to eat right and work out and stay strong and instead I binge ate (one day only, but still) on sweets and didn't exercise except for that one time.
Tomorrow I fly back to NYC. As soon as I'm home, I'll work out on my exercycle and catch up with True Detective, listening with headphones.
I so value my good heart rate, my healthy blood pressure, my high-functioning lungs. Most of all I am thankful for my brain, which only asks for enough time to recharge. IE, sleep. I can't squander those gifts.
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Reach out.
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