Today, my thirty-eight year old stroke patient asked me when he would walk again. He asked me this after he’d walked a dozen feet using a hemi-walker, me holding onto the waist band of his sweat pants while his mother following closely behind with the wheelchair. “But you are walking.”, I said, even though I knew what he meant. “I promised my son I would walk again. He wants me to climb a tree with him. I promised.”
Sometimes this job breaks my heart. And a promise to a five year old boy reminds me to take nothing in life for granted.
2 thoughts on “The Promise”
Nothing for granted. I don't know how you can survive the misery you witness and their blind hope to be who they used to be.
The thing is, sometimes miracles happen. You just can't predict them.