Mr. Wild Dingo sat in the kitchen watching me prepare dinner. He claimed he changed his routine from working in the office to the kitchen so he could spend more time with me. Knowing his passion for the economy of motion, I suspected it was easier for him to stay close to me rather than jump up every 10 minutes whenever I called him to lift a pot or help me up off the floor. I had a handful of those days when he literally had to lift me up because the pain was too severe.
He watched me closely as I chopped vegetables. “You lost almost a decade of your life to this disease. The best years of your life,” he said, as if he just grasped the impact this has had on me, him and us.