Mom's physical therapist came the other day to begin work on an injured bone and strengthen muscles.
He's been with us since the beginning. His name is Al and I can tell you my blood pressure calmed the minute he walked in the door. I credit Al for Mom's success. Al worked with my father. After enduring (and yes, enduring fits describes it well) other therapists who threatened to give up on Mom, Al has the gift of healing. He kids her through the routines, calms her fears, and encourages her, all the while summoning muscle and bone to work. She's lucky. I'm lucky.
Al offers hope, which, IMHO, is the hallmark of a genuine healer. I shouldn't tell you about this guy because I'm afraid his caseload might become too overwhelming. So, look for a guy like Al to help you get your loved one back on their pins.
And remember, Mom had Al first.
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