A year ago today was the last day my husband was able to walk in his own house, even though it was so difficult for him, that it was painful to watch.
The next day, he could not stand up at all and fell down trying. Needing help getting back up was the greatest humiliation for him but I could not do it by myself and ended up calling 911 for assistance. He did not want to go to the hospital but agreed to it a few hours later. He was not able to move his left arm and leg and could not even sit up.
At the hospital ER, the doctors finally found the reason for his complete lack of making the expected progress. He had an infection in the brain. The surgery next day revealed the extent of the damage; the infection had eaten through the dura, a protective membrane for the brain.
When I saw Rufus after the surgery, we had a very fleeting moment of celebration: he could raise his left leg and squeeze my hand with his left, and when I went to bed that evening, I was convinced that we had turned the tide and that recovery was ahead of us even if much more complicated than expected.
The next day, there was no movement. It would never be again.