For several weeks now, Matt had been intermittently moving his right thumb and a few fingers. Suddenly and quite dramatically, like a switch was flicked on, he could open and close his right hand almost normally. It was unfathomable, mind-boggling even. The opposite of a typical recovery pattern, this spontaneous miracle started at his hand and, over time, headed north toward the shoulder. The timing and synchronization of combined movements were disjointed. Nonetheless, it was the most miraculous thing!

Matt could also sit freely on the edge of the bed and was learning to resist my endeavors to push him off balance in different directions, with varying amounts of force and sometimes without warning. He could rise from a chair with minimal assistance, and for the first time, and to my amazement, he stood with the bedrail as his only support. Neither leg wobbled or gave way, and his head was held high. With each new accomplishment, I stopped to contemplate the next move. It was critical to carefully assess if his mobility and balance, paired with my skill, were adequate to advance to the next stage—we were alone, without a safety net. Carefully, we progressed to taking a step forward and backward with his left leg. It was a big ask for the right leg to support his weight, so I offered counterpressure, and to advance his right leg required a nudge from me to clear the toes to take a full stride. 

The piano wasn’t Matt’s only hobby or past interest. Matt had joined the competitive ballroom dance team in grad school and has been smitten ever since. He rose to the pre-champ level in standard waltz and foxtrots—handsome in his coattails. I thought this would be a good hook; indeed, it inspired both of us. With his newly acquired ability to stand at the bed rail, I challenged him to stand in a dance pose—erect posture, chest up, left hand clasping mine out to the side, the right arm bent, underpinned by mine (since he couldn’t hold it up himself) and his hand on my back. His standing balance was not rock solid without the bed rail, which challenged his core strength and stability. To complicate matters more, my balance was tenuous as well. I had to stand with a small base of support to block his right knee with mine and had both arms up in the air—with no support or the ability to reach out. A stiff wind or an incorrect weight shift might have toppled us, but it didn’t. He perked up whenever I mentioned dance pose, even if only for a few minutes. I imagined it resonated with fond memories of gliding elegantly across the floor, outstanding achievements, applause, and recognition. It caused me to pause and lament that this might be an unattainable dream.