I never miss a day of the exercises. I take the kids to school. I make dinner. I clean the kitchen. I try to do many of the errands David has done for the last few years, running to grocery stores, getting things fixed. I write. I socialize. When my children ask me to play, I say yes, no matter what, no matter how raucous the game. I write a screenplay. I sign on to direct a few episodes of a web series, keeping in mind the advice that I won’t get better until I do my job again, but mindful that I have a baby who I am not yet ready to leave for a longer project. I go everywhere I am invited, usually with the baby in tow. I’m in a kind of manic haze. It hurts like hell, I feel nauseous, and especially in those first weeks, I get the beginnings of what used to turn into crushing migraines. But when I feel those beginnings, instead of going to bed, I go for a fast walk on busy sidewalks or do an intense dynamic workout. By the time I am done, the headache has usually faded substantially. I learn to push through, and to have faith that I will feel better when I do so. In short, I learn to stop listening so attentively to my body. A friend who is cheerleading my recovery says to me, almost every day, over text or the phone, “This is hard, but you can do hard things.”