Wrist braces and tennis elbow

I carry Jersey up and down the stairs.  For the last couple of weeks, ever since I posted about my YAWP, she hasn't been able to navigate the stairs to get to the back yard for her daily "constituionals." She also can't make it to her favorite spots in the house.  For some unkown reasons her back legs seemed to have lost the strength they once had.  She can stand but then she tends to wobble when a strong enough wind blows; she can push herself up to sit.  When she's determined enough she can haltingly walk around.  It's almost like she thinks to herself  " I can do this." and she makes her way through the sliding doors in the basement and lays down, breathing heavy and tired. 

She also used to stand while eating.  Though it's only been a couple of weeks, time seems to have s-l-o-w-e-d down and I forget when milestones were reached.  I think it was a couple of weeks ago when she stood over her bowl eating for the last time.  Our goal is to try and help her build up enough strength to be able to do it again.

Another reason to help her get stronger is that carrying her around is starting to beat me up.  I now have to wear a wrist brace and tennis elbow support bandage to get her around.  Otherwise, my forearms ache and my wrist hyper extends backwards in ways it was not meant to move.  It's not really any different than doing a deadlift with weights in the gym.  Pushing 700 lb. motorcycles around while I worked for Harley Davidson was easier than busting a gut trying to lift her up.  Going down the stairs is OK.  I use momentum and gravity to get where we are going.  Coming back up is another story.  I can't get momentum and gravity is fighting me.  I've got 12 stairs up to our deck so I can get her back into the kitchen.  There are 14 stairs from the basement to the first floor.  No matter which way I go, my arms always end up throbbing and my wrist snaps, crackles and pops.  I also end up falling about and sucking for air after I put her down.  It's quite the sight to see.  I gently place her on one of her beds while telling her she's a good girl.  Then, I have to stand back up.  If Alexa isn't there to help me, I have to grab at the couch or wall or push myself up in order to stand up.  I haven't felt pain in my chest (thank God) but I almost hyper ventilate from breathing so hard.  I end up pacing around, hands on hips gasping for air.  I sort of look like a sprinter who has just broken the four minute mile mark.  Eventually, I get back to normal only to have to start the process again.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was a hard workout and I was losing weight and building muscle.  It's more like an explosive burst several times a day and doesn't accomplish anything for me physically other than make me feel crippled.

Ah, the things we do.  I made a committment to her.  I told her I would always be there if she needed me to carry her. Though I end up wearing sprints and braces, I do it happily and with a grateful heart.  She's still with us and it's one small way I can help her with the fight of her life.  I can do it as long as it takes.  I will do it as long as it takes.