Rehab Pt. 2
After having arrived at the rehab clinic late on a Wednesday night, while most of the staff were gone for the night, with no idea of what I was going to be doing the next day, I have to admit I was scared. I knew that the work was going to begin, and I had no idea what was coming for me.
That’s why, when I was awakened Thursday morning at 7AM by my Occupational Therapist, Tara, with one of the greatest questions I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Do you want to take a shower?”
Friends, when I tell you I almost cried…
I am the kind of person who showers at least once a day, whenever possible, and I’d spent two weeks in the hospital without one. Yes, there are occasional measures to make sure that you don’t stink, among them a really clever hair towel that comes with shampoo baked right in, but there’s nothing like the feeling of washing your body with soap for the first time after a long layoff.
I felt like I could do literally anything after that.
Also, not to be too cavalier about it, but I had been peeing into bottles 100% of the time for the past two weeks, and I got a chance to sit on the potty and really pee for the first time in a while, as well.
Lest you think this entry is all about personal hygene, let me prove you wrong.
There was a LOT of information coming at me on the first day, and a lot of testing to be done. I asked a lot of questions, so I found out that what they were doing was baseline testing me so they could measure my progress.
Here’s who I saw that first day:
My occupational therapist (as already mentioned), who was responsible for all of the things I would do practically when I got out, including bathroom and personal hygiene, cooking and getting around my kitchen, moving from place to place, and whatnot. In other words, they are responsible for above-the-waist activity.
My physical therapist, who was responsible for the strengthening of my good leg and exercises to support Jimmy. This included a lot of learning to walk with a walker on one leg and doing different exercises to stay strong below the waist (get your mind out of the gutter).
A speech therapist, who gave me the same cognitive test that the president constantly takes (and which I, too, mastered like a pro on the first go. It’s not that hard.), to see if I had memory issues and/or a speech problem that needed to be dealt with. I didn’t/don’t.
Someone who presented me with meal options for the next three days, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As I had a special diet, it was important that I knew what was coming, food-wise.
The rehab clinic’s doctor, who was responsible for determining my course of treatment and when I’d be able to leave.
Various nurses and interns, who look my vitals and blood sugar and administered meds several times a day. I had a couple favorites, including a woman I knew simply as “Voodoo,” so named by my son, because when she took my sugar, she’d wave her hands over the meter, hoping for a good result. We always got one. I was sad when she was off shift.
There was a whiteboard in my room, with information about what was going to happen every day, and when. In all, I had three hours of therapy every day (except a very long Easter weekend, when I had none, and felt like I was in bed doing nothing for about 16 years).
I never refused therapy, and I always tried to do the most I could do. I worked really hard. All of my therapists were impressed. Also, as I said, I asked a lot of questions, I was curious, but also a little nervous about going home. After all, when you’re used to people taking care of you all day, every day, it’s hard to think of you being home and you and your family trying to figure things out.
That first day, I was terrible at everything. I had no upper body strength to speak of, and it was hard for me to transfer to the wheelchair to do anything, but I worked as hard as I could to get stronger. And I did. A lot of those things that were so difficult then, are second nature to me now.
Of course, there are a whole lot of other things that seem really hard now, but I’m working hard. I want my therapists and family to be proud.
But, Tara was my most consistent therapist, and I felt really comfortable telling her my trepidation, and asking her all about how to do things I’d normally have kept in.
Such is the relationship one builds when literally the first thing a person says to you is, “Wanna take a shower?”
The lesson?
This is your life. Only you know what scares you and what you need. Ask for it. Ask as many questions as you can. Get answers to things. Ask again. If someone doesn’t know, ask them if there’s a way to find out. Don’t leave it undone. Now, more than ever, information is power. And you are still so powerful. Use your power.
—
As always, if you have it in you, please give a thought to donating time or money to Hospice Austin. They do amazing work for people who are going through the hardest thing a person can face.
—