Me and my chair, cause that's how I roll. September 2007
July 14, 2007
Home at last! The flight was a bit of a nightmare. I kept fainting in the wheelchair at the airport and told Tom to tell them I was sleeping so they would let me on the plane.
My neighbor Shelly had found a wheelchair at the thrift store for $40. It is retro and functional and has made the rounds. When I was finished with it a High School girl used it for a leg injury. It is now being used by a woman expecting triplets who was put on bed rest.
We hired my friend Jennifer to be my care taker. She was more like my nanny, not my kid's nanny, mine. She did everything for me, laundry, chauffeur, cook and therapist. She kept me sane and laughing. She's the best! She even let me pretend that I was Victoria Beckham and she was my personal assistant. I was on drugs...major. Say that with an English accent.
I received physical therapy at home for the first few weeks. At first I wasn't sure if my physical therapist was G or E. He was european and I enjoyed his accent. Of course I learned all about his girlfriend and personal history...I'm good at that.
Going to the Center for Physical Therapy and exercise became my job. I spent two and a half hours there three times a week. I fondly refer to them as my physical terrorists. I advanced to aqua therapy. It felt so great to walk in the warm pool. I was non weight bearing for 10-12 weeks. I progressed to partial weight bearing of 10 pounds a week until I was full weight bearing. They actually have you stand with one leg on the scale so you can see what it feels like to add weight each week. Learning to walk was the hardest thing I've ever done. I was fascinated with babies, they make it look so easy. I was slowly regaining independence and couldn't wait to drive.
I would like to thank all my blogging peeps, my shoes for inspiring Shoesday... and thanks Tina for this blog award. This is particularly touching since I am the recipient of donor bone. Now I will share the love with Sis my BFF. Maree this girl is funny. Robin another mother of teens. Alison mother of 5, new twin girls. Now share the love with some of your favorite blogs.
I have 4 small scars where they jacked my bones apart so they could put me back together.
Sock on. Step 1
Sock on. Step 2
Sock off. Step 1 Sock off. Step 2
July 10-14 2007.
I was alone and sporting nothing but my brace and a hospital gown when my driver came to transport me to Avalon Valley Care Center. This dude, who looked like he just got out of rehab, picked me up in a van, which looked like it may have been stolen. I held my cell phone tightly in my hand. Even in my doped up condition, I knew I was in a vulnerable position. He told me that Avalon gives the red carpet treatment. I thought this was a metaphor, until he explained that there would actually be a red carpet rolled out for me on arrival. He thought it was a little odd when he brought a patient who was in a coma. Seriously?! Sure enough, I rode my wheelchair in on a red carpet and was relieved that the paparazzi hadn't made it there yet.
Luckily, the hair salon was open and they washed and dryed my hair for the first time in ten days. I was still resigned to sponge baths. My 86 year old room mate and I became fast friends. She even invited me to penny pitch one night. Penny pitch is a game you play while seated in your wheelchair and you toss coins into dishes labeled with different point values. She made $1.50 one night and bought herself a soda.
One of the first things I learned in occupational therapy was how to put my socks and support hose on. I felt like a toddler. I had been potty trained from bed pan to bedside commode to the dear john. But I would still have to learn to walk.
Physical therapy was on the daily agenda. One day while lifting weights, I watched a group of people batting a balloon around a circle and I was grateful. I built my upper body strenghth so I could graduate to a walker. Walker hopping became my new skill because I would be non-weight bearing for 10-12 weeks.
Sis was my personal shopper and provided me with my wardrobe of nightshirts and a house coat. She helped me figure out that I could wear boxers so I wouldn't have to fly home commando. Not to mention, all the visits and phone chats to keep me sane. My brother Eric brought snacks and Angie came and they let us break in to the salon so she could wash and style my hair. It's the little things that count.
I was looked after day and night by angel aids who helped transport me from bed to wheel chair.
After four days of rehab, I was finally going home.