Going Home

I can't wait. I feel like I was ready today, but another day of PT didn't hurt. Now comes the challenging part: trying to figure out how to live as normally as possible for the next two and a half months.

The End is in Sight

I had two good days of therapy, and I finally got approved to move around my room on my own. I did stairs on crutches this morning in PT, and feel pretty good on those. My shoulder muscles are going to get bigger, that's for sure. They want to send me home as soon as possible, probably Friday. I'm trying to get that delayed until Saturday because I'd like to be as strong as possible when I get home. I want to concentrate on working hard this week, and getting enough sleep, and eating right, so that I can be in the best shape possible. This means I don't really mind not having any visitors this week. I would probably just fall asleep anyway. What would be more helpful is for people to come over when I get home, and maybe cook for/with me. I made an omelet today which turned out pretty crappy (the cafeteria didn't have cheddar cheese, only American--does that give you an idea about how bad the food is?) but the kitchen I used here was much easier to navigate than mine at home is.

I think the biggest obstacle once I get home will be mental not physical. The drugs are still messing with my concentration, and making me very drowsy. It's very hard to do the reading and lecture writing under those circumstances. I had enough problems handling four classes before this, so I don't know if I can do it if I fall asleep at 11:00 every night. So maybe the challenge will be to find a balance between how much pain I can handle and how sleepy I want to be.

I spent a little time watching bicyclists out the window today, and got really mad for the first time. Spring is coming up, and there is nothing I like better than riding my bike. Now because of one careless driver I can't.

TV

I think I already mentioned that I've been watching some March Madness, but that's over for the week. I just realized I don't get CSN, which means I can't watch the Celtics. I want my money back.

Mondays, Am I Right?

I'm so tired today. It's my own fault, because I stayed up late watching Contagion. It's not really the kind of movie you want to watch in the hospital.

Nothing to report from therapy, just that I worked harder today than I had yet. I made it back and forth to the gym on crutches, which is a first. My doctor upped my pain meds, because he said waking up at night needing more is a sign that they're not working. So now I get MS Contin twice a day instead of Oxycodone every three hours. I can still take the Oxycodone if I need it, but hopefully that will only be when I do therapy.

That's it. Boring day, because there's no basketball, and no visitors except my parents, who had bad timing and showed up right when I badly needed a nap.

Day Off

Today was Sunday, which meant a day off from therapy. I was originally disappointed that we had two off days in a row, because I wanted to get back to working on the leg as soon as possible. It's not so much that I'm impatient to get out of here, I'm just impatient to get more mobility back. I want to be cleared to walk the three steps to the bathroom by myself without setting off the bed alarm. I can do it, and the nurses have seen me do it, but I'm not allowed to do it without supervision.

But I'm actually thankful we had a day off today, because my pain level is way up, to about a 5 at the moment. I really hope this is because I've been more active the last couple days. The pain is all the way up and down the leg, not just at the break, and it feels like muscle pain. Last night was the first time I asked for pain meds before they were due; in the middle of the night I lost track of when the last time I took them was, and had a really bad headache. The nurse came in and told me I just had them an hour ago, then left without shutting the door. So I rang the call button again to ask the aide to shut it, and she came in to tell me AGAIN that I couldn't have any more meds. Yes, I know; I'm not THAT much of an addict, that I forgot what you told me 30 seconds ago. I was just calling to ask you to shut the door so I don't have to listen to you gossiping right outside my bedroom while I'm trying to sleep through a headache. (I mean, yes, I realize you're not happy about carrying bottles of my piss to the bathroom three times a night, but I'm not so happy about that myself...)

It was also useful to have a day off because I had a bunch of visitors, which was very nice. Maya, Farhad, and Cyrus this morning. They took me outside for the first time since the accident. Cyrus didn't really understand what was different, and was mostly interested in the trains at North Station. But I think he had fun riding on my lap on the wheelchair. Then my father with more clothes, definitely needed. Then in the evening John (from the Wheaton History Department), Michael, and Kristin. Kristin was bored while the guys talked history a little; the intellectual stimulation was helpful. It's not that I'm bored in here, since everyday tasks become more challenging and therefore more interesting, but I do miss having intelligent conversations. Too much Fox News on my roommate's TV is killing more brain cells than the accident ever could have. I also have a huge stack of books and movies I haven't been able to get to because I don't have the energy or the attention span--it's the drugs, I think.

So even though they take some energy out of me, visitors are the best thing right now for keeping me in a good mood. (It was also nice to see Adam and Niamh yesterday, on their way back to Rutland.) The mood from both the nurses and patients here is more matter-of-fact than anything else; everyone just takes everything in stride--my new roommate is actually really good at that, and I think I am too. This is probably for the best, since it keeps everyone stoical. So I wouldn't say I'm in danger of depression. But even the best run hospitals are machines, and even the nicest nurse is not going to be your friend, so it's really important to have a touch of humanity from visitors.

Another Room Change

This makes five different rooms in a little over a week. This time it was a slight upgrade because I'm in the window bed.















(That's the Boston side of the Zakim Bridge. The balloon comes from the massive fruit bouquet that my relatives in Connecticut sent. Thank you.)

This roommate is another one of the hard-of-hearing and fall-asleep-while-watching-TV variety, but he told me to let him know if it was too loud, so hopefully we'll work out a tacit understanding. The question is, when is it fair for me to ask him to turn it down, just because the show he's watching is getting on my nerves? It's kind of like living with Mimi, although for the most part people here complain about their health problems a little less. ;)

My previous roommate might have been my favorite. He has a swollen face that makes him look like he's constantly scowling, he swears like a sailor, and he never got my name right. We didn't talk much. I liked him because for all the pain in his life right now (he always answered 10 when the nurses asked him what his pain level was) he never took it out on anyone else. He was exceedingly complimentary to the nurses and the aides, almost but not quite to the point of chauvinism. This is a lesson for me, because I've snapped at my dad a couple times when I shouldn't have. I also liked him because he didn't watch much TV. This is not just selfishness on my part, I think. I get really annoyed when people--especially old people--watch TV purely for the easy visual and auditory and narrative stimulation. Or for the company. It may LOOK like you're old and waiting to die, but don't abandon all pretense of actually directing your own life instead of having it piped to you through cables. I hate lazy TV watching in other people because I do it myself sometimes, and always hate myself after.

Anyway, he came down with some kind of infection, which is why they had to move me out of the room. It was kind of sudden when they told me, so I didn't get to say goodbye and get well soon, which is the least I could do to be civil. The age difference between me and all of these guys is kind of a barrier.

Life at Spaulding

This is the view from the lounge right next to my bedroom. Sorry the pictures are so bad, my cell phone camera is kinda crappy.













































I used to bike right by here last year on the way to North Station to catch the train up to teach at Endicott. Notice the duck boat right under the Museum of Science.

The schedule here is pretty rigorous. Three hours of therapy a day. Friday they started me off with Speech Therapy, which was mostly about cognitive function. I didn't think I needed it, since I didn't get hit in the head or lose consciousness in the accident. Sure enough I passed with flying colors. So the therapist and I mostly just chatted; she and her husband took a trip last summer to France, so we talked about that a little.

Then it was a short session of Occupational Therapy, which was the first chance I had to get out of bed since getting here. OT is basically how to handle every day tasks like getting in and out of the bathroom. My occupational therapist was also the first person to clarify exactly how I should be approaching the "no weight on your left leg for three months" rule: I have to imagine a grape under my foot that I'm trying not to break. It turns out I was putting a little too much pressure on it previously, even sometimes when pushing myself up in bed.

After lunch was Physical Therapy and more OT. Physical Therapists apparently have a reputation for being sadistic--my PT at Brigham said a friend once asked if they were given puppies to torture on the first day of PT school--but mine were nice. I'm approaching it like I'm an athlete in training. It's very much like weight training, except you can't even lift your leg let alone the weights.

One hiccup to the day was that the pain meds didn't get to me when they needed to. This is one of two areas where Spaulding is much worse than Brigham was: the first is the old-person food (overcooked vegetables, generally tasteless) and the second is that they don't bring me my pain meds unless I ask. They were an hour and a half late with the meds right at the point when I needed them most, after PT. To make it worse, when I finally realized and asked for them the nurses were in the middle of a shift change, which slowed things down a bunch. So I was up to about a 5/10 on the pain scale, which I had only happened once in the last couple days. In general the pain is pretty low, especially when I don't move the leg. I'm taking half my dosage at night, and the full dosage during the day, and supplementing this with Tylenol when I need to.

The other annoyance is that they won't let me go to the bathroom by myself, even though I did it a couple times at Brigham. I'm a fall risk, and I have a bed alarm.

I slept much better last night.

Move to Spaulding

This was the view from the bed at my first room at Spaulding Rehab. Spaulding is a top notch rehab place, so it's kind of weird to see that it looks so drab and institutional. I've heard a bunch of people say "we're building a new hospital." But I kind of like it. I like old functional buildings.

I feel like a spy in the belly of the health care system. Or maybe just in the land of old people. My roommate was the patient from hell. He was up literally all night with complaints and demands of the nurses, who were bending over backwards like a troupe of cirque de soleil contortionists trying to cater to his every whim, but all he can think about is how everyone is out to get him, and the nurses never come fast enough when he hits the call button. I got a little sleep thanks to an iPod, and my earplugs, and a damp towel over my eyes to keep the light out. In the morning he was apologetic to me, and to the nurses. He does actually recognize that they do an absolutely heroic job.

The nurse asked if I wanted a room change, and I really need some rest so I didn't say no, and now I'm across the hall with a view of the Zakim Bridge (although I'm not in the window bed so it doesn't matter that much.) While I was getting ready for PT, he was on the phone with his wife, who has cancer. I heard him say things like "you're the most important thing in my life" and "better times are ahead." But he's 76, so there's no guarantee of that. As frustrating as this is for me right now, I don't have quite as much at stake as most of the rest of these patients. This is what I mean when I say I feel like a spy. The last time I saw him he was sitting at the window sobbing.