(no subject)
So, I have been here in the rehab unit of the hospital for nearly two weeks now. I am doing just great with my therapy, though I do have the occasional meltdown where I just start feeling all sorry for myself and wimpering about how much it sucks to be me. Fortunately, I am not generally such a cranky and self-pitying ducky, so I usually get over it pretty quickly and return to my fun-loving self. I have been quietly storing away all kinds of rubber gloves, straws, curlex bandages and medical tape to play with once I get home. I also blew up a rubber glove, wrote "Hi" across the palm, and taped it just above the door handle to my room. I call it my "Hi Five" hand. Every time I leave my room and go get active with therapy, I give it a "hi five." There is also a markerboard in the room where they are supposed to mark the names of your nurse, medical tech, the day and date, and your therapy schedule for the day. Since the nurses and techs frequently forget to mark down their names on the board, I decided to give them names of my own. I have a nurse named Ratched, a nurse named Cherry Ames (does anyone remember her?), and a nurse called Helga. I also have a tech named Igor, and another named Sven. When I decide that Sven is my tech, the activities I schedule generally involve sponge baths and massages. Some days, if I can get to the main therapy board before the therapists do, I try to include activities like Clothing Optional Twister, Poker Tournaments, Wheelchair races, and Arm Wrestling. The problem is getting everyone else to participate in these therapeutic and fun activities. Old guys with broken hips can be pretty stodgy, I find.
I have a roommate that had the same leg amputated as I did, on the same day, at Community Hospital (three rooms away from me on the same floor), by the same surgeon, only three hours later than I did. She's only a year older than I am, also diabetic, so we have a lot of health woes in common. They moved us both into the same room here at the rehab on the same day. The doctor occasionally calls us the "twins." My roommate is a very nice lady, but much more of a whiner and a lot more "needy" than I am. The whining about how bad things are and how worried she is or how much pain she is in drives me crazy, because she is barely doing enough therapy to take care of herself. She still needs people to get her on and off the toilet, and out of bed, and in and out of the shower. She should be at least TRYING to do some of this stuff for herself by now. The hospital has already told her that she will not be going home any sooner than four days after I do, because she is not making fast enough progress. If she is not able to do this stuff for herself, they will either have to send her to a rehab/nursing home of some kind, or her husband and kid will have to do everything for her at home.
I'm scheduled to go home on the 14th. I will be moving into a new apartment on that day. Does anyone remember ducky's "dream apartment" that I wanted to live in last summer, but got screwed out of when the tenant paid the late rent and signed the lease the day he was going to be evicted? Well, said tenant suddenly moved out and broke his lease, leaving the landlord without a tenant. He managed to find me IN THE HOSPITAL, and asked if I would still be interested in the place. Would I? Let's see, my place has a bedroom upstairs that I will not be able to go to until after I get my prosthesis about four to six months from now, the bathroom door and kitchen door are not big enough for my wheelchair, so I won't be able to get into my bathroom, and this "dream apartment" actually has large enough doors and is all on one floor. PLUS, the new landlord is putting in a wheelchair ramp and bathtub grab bars for me in order to have me rent it. So, yeah, I'm thinking I definitely want it. Some friends from church are helping to pack up my old place and get everything moved. All I will have to do is go into the new apartment and start unpacking. So, amid all the chaos and being sick and pain and sad stuff, there is still a lot of hope and good things.
I'm thinking about coming back to the hospital and helping as a volunteer here in the rehab unit, to help encourage other people who are in the same boat as I am. A couple of the therapists think this would be a fantastic idea, as it would do other amputees good to see someone who has actually been there and managed to successfully get the work done and be able to go home and live a pretty much full and normal life. It's also good for other amputees to see an example of how the therapy exercises are done by someone with the same disability, instead of a non-amputee trying to show them how to walk on one leg when they actually have two. The hardest part for me has been to build confidence in myself enough to do things without assistance, and not be afriad of looking undignified or ungraceful. Because, dignity and grace and poise generally leap out the window where hospitals and wheelcahirs are concerned. I look like a beached dolphin trying to wiggle myself to the side of my bed to get into my chair in the morning, and my wagging little stump looks mighty strange without a shin-bone and foot hanging off the end.
Well, enough from the latest ducky report. It's 11:15 here at the hospital, and this little ducky needs to tuck into her little bed and sleep. I have therapy again in the morning. I can hardly wait to get home and start decorating the fabulous Duck Pond Estate, Phase Eight or Nine or something. It's gonna be good!
hugs from ducky
I have a roommate that had the same leg amputated as I did, on the same day, at Community Hospital (three rooms away from me on the same floor), by the same surgeon, only three hours later than I did. She's only a year older than I am, also diabetic, so we have a lot of health woes in common. They moved us both into the same room here at the rehab on the same day. The doctor occasionally calls us the "twins." My roommate is a very nice lady, but much more of a whiner and a lot more "needy" than I am. The whining about how bad things are and how worried she is or how much pain she is in drives me crazy, because she is barely doing enough therapy to take care of herself. She still needs people to get her on and off the toilet, and out of bed, and in and out of the shower. She should be at least TRYING to do some of this stuff for herself by now. The hospital has already told her that she will not be going home any sooner than four days after I do, because she is not making fast enough progress. If she is not able to do this stuff for herself, they will either have to send her to a rehab/nursing home of some kind, or her husband and kid will have to do everything for her at home.
I'm scheduled to go home on the 14th. I will be moving into a new apartment on that day. Does anyone remember ducky's "dream apartment" that I wanted to live in last summer, but got screwed out of when the tenant paid the late rent and signed the lease the day he was going to be evicted? Well, said tenant suddenly moved out and broke his lease, leaving the landlord without a tenant. He managed to find me IN THE HOSPITAL, and asked if I would still be interested in the place. Would I? Let's see, my place has a bedroom upstairs that I will not be able to go to until after I get my prosthesis about four to six months from now, the bathroom door and kitchen door are not big enough for my wheelchair, so I won't be able to get into my bathroom, and this "dream apartment" actually has large enough doors and is all on one floor. PLUS, the new landlord is putting in a wheelchair ramp and bathtub grab bars for me in order to have me rent it. So, yeah, I'm thinking I definitely want it. Some friends from church are helping to pack up my old place and get everything moved. All I will have to do is go into the new apartment and start unpacking. So, amid all the chaos and being sick and pain and sad stuff, there is still a lot of hope and good things.
I'm thinking about coming back to the hospital and helping as a volunteer here in the rehab unit, to help encourage other people who are in the same boat as I am. A couple of the therapists think this would be a fantastic idea, as it would do other amputees good to see someone who has actually been there and managed to successfully get the work done and be able to go home and live a pretty much full and normal life. It's also good for other amputees to see an example of how the therapy exercises are done by someone with the same disability, instead of a non-amputee trying to show them how to walk on one leg when they actually have two. The hardest part for me has been to build confidence in myself enough to do things without assistance, and not be afriad of looking undignified or ungraceful. Because, dignity and grace and poise generally leap out the window where hospitals and wheelcahirs are concerned. I look like a beached dolphin trying to wiggle myself to the side of my bed to get into my chair in the morning, and my wagging little stump looks mighty strange without a shin-bone and foot hanging off the end.
Well, enough from the latest ducky report. It's 11:15 here at the hospital, and this little ducky needs to tuck into her little bed and sleep. I have therapy again in the morning. I can hardly wait to get home and start decorating the fabulous Duck Pond Estate, Phase Eight or Nine or something. It's gonna be good!
hugs from ducky