Therapy, Gossip & Bingo

On the fourth day of rehab my therapist said to me…I had two therapist, Physical and Occupational and when I first met them they said my chart said no restrictions. This was incorrect due to the 40 lb. maximum weight capacity on my left leg and restrictions on bending forward or lifting the upper leg higher than 90°. So we went over this, making sure that it was written down for all to see. After a 2011 rehab disaster, I wanted everyone on the same page. Basically they started me off on hopping 10 feet on a walker on my good leg and doing a hand pedal bike for 15 min. It was incredible how, that little of movement was throughly exhausting to me.

Within that first week I learned how to get out of bed with a leg assist device that looks like a leash attached to a dog except the dog is missing. That was a celebration of epic proportion because it equaled a bit of freedom from having to wait for anyone to help me up and I could also use the bathroom on my own. In that first week I did a lot of occupational therapy on learning how to get up and down from a toilet, chair and to get on a shower bench only using one leg. I took for granted how easy these daily necessities were, but when you are limited in mobility and strength you really have to slow down, think about what you are doing and then very carefully execute each movement. My progress in a week was quite impressive to the therapist as well as the nurses on my floor. It gave my mood a boost even though I was stuck in this mental institution, because I knew it was just a matter of time before I would be at home. My brother was concerned about me going home too soon due to living alone and the weight restriction for 6 weeks. I agreed to split the difference of three weeks in the hospital/rehab and three weeks at home.

My rehab was always in the morning which resulted in a lot of downtime in the afternoon. At first the downtime was great due to how tired I would get but after of few days of getting my strength back I was super bored in the afternoon. This is when I discovered group crafts, karaoke and bingo! Most people that know me well, know that I am a fierce bingo competitor.

The way you are competitive at Bingo is, when you are super close to winning blackout bingo, and I mean one number away, and some 90 year old raises their frail 2 lb. arm in the air and whispers in a super exhausted voice…bingo, you lose your shit! Maybe you flip your card over and wheel away in your while angrily shaking your head or maybe you clear your board quietly but vow to steal the winners dessert when they fall asleep eating dinner. It could be a multitude of insane thoughts, but usually one pops up and its never a good. Karaoke was not really a group participation activity. It was mostly the Filipino staff, and if you have any Filipino friends you know the stereotype holds true on how much they love Karaoke, singing super loud all of the songs they wanted to sing and clapping off beat while everyone sat dazed and mouth agape in their wheelchairs. I enjoyed watching this and giggled during the hour long “sing-a-long.” Another activity was nail painting and a movie (no popcorn) which I attended with a friend visiting me. I ended up painting my own nails due to high demand of the unlicensed manicurist but I did have a patient ask when I would be ready to do his manicure.

During my downtime or when nobody was visiting, I would listen to the patients gossip about one another or the men talk about their sexual conquests in their youth. That was a lip curling listening experience, especially when they would pause to get some creamer/sugar for the watered down decaffeinated excuse for coffee, in their open hospital gowns and I would get an eyeful of old man but crack and saggy balls. My eyes will never unsee those images and even though I knew it was going to happen every day, the morphine made my reflexes a bit slower and I would always turn away just a bit to late. I’m going to need therapy for these memories. Every other day my friend would Postmate me a large latte and bagel sandwich that made the delivery guys always look so confused when dropping it off to me. On one of the delivery mornings, a nurse; who was a drag queen performer by night (I saw pics) called me a “Bougie Marin Bitch” in which I retorted “Girl, don’t be jealous. It’s an ugly color on you.”