It was my first day at Parkwood and my first supper. Lunch and supper was eaten in a common dining room. It was a room that had windows facing the elevators. My dinner was a ‘modified diet’, aka baby food consistency.
A few things happened on that first day and a few weeks later that has stuck with me this entire time.
The first was the unexpected arrival of my mom. She had mentioned the day before she couldn’t make into London. Therefore I wasn’t expecting her, to see her familiar silhouette walk off the elevator was so overwhelming. The sun was shining through the windows behind her and was casting a halo like glow around her. It was the stuff you see in movies. Music should have accompanied that moment. I was so happy I couldn’t stop crying long enough to eat. Eventually they took me to my room since I was more than likely disturbing others.
The second thing I think of often happened a few weeks later, just as I was getting in the swing of things and making some progress. I was eating in the dining room and could hear a woman crying. It was a gut wrenching cry. It was all too familiar cry to me, since I made that noise on a regular basis. The word in the dining room was a type of hushed buzzing. I finally heard that the patient was being transferred to a nursing home the next day.
Was that her destiny? The miracle maker of a hospital didn’t work for her. I never met her and am completely unaware of her condition. I can say that my condition was limited and the overall prognosis was not positive. I can say that I had huge support and many people telling me things would get better. I had the advantage of people telling me stories of people achieving things that doctor’s didn’t feel very optimistic about. I’ll bet she didn’t believe nor had the support I did. Telling me it was going to get better. I think of that day when I am feeling sorry for myself and need to be reminded that things could be so much worse. Sharing that right now is making me appreciate today for what it is and not what it could have been had I not hd the stroke
I often referred to dinner time as the Swiss Chalet club. Which would make my mom furious since she likes Swiss Chalet Dinner was at a strikingly early 4:30. I made the comparison to Swiss Chalet because whenever I ate at the restaurant there was a room full of older people. The dining room was full of older people except for 3 of us being the youngest by 30 years. Sadly the other two other younger patients left soon after I was admitted. So it was me with the older people. The food was nowhere near Swiss Chalet
The meeting of everyone in the dining room allowed for discussions. This didn’t happen on a regular basis but one patient ‘Gladys’ was very vocal and initiated conversations while she was a patient. (I would see many patients come and go because my stay was so long. 51/2 months) Gladys would ask how everyone was doing in their therapies. I suspect she was trying to compare notes and seeing where everyone was and how they were doing up until that point as a way to measure her own success. Initially I was hesitant to share since my recovery was said to be out of the ordinary, likely since I was so young compared to everyone else but soon I realized it was giving her hope. Hope and then she would start to believe it could be done. So I thought if it’s giving hope then age difference be dammed. Believing in herself was half the battle. Mind over matter.
Two good friends of mine were getting married a week after I was admitted. It wasn’t unusual to be allowed to attend different events or be allowed to go home for the weekends. It was unusual I was allowed to go to the ceremony so early on in my stay.
Another friend of mine made sure I looked good. She outfitted me from head to toe. She did the shopping, made a few selections and let me pick which I liked the best. I know she does not want to be mentioned by name. As trivial as it may seem it was a big deal. I went to the wedding self conscious of the wheel chair (and necessary head rest) but not by my outfit. So thank you.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Being Admitted to Parkwood
I looked forward to the new phase but was scared as hell. I may have seen a lot of repetition and my days were the same but at least I knew what to expect. A kind nurse even gave me a nibble of chocolate as a going away present. It was fairly hush hush until it happened. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to the nurse’s that cared for me the most. They really made the difference. I have a new admiration and respect for nurses. They really have to be special people to do what they do. Thank you.
It was a strange sensation to be viewing the city from the back window of an ambulance. Prior to the stroke I had been living in London. The strangest part of it all was the route to the hospital was very familiar to me. Parkwood Hospital was only 2 blocks from my house. I was traveling on roads that took me to the local grocery store, video store, restaurants and my running route I had run for 6 years. It felt good to see the way things had been. I was riveted despite the cute ambulance attendant and the conversation with him. It just seemed like I should be out in the cars participating in my surroundings not watching them from the ambulance.
We pulled up to the entrance and I was wheeled in the automatic sliding doors than in the elevator to the 3rd floor and down the halls. It was like it was happening in slow motion. I remember looking around me trying to take in all of my new surroundings. Just talking about it takes me back to being on a stretcher and viewing things from a laying down position. I was trying to read the signs as I zipped by, I was just happy and proud I could read and understand them.
I was deposited in my new room that I shared with a much older woman. My new nurse pulled the curtain since she had to take a rectal swab to ensure I wasn’t bringing in any bacteria or disease. This procedure that was slightly embarrassing. But at that point I was used to being poked and prodded. I have come to learn that in those situations your body is not your own anymore. Privacy went out the window. I’m far less modest now.
After the nurse shared with me the lay of the land and what to expect she left me on my own. The poor woman sharing the room with me had to hear me. I just cried in disbelief that this was really happening. Thankfully I wasn’t alone for long. Mom couldn’t make it (it was the first time since being admitted) but it would be soon time for Mike to be off work.
It was a strange sensation to be viewing the city from the back window of an ambulance. Prior to the stroke I had been living in London. The strangest part of it all was the route to the hospital was very familiar to me. Parkwood Hospital was only 2 blocks from my house. I was traveling on roads that took me to the local grocery store, video store, restaurants and my running route I had run for 6 years. It felt good to see the way things had been. I was riveted despite the cute ambulance attendant and the conversation with him. It just seemed like I should be out in the cars participating in my surroundings not watching them from the ambulance.
We pulled up to the entrance and I was wheeled in the automatic sliding doors than in the elevator to the 3rd floor and down the halls. It was like it was happening in slow motion. I remember looking around me trying to take in all of my new surroundings. Just talking about it takes me back to being on a stretcher and viewing things from a laying down position. I was trying to read the signs as I zipped by, I was just happy and proud I could read and understand them.
I was deposited in my new room that I shared with a much older woman. My new nurse pulled the curtain since she had to take a rectal swab to ensure I wasn’t bringing in any bacteria or disease. This procedure that was slightly embarrassing. But at that point I was used to being poked and prodded. I have come to learn that in those situations your body is not your own anymore. Privacy went out the window. I’m far less modest now.
After the nurse shared with me the lay of the land and what to expect she left me on my own. The poor woman sharing the room with me had to hear me. I just cried in disbelief that this was really happening. Thankfully I wasn’t alone for long. Mom couldn’t make it (it was the first time since being admitted) but it would be soon time for Mike to be off work.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Transfer
My days at University Hospital were numbered, and really it was about time for me to leave. My health concerns had cleared up and a bed had opened up. It was common for discussions about a patient to occur at the patient’s room door. The doctor’s assumed the patient couldn’t hear what was being said but I had. I had not heard the entire conversation. I had heard something about just before or just after the long weekend in May.
I couldn’t help but look forward to the long weekend. In the past I had looked forward to the long weekend because it was a type of kick off for the summer and some serious partying would occur. This long weekend held a different significance it meant....... moving forward. I didn’t look forward to weekends while in the hospital since it meant that my routine was interrupted. The normal staff had the weekends off. But this weekend couldn’t come fast enough. I had never been formally told that this was actually happening. Nonetheless I was convinced of what I had heard.
The day finally arrived.
It began the same as every other morning. It wasn’t until a few hours before it was actually going to happen that I was officially told I was being transferred. That’s when the anxiety set in. I can only guess the reason for the anxiety. As boring as things were, at least I knew what to expect. It was bittersweet. I was moving on but leaving behind the comfort of familiarity.
I couldn’t help but look forward to the long weekend. In the past I had looked forward to the long weekend because it was a type of kick off for the summer and some serious partying would occur. This long weekend held a different significance it meant....... moving forward. I didn’t look forward to weekends while in the hospital since it meant that my routine was interrupted. The normal staff had the weekends off. But this weekend couldn’t come fast enough. I had never been formally told that this was actually happening. Nonetheless I was convinced of what I had heard.
The day finally arrived.
It began the same as every other morning. It wasn’t until a few hours before it was actually going to happen that I was officially told I was being transferred. That’s when the anxiety set in. I can only guess the reason for the anxiety. As boring as things were, at least I knew what to expect. It was bittersweet. I was moving on but leaving behind the comfort of familiarity.
Monday, September 13, 2010
My daily Life at University Hospital
The tube was out and I was relearning how to talk. Thankfully, I’m a talker so I am getting lots of practice. My stay at University hospital was very boring. Each day was almost identical to the one previous. It was the sameness that I grew comfortable with and looked forward to the same things day after day.
Days started with a shower. The shower procedure very unique. I would be transferred onto a 'shower bed' that was water repellent (like a raincoat) with wheels. I was covered only by a blanket and wheeled to the shower room. It was suggested that I continue to use the soap and shampoo I would at home. This way I had familiar smells around me. The nurses would shower me as I lay on the shower bed since I couldn’t do it myself. Without fail the nurses would comment on how nice my shampoo and soaps (Aveda) smelled. It did provide a small comfort to have the familiar around me during a very unfamiliar time.
After personal hygiene was taken care of and my hair was brushed the next thing on the agenda was to lie in bed watching TV. Sometimes my TV was interrupted by a therapy team. Physical Therapists and an occupational therapist would come to my room for 1 hour of therapy. My very first therapy was full of tears it was then confirmed for me(the doctors likely knew, but I didn't).....I couldn’t sit on the side of the bed without falling over.
Before their initial appointment it hadn’t occurred to me to even try. I guess on some level I knew that that would pose some problems. The cause of the instability was the fact that I had NO balance.
Over time I progressed to standing with support. I would look out the window and see the parking garage and busy road. This road was significant since I would travel either running, walking or via bus along this road to get to University. How some things come full circle? I was once a student at the campus and would trek around University Hospital to get to my classes. Now I was a patient within the building that was a nuisance to walk around. (What I would give to be able to walk on the campus, even in the cold and slush)
Therapy was pretty basic. Stand in place or move and\or stack cones. Never both at the same time, that would be too complicated. Stacking things was much like the games I would get my younger brother to play when he was a baby......This is what I was reduced to. The thing that stands out-is that my brain was alert and could recognize the activity was very simple and infant like but my body would not cooperate and easily do the task. My movements were very jerky and erratic and would even miss the target altogether.
After therapy I would have an afternoon of more TV, except I am not into soap Opera’s so TV wasn’t that exciting. I’m not sure what I watched- likely HGTV. What I am sure of is the countdown would have begun for visiting hours. Occasionally I would have someone unexpected in the afternoon. A friend or someone that knew m,e that was at the hospital for another reason and would stop by. Later on after work it was mostly my family; Mom, Dad, and Mike. After supper time ( not mine since I wasn’t eating) Jon might come if he wasn’t working. This was also a time when others would come. So I enjoyed the evenings since they were filled with variety. The early afternoons was a time I had to amuse myself, even though it was only a few hours, went so slooww and dragged on forever.
It occurred to me in early days I realized I was not dressed for visitors. I only had the pathetic hospital gown and NO bra. I was self conscious about that for a bit but that thought went away when I started being dressed in some of my comfy clothes that I would have worn bumming around the house but still No bra. That must of been of serious importance since in my delusional haze I had a dream I ran home and got one.
Going to the bathroom was out of the question so I had to wear adult diapers. I got to the point that I would hold it almost all day because it was embarrassing to alert the nurse I needed to be changed. Just admitting that is embarrassing but that was the reality. It wasn’t until I had been discharged from all hospitals that I thought about an alternative-the bedpan. When I was admitted into Parkwood I was put on the toilet on a regular basis (when I had to go). But due to my no balance the nurse stayed with me. Bowel movements became less private.
At the time it felt like hospital stays were going to be create huge hole in my life and at the time were consuming my lifebut looking back on it...it’s just a small blip. I've now learned not to sweat stuff because it will improve OR with the passage of time seem less and less important in the grand scheme of things.
Days started with a shower. The shower procedure very unique. I would be transferred onto a 'shower bed' that was water repellent (like a raincoat) with wheels. I was covered only by a blanket and wheeled to the shower room. It was suggested that I continue to use the soap and shampoo I would at home. This way I had familiar smells around me. The nurses would shower me as I lay on the shower bed since I couldn’t do it myself. Without fail the nurses would comment on how nice my shampoo and soaps (Aveda) smelled. It did provide a small comfort to have the familiar around me during a very unfamiliar time.
After personal hygiene was taken care of and my hair was brushed the next thing on the agenda was to lie in bed watching TV. Sometimes my TV was interrupted by a therapy team. Physical Therapists and an occupational therapist would come to my room for 1 hour of therapy. My very first therapy was full of tears it was then confirmed for me(the doctors likely knew, but I didn't).....I couldn’t sit on the side of the bed without falling over.
Before their initial appointment it hadn’t occurred to me to even try. I guess on some level I knew that that would pose some problems. The cause of the instability was the fact that I had NO balance.
Over time I progressed to standing with support. I would look out the window and see the parking garage and busy road. This road was significant since I would travel either running, walking or via bus along this road to get to University. How some things come full circle? I was once a student at the campus and would trek around University Hospital to get to my classes. Now I was a patient within the building that was a nuisance to walk around. (What I would give to be able to walk on the campus, even in the cold and slush)
Therapy was pretty basic. Stand in place or move and\or stack cones. Never both at the same time, that would be too complicated. Stacking things was much like the games I would get my younger brother to play when he was a baby......This is what I was reduced to. The thing that stands out-is that my brain was alert and could recognize the activity was very simple and infant like but my body would not cooperate and easily do the task. My movements were very jerky and erratic and would even miss the target altogether.
After therapy I would have an afternoon of more TV, except I am not into soap Opera’s so TV wasn’t that exciting. I’m not sure what I watched- likely HGTV. What I am sure of is the countdown would have begun for visiting hours. Occasionally I would have someone unexpected in the afternoon. A friend or someone that knew m,e that was at the hospital for another reason and would stop by. Later on after work it was mostly my family; Mom, Dad, and Mike. After supper time ( not mine since I wasn’t eating) Jon might come if he wasn’t working. This was also a time when others would come. So I enjoyed the evenings since they were filled with variety. The early afternoons was a time I had to amuse myself, even though it was only a few hours, went so slooww and dragged on forever.
It occurred to me in early days I realized I was not dressed for visitors. I only had the pathetic hospital gown and NO bra. I was self conscious about that for a bit but that thought went away when I started being dressed in some of my comfy clothes that I would have worn bumming around the house but still No bra. That must of been of serious importance since in my delusional haze I had a dream I ran home and got one.
Going to the bathroom was out of the question so I had to wear adult diapers. I got to the point that I would hold it almost all day because it was embarrassing to alert the nurse I needed to be changed. Just admitting that is embarrassing but that was the reality. It wasn’t until I had been discharged from all hospitals that I thought about an alternative-the bedpan. When I was admitted into Parkwood I was put on the toilet on a regular basis (when I had to go). But due to my no balance the nurse stayed with me. Bowel movements became less private.
At the time it felt like hospital stays were going to be create huge hole in my life and at the time were consuming my lifebut looking back on it...it’s just a small blip. I've now learned not to sweat stuff because it will improve OR with the passage of time seem less and less important in the grand scheme of things.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Motivation
At a time when things were looking very bleak, a few questions nagged at me. The first was; how much better was this going to get? At that point I was still lying in a bed with limited movements, my talking was jumbled, I wasn’t eating. People would try to reassure me that things would improve. They were right, but at the time I had a hard time believing them. However those stories would echo in my mind as a collective unit that things can get better.
In the beginning my gut response to the thought it would possibly was to cry (when wasn’t it). I thought ‘Here I am lying in bed with limited movement, how was it going to get better?’ It appeared to me that that was it. I wasn’t moving part of my body, breathing on my own, nor talking without effort. It was going to get better!? But people persisted not knowing my inner thoughts that would refute their well meaning success stories. I’m glad they shared these stories since they later had an impact on my recovery. Eventually I started to believe them.
It was when I was transferred to the Rehabilitation hospital (Parkwood) my attitude had swung to more consistent positive mindset. Fortunately the many success stories coupled with the following gave me additional motivation; I shared a room with a woman 88 years old. I was told she came to the hospital in bad condition and was being discharged using a walker. I thought this place performs miracles. In addition an article was published in the newspaper ranking Parkwood hospital as the best stroke recovery hospital in Canada. I clung to those two positive thoughts daily.
The most important motivating factor in having a positive attitude was meeting with a woman around my age who had experienced a stroke and had a recovery that I could aspire and strive for. Her father told me that I was further along than she had been at the same time in her recovery. The most significant event that made me so hopeful was just meeting her and seeing her walk towards me as I sit trapped in a wheelchair. It really did emphasize the results with my own eyes. It gave me the inspiration to push forward with an idea of what could happen. I had the all important hope now I just had to believe it and work hard. The skys the limit. I belive now more than ever, that you can achieve whatever you set your mind to!
In the beginning my gut response to the thought it would possibly was to cry (when wasn’t it). I thought ‘Here I am lying in bed with limited movement, how was it going to get better?’ It appeared to me that that was it. I wasn’t moving part of my body, breathing on my own, nor talking without effort. It was going to get better!? But people persisted not knowing my inner thoughts that would refute their well meaning success stories. I’m glad they shared these stories since they later had an impact on my recovery. Eventually I started to believe them.
It was when I was transferred to the Rehabilitation hospital (Parkwood) my attitude had swung to more consistent positive mindset. Fortunately the many success stories coupled with the following gave me additional motivation; I shared a room with a woman 88 years old. I was told she came to the hospital in bad condition and was being discharged using a walker. I thought this place performs miracles. In addition an article was published in the newspaper ranking Parkwood hospital as the best stroke recovery hospital in Canada. I clung to those two positive thoughts daily.
The most important motivating factor in having a positive attitude was meeting with a woman around my age who had experienced a stroke and had a recovery that I could aspire and strive for. Her father told me that I was further along than she had been at the same time in her recovery. The most significant event that made me so hopeful was just meeting her and seeing her walk towards me as I sit trapped in a wheelchair. It really did emphasize the results with my own eyes. It gave me the inspiration to push forward with an idea of what could happen. I had the all important hope now I just had to believe it and work hard. The skys the limit. I belive now more than ever, that you can achieve whatever you set your mind to!
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