Just to help me get my thoughts in order about this day, let me repeat a few things I posted yesterday. Oh, come on, how bad can it be to re-read a sentence or two? After all, they have nothing to do with politics.
I
had an early wake up call (5:30) visit from one of the baby docs in
neuro. I recognized her from the teams visit in the holding tank. She asked
questions and did a physical exam. Very professional. Said she would return later
with the rest of the team.
And
before long another baby doc showed up. She was not with the team though.
Probably first year. She asked her questions, reading directly from
her checklist. Then she left the room. Oops. In a scant minute or two she was
back. She forgot to do a physical exam. That didn’t take long, and she was
gone.
But
by then it was time for the neurosurgery team to pop in. Same questions. The
head baby doc told me he would forego the physical since I had already been
subjected to it twice. He also said the magic words. “We’re gonna cut you
loose.”
And
as exciting as those words were, he was careful to avoid any hint of a specific
time. Good thing, because there were a
host of other visits I had to receive before I could actually leave. Fortunately Chris talked her way up to the
floor before visiting hours opened, so I had some company while waiting for
what I assumed would be some more paperwork as well.
The
physical therapy guy came in to do his evaluation. He was kind of surprised that I already had
my street clothes on. He asked me if I
could sit on the side of the bed. So I did. But apparently he was just asking. He didn’t expect me to be able to without
help. He did a physical exam where I had to put pressure on his hands with my hands,
arms, knees and legs. That’s when he
said, “You have just passed the test to go home at a higher level than the one
to go back to active duty in the military, and we haven’t even walked the floor
yet.” I replied, “Well, do tell
them. I don’t want to get drafted.” He wanted to know what kind of high-exercise
job I did to keep me in this kind of shape.
I told him I was a pastor. He
asked if I did a lot of standing. I
agreed with that, and added, “and a lot of sitting at my desk.” He replied, “Well, I just don’t understand
you and your pain threshold.” I added, “Thanks,
I guess.” We did make that jaunt around the
unit. As we passed the window looking out
over the Bay, he wondered, “How did you manage to get into the VIP room right
next to this view?” Hmm. Must be that job of mine. Connections in “high places.”
The
occupational therapist was most helpful when she arrived. She was in full-on teaching mode. She gave us a teaching spiel, complete with personal
illustrations, on log rolling in and out of bed. Believe me, it’s harder than it sounds. In fact, I still don’t have it down. I also learned the three basics of life after
back surgery – BLT:
1. Bending – No bending
backwards at all. Bending forward has to
be done as much as possible without involving bending at the waist.
2. Lifting – absolutely no
lifting anything heavier than a half-gallon of milk. I can lift a gallon of milk to pour it into a
glass, IF it is already sitting on the counter and I am just using my arms to
lift it.
3. Twisting – Probably the
hardest of all. I can’t turn my upper
torso in a twist of any kind. So don’t
sneak up behind me and call my name. I’ll
either forget and twist around to see you, or it will take me forever to respond,
while I process the sound, communicate the appropriate message from my head to
my legs to take the five or six extra steps necessary to turn my entire body
around, and then actually follow THOSE commands instead of the instinctual ones
that explode into my head before I can even begin to think.
That
was all the going-home teaching I had to have.
Strangely enough, however, it took until past noon before I was actually
allowed to climb into the wheelchair and vacate the premises. The floor nurse came in and asked if I wanted
to have my flu shot while I was there.
It would “just take twenty minutes to get it from pharmacy, because I
had to have the shot for special people.”
Yep. There it is folks, straight
from the mouth of a hospital professional.
I am special. Of course, by “special”
she just meant I am over 65, but let’s keep that between us, shall we?
Well,
the twenty minutes drifted into an hour.
I had also requested a quick visit from one of the neurosurgery team
before they left the floor, but they got called to the surgery unit, so that
never materialized. We finally told the
nurse to forget the shot and tell the neuro people we’d talk to them at my
two-week follow-up. I’ll just go to
Randall’s and get it later. That was the
last decision necessary, I guess. The exit
wheelchair was at the ready, and we headed out.
I
slept OK last night, being in my own bed and all. Around 11:30 Chris decided to sleep in a
different bed, because she was afraid she would roll over and smack me in the back. We’ll figure that out as we go along. Now we’ll see how day two goes. Oh, and who is our president now?
Hebrews
13:8 says, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.”
Father,
thank you for home. It’s good to be
here. Be with the vote-counters … and
with the country, no matter who wins the election. Amen.
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