In addition to continuing the narrative, I'll also be experimenting with the general look of the blog. Just bear with me.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Accident History: Part 6
Before I could begin my surprisingly short stint in inpatient rehab, I had to actually get there. For the first time in nearly two months, I was actually outdoors, but only long enough to move me into the loading area and onto an ambulance. (I had at least one window in my hospital room, but the flat of my back was an inopportune position for seeing anything but passing clouds.)
After the artificially lit and largely sterile hospital interior, being outside for even a brief time was almost surreal. Being mostly disconnected from my menagerie of tubes, sensors, and other apparatuses was a very liberating experience, but actually being outside, if only for a few minutes, was definitely a hallmark achievement. (Because I was largely--if not entirely--cognizant at the time, I remember the nurses being very emotional at my departure; it wouldn't dawn on me until much later, but their understandable skepticism at me even surviving, much less recovering, made my leaving the hospital seem to be a nearly unprecedented accomplishment and triumph. It was a victory that they had facilitated, but I believe the gravity of the outcome of their hard work and diligence was only truly realized when I was actually cleared to leave and on my way out.)
My trip was fairly unremarkable; my dad rode with me in the ambulance, along with the requisite paramedic, and after staring at an entirely new ceiling for an hour or so, we arrived. I was then slowly taken out of the ambulance and carted into the facility. Now, much like any hospital or rehabilitative center, my new surroundings were not particularly remarkable, but the fact that they were at all different from the hospital was a rather stark change for me.
The center was divided into several "wings," with each one corresponding to different types of injuries: stroke, spinal, etc. I was wheeled into the brain injury area, which was actually sealed off from the rest of the facility via a coded door to prevent any of the patients from wandering outside the section and hurting themselves or others. (Although I was bed-bound, many of the other patients were not afflicted with such comprehensive, whole-body injuries, so they were able to come and go from their rooms, at least to a certain degree, when they were not eating or in therapy.)
Because I was still afflicted with a MRSA infection, I was the sole occupant of a two-person room; this certainly allowed me a degree of spaciousness and freedom that I would not truly appreciate until a later procedure, but that fact was largely lost on me at the time because I was boarded in a single at the hospital as well.
I may only have advanced a day thus far, but there's quite a bit more to come. As I said before, I'll try to gain positive ground this week. I'm sure I'll reflect back on times in both the hospital and inpatient rehab even after the narrative has moved beyond those times, but you'll just have to bear with my periodic chronological relapses.
After the artificially lit and largely sterile hospital interior, being outside for even a brief time was almost surreal. Being mostly disconnected from my menagerie of tubes, sensors, and other apparatuses was a very liberating experience, but actually being outside, if only for a few minutes, was definitely a hallmark achievement. (Because I was largely--if not entirely--cognizant at the time, I remember the nurses being very emotional at my departure; it wouldn't dawn on me until much later, but their understandable skepticism at me even surviving, much less recovering, made my leaving the hospital seem to be a nearly unprecedented accomplishment and triumph. It was a victory that they had facilitated, but I believe the gravity of the outcome of their hard work and diligence was only truly realized when I was actually cleared to leave and on my way out.)
My trip was fairly unremarkable; my dad rode with me in the ambulance, along with the requisite paramedic, and after staring at an entirely new ceiling for an hour or so, we arrived. I was then slowly taken out of the ambulance and carted into the facility. Now, much like any hospital or rehabilitative center, my new surroundings were not particularly remarkable, but the fact that they were at all different from the hospital was a rather stark change for me.
The center was divided into several "wings," with each one corresponding to different types of injuries: stroke, spinal, etc. I was wheeled into the brain injury area, which was actually sealed off from the rest of the facility via a coded door to prevent any of the patients from wandering outside the section and hurting themselves or others. (Although I was bed-bound, many of the other patients were not afflicted with such comprehensive, whole-body injuries, so they were able to come and go from their rooms, at least to a certain degree, when they were not eating or in therapy.)
Because I was still afflicted with a MRSA infection, I was the sole occupant of a two-person room; this certainly allowed me a degree of spaciousness and freedom that I would not truly appreciate until a later procedure, but that fact was largely lost on me at the time because I was boarded in a single at the hospital as well.
I may only have advanced a day thus far, but there's quite a bit more to come. As I said before, I'll try to gain positive ground this week. I'm sure I'll reflect back on times in both the hospital and inpatient rehab even after the narrative has moved beyond those times, but you'll just have to bear with my periodic chronological relapses.
Update...
I've been woefully delinquent in posting of late, but work/school/life have made it difficult to make time. Once again, in the next week or so I'll try to gain a good deal of ground; I won't be able to bring the account up to the present day, but I'll try to make a significant advance nonetheless. I have time today, though, so I'll advance the history a month or so.
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