Seven Years Ago...the First Hospital

After several days in ICU, they moved me to a Primary Care Ward. For the first time, they gave me choices of what I wanted to eat. Daily, they supplied check sheets for upcoming meals. I was to check one from a category, two from another, and so on. But I had to use my left hand, so for the first couple of times I had to verbally tell them. Eventually I could do the check-offs with my left.
The new bed had a traction device with a bar overhead that I could grab with my left hand to leverage myself to scoot up or down the bed. I realized that I could also place my right hand with my good left on it.
It felt good to have my arm in some position other than at my side. I still was unable to move it, but my fingers were finally able to grasp objects. I spent my time “hanging out.”
My leg was a different story. They would come and move it, but I couldn’t do it with my own will. The leg, toes, ankle; all were lifeless except that I had full tactile sensation. I could sense the difference between hot or cold, and could tell them which direction they were moving it. I had regained some speech back, but still more times than I wanted, I would express the opposite. I think they knew that. I had to concentrate to get the correct word out. I remember resorting to hand signals with my good left side, displaying a thumb up or down, a finger point right or left.
Each bed had a TV for use. I never used it. My roommate’s TV would be on so loud that I used earplugs almost 24/7. For entertainment between visitors I used the bar. I would show off to visitors by grasping and pulling. I still had to use my left to get my right hand on the bar, but it was grasping it better, and I could even pull slightly.
After a week or so, they moved me to another room, changing beds. I missed that bar! I told them I wanted a bar. They obliged me.
The staff started the hunt for a rehabilitation program. My first angel came in the form of a representative from Northern California Rehabilitation Hospital. She worked with me. But RMC would not release me. The inactivity of my right leg caused it to swell slightly. They were not going to let me go. But my angel intervened, convincing the RMC staff that it was better for me to start rehabilitation with NCRH; the sooner the better. And since they had an open bed, there would be no delay.
So late one afternoon in April, more than three weeks after arriving at Club Red, I left. Gee, it was raining that day also.