Sunday, March 14, 2010


Rehab for broken bones.
I am here now for 7 days.
The entrance foyer decorated with taste, probabbly 10 years ago when
hunter green/wine and gold stripes were the fabric of choice. So are the windows decorated.
The furniture is all reproduction, a mix of Federal and Cabriole legs on cheap end tables.
The budget was small to be sure but it beats trailer furniture by a mile or two.
If they had kids or dogs here this kind of stuff would be kindling in 4 years but what they have
is little old ladies and grouchy old men. Most in wheelchairs or crawling on walkers.
They move slowly, they will not bump into the credenza. In the rooms it is another
story that is more Sauder type stuff and that has seen some scratches from our wheel commanding vehicles. I think I already have added my stripes on a dresser.
Down the wide halls on silent greenish industrial carpets we shuffle.
This is not a place to come to and cheer up.
At least it is not for me.
I look at the occupants and it is not a healthy picture.
People with strokes,people with heart attacks, broken bones, we are a dynosaure lot ready for the last hunt.
When you see photos in the brochures of a rehab you see gorgeous old ladies with white teeth hanging over a husband who looks like a gorgeous old gay guy. Where do they get these people? I looked here
and could not find a one to fit the Madison Ave advertising criteria.
I am told that I will get therapy every day for 5 days a week.
When it started it was not all that bad, Nautilus machines that I remember from 20 years ago
but the weaving, unknotting to check your accuracy is not a challenge, then I notice how much of a challenge it is for some. Yikes. This is not even an Alzheimer section.
The head therapist has a jolly Irish face , looks like a grown up leprechaun.
His eyes twinkle and he has a great mischievious smile. You would hand over your first born
to him so he gets you to sweat and you do not even know it. You want to please this guy no
matter what the burns in your arms feel like.
My goal is to get home and resume the care of my husband. It is not going to happen.
I work out and double what they ask from me. Count me 20 the pretty girl tells me and I do
30, I work and I work. Goal is HOME.
I continue to battle depression., I vaguely remember the week before I came here.
I just did not want to continue, I thought and thought about how I could just go to sleep and not wake up. BUT I am a person born from people who felt that we always had duties and we had to do them
no matter what. My husband is and was my duty no matter what. So I did not take the pills but I
continued to be so run down. I fell asleep with my head on the kitchen table, in my chair,
wherever there was q uiet moment.
Here in the new sanctuary between the push ups and jumps (one legged ones) I have time to sleep.
I do it often. I always wake up wanting more , perhaps the thyroid is not being friendly this week.
More to come.......................

1 comment:

Unknown said...

You are such a strong tough lady with a fabulous sense of humor. You have been in my thoughts and prayers. My mom (80) would be just as thrilled (not) to be there...but keep counting down the days. There should be flowers in your yard soon if the weather stays nice!

If you get bored feel free to read one of my blogs. :D