Like a cairn marks the way in the mountains, moving to the rehab centre marked the way on the path back to the mountains. It was the first time since the accident that I would feel something akin to positivity after a long and exhausting fight through the gauntlet of surgeries. Photo by JM Watson
A Change Has Come
I transferred to the Life Rehab centre across the road from the Vincent Pallotti hospital for my post surgery rehabilitation. They just wheeled me across in the same hospital bed. It was the first time I had felt the sun on my skin for almost 7 weeks. Rehab was like a hospital in that we were in hospital beds in wards of 6 beds each. There were nurses and the same fluorescent lights. It was also unlike hospital, there was a canteen and a gym and patients were moving around freely, no longer confined to their beds. What a change.
On my arrival I met the physio, Madiga. She explained roughly how the setup works. I would sleep in the ward but would be doing guided gym sessions with her and an occupational therapist. They would get me into a wheelchair of my own. I would also be able to go to the canteen to eat meals. When she first saw me she asked why I was still in bed, I knew then that rehab had a different approach than that of the hospital. Instead of rest and recover, this was a place of action. Immediately I embraced that.
I didn’t have any physio that day, but I was able to use a kommode for the first time (basically a wheelchair with a hole in it to shit through). I cannot tell you how relieving it was to be able the sit on a toilet and shit again. The bed pan days were over, it felt as if the arduous journey through the Mines of Moria had finally ended.
On day two they brought me a wheelchair and I was able to eat in the canteen. It was novel to sit at a table and eat again. Lying in a hospital bed for weeks, my entire life had stopped, using a table again was a stark reminder of how much I had relied on other people to sustain me. That was changing.
I had my first physio session which was a challenge. No longer confined to the 15 min bed sessions with the physios in the hospital. Now I had an hour with Madiga in the gym. It was so good to exercise again and I felt some life returning. It wasn’t clear how long I would be in rehab but I would be able to do ‘home visits’ to assist in the transition back to the outside world. First for a day and then for a weekend.
A Week in Rehab
Routine established itself quickly. I would wake at the customary 5 am for coffee and wait for the rehab doctor to do his rounds. I asked him if it was possible to change the blood thinner injection to a pill form, which he agreed could be done. Long bone fractures and big wounds create a high risk of blood clots. Since day one I had been given a daily injection of Clexane into the fat of my belly. It was a painful daily experience. Wednesday marked the first day since the accident that I had not had a needle of some kind either permanently attached or stuck into me for some reason. Although I had the TSF through my leg, it was still a relief and a huge milestone for me.
After breakfast in the canteen each day I would head to the gym. I did two sessions each day, one with the physio and one with Nelia the occupational therapist. Both Madiga and Nelia were amazing, without them guiding me through the first phase of rehabilitation I doubt I would have made any progress at all. Whilst the exercise tired me out and the pain that it caused at the end of the day was incredible, I felt better for it. Finally I had some agency of my own on this journey instead of being a passive bystander as doctors cut and stitched me back together.
The freedom of movement and the canteen allowed for more visits from friends and family. Again it struck me how many awesome people I had met in my life and the support was invaluable. On Thursday I met the trauma counselor and discussed my feelings with her. She was far easier to talk to that the psychologist who had come to see me in ICU. My attitude continued to improve each day bolstered by the activity and conversations with friends, family and rehab professionals. The week had been exhausting. I was learning how to navigate the world with one fucked leg. As such it had taken every bit of me to stay with the flow of events in the first week of rehab.
A Time to Reflect
The first weekend in rehab I would stay there, not yet able to take on the rigours of a ‘home visit’. I would do one physio session on the saturday but otherwise rested. Sleep was better thanks to the exhaustion of the exercise and my mood had improved considerably. I had pizza with my mother and sister on the sunday, a welcome break from the hospital food. It was quite a social weekend for me seeing friends and family but the empty hours between the visits were still torturous.
The pain was still considerable and the weight of the loss weighed heavy on me. I cried many times that weekend as the reality dawned afresh. Each new ability I gained (transferring into a wheelchair, using a toilet, brushing my teeth at a basin, eating at a table to name a few) came with a bittersweet feeling. Although I was elated to be making progress I was acutely aware of the ability I had lost. Every gym session or excursion outside stung with the memory of my previous life. Like a cold and final reminder that I would never live my dream of becoming an 8A climber.
I was, however determined. Tool had released a new album, Fear Inoculum. Once again I would turn to their music to help me on the journey. Pneuma reminded me to keep my eyes full of wonder and Descending would help to keep me on the path to order. I had trained myself both physically and mentally to lean into challenges and I resolved to do just that. I would remain true to my faith in Being and Like Marie, it was time for me to demand “…give me my, give me my wings”. Thank God for Tool.
It was raw and challenging but the journey into the unknown had begun and like the warrior in Invincible I would struggle to remain consequential.
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