(But, before I post this next blog. A bit of housekeeping is needed. I didn’t click all the right icons to activate my blog to receive ‘comments’. I’m a little ‘IT Challenged’. I’ve now done that, I think, so please comment-away. I hope you’re enjoying the ride so far. It’s surprisingly emotional and raw, reliving an ‘interesting’ time in my life. Be patient, there’s more to come. Oh, and with a degree of trepidation, I’m now on facebook).
....more accurately, it’s off to OT – I go. We had a couple of no-shows this morning. It appears I’m the only starter. It’s something I’ll need to get used too. When it comes to Quads, some days good, some days are bad, some worth facing, others, are just all too hard to get started.
Late, the previous evening, I quizzed one the nurses about the role of an ‘OT’. I was advised an Occupational Therapist, is a University Graduate and has a myriad of roles to play in rehab. In my case, they basically help people recover from injury and regain their skills. Sounds exactly the direction I need to be heading in.
My ready, willing and able ‘pusher’, Julio (the ‘J’ in Julio’s name is pronounced ‘H’ as in, Julio Iglesias, the much loved and swooned-after Spanish singer who sold over 300 million records), was on the job 15 minutes ahead of our agreed time and a big friendly smile on his dial to match.
“Ello Mister Brad. Are you ready?”
I could come to like this young chap.
“Let’s hit the road Huleo - my main-man. I’m in your capable hands.” I bounced back with, in my best Spanish accent of course.
“No Sir. I’m sorry Mister Brad we must stay on the path, ‘at-all-times’. If I’m being seen pushing you down the road, or holding you up in my hands, I have been told - I am losing my job. And then Mr. Brad, I am not able in helping you to get better. So, we must stay on the path, sir, ’at-all-times’, sir, and no holding you in my hands, sir’” he said very apologetically but with a tone of correctness and authority.
God, what could this one develop into once he learns the Queens-English, gets a Qualification, buys a house, gets married, and, starts a family. As it turns out he had the latter 2 boxes already ticked-off. The trip down to OT was a pleasant change. I hardly had to say a word to hold a conversation. Julio opened up about the lot, especially his wife and kids.
We had obviously struck a bit of a language barrier early here. Fair enough. No complaints. I’ve been fortunate enough to have done a bit of travel ‘os’ with Christene, and quickly became respectful and patient of people trying to understand what I was saying and, visa versa. Think about it. I don’t know what your Spanish is like. But let me tell you, he speaks English (my ‘first’ language) a hellava lot better than I speak Spanish. I am going to have to be a little more precise, and a little more proper with my delivery of instructions. And keep the slang down to a minimum. Not to mention, a display of a little more patience (not my best personal trait and something I’d been reminded of on numerous occasions).
The OT’s area was on the 1st floor of the building adjoining the gym. We rolled down a corridor and entered a room set-out like an Arts &Crafts area. There were about 8 or 10 long trestle-like tables, each scattered with a variety of differing items. The one young lady in uniform came over and said she was just finishing up with a patient and she’d be with me shortly. Well, I was early. She told Julio to be back in an hour to pick me up. Julio deposited me at a vacant table that had half a dozen boxes on it. The box I was closest too had several material zippers in it together with some Velcro strips, buttons and needles and thread.
5 minutes later the young lady, all of about 23 or 24 years of age, came over and introduced herself as Kylie, declaring that she was my OT and here to help me with some of the basics.
“Right Brad what would you like to start with first?” she said in a very soft, very caring voice.
“To be honest Kylie I’m embarrassed to say that up until last night I had no idea what an OT was and what was there area of expertise.” I replied in an equally sheepish voice.
She spent the next 10 minutes explaining the role of an OT in the rehab process. She explained that, if in my case, a Quad, he/she could manage to do the some of the simplest of tasks such as dressing, feeding and washing themselves, life after Hospital would be so much more fulfilling and assist enormously with ones self-esteem. I know they keep saying to me it’s early-days, but I had no intention going home without at least being able to do my basic personal hygiene requirements. But let’s face it, so far, in these ‘early-days’, I couldn’t even wipe my own backside.
I established that Kylie was indeed just 23 years old and this was her first year out of College after qualifying. She had a pretty face, wore no make-up, her hair was what my girls at-home called, ‘some-up-some-down’ (God, how I miss the girls) and the most amazing unblemished white alabaster skin. She didn’t look the sporty-type. I wondered what her interests were outside of hospital-life. I always look for something in someone where we might have common ground, it makes it easier for me to communicate.
She took the lead. “Why not start right here (that box of haberdashery items). We have zippers, a shirt-front with buttons and button-holes, Velcro belts, shoe laces, an old T-shirt and a pair of socks. Here’s as good a place as any.” She announced. “Show me what you can do?”
Julio had already left me with one of my arms on the table, a good start. I tried to crawl and wiggle my fingers towards the box. But things weren’t working at all. Kylie pulled out a zipper with a large key-ring loop attached to the top end and placed it in my lap. “See if you can manage to unzip the fly.” she whispered gently to me, although we were the only two in the room. I tried, I swear I tried, boy how I tried. I took a couple of deep breaths and focused all my energy on my fingers and hands. Nothing, absolutely nothing. I exhaled loudly in frustration. “Let’s go over here and try this.” She said calmly. On this table there were board-games. Chinese Checkers, Draughts, Solitaire and even Chess. She pulled the Draughts board over which was already setup and ready to play. I may have played only a couple of games of Draughts in my entire life. Dad had taught me Chess from the age of about 10 or so and I enjoyed the challenge of tactically taking an opponent’s main pieces from the board and gaining the upper-hand. I explained that to Kylie, but she wanted to start with the Draught pieces, explaining that they could be slid across the board rather than have to be picked up and repositioned. She was a smart young OT. Within 15 minutes of meeting her she had established my present limitations and put me in a position where I’d have more of a chance of achievement rather than failure. Very perceptive, for one so young. I’ll bet she got several High-Distinctions at Uni. She positioned both my arms alongside the board. “OK, I’m white, I’ll go first.” she said. Now back in the Ward I’d had some indications of movement in my little and ring-fingers. That movement, besides, my ‘old-fella’ tricks was all I had. And I didn’t think it appropriate to ask her to pull down my trackies and I’d take her on with Mr. Wobbly. We’d only just met. I think I figured it out. I carefully leant over and my first move came swiftly and surprisingly accurately considering. Courtesy of me pushing my piece with my nose in a diagonal direction I’d done it – pure genius. “Right then, your go.” I mumbled. The problem was that now having played a brilliant tactical move, I was lying face-down on the board game. A little unorthodox maybe and probably a move shunned upon at the World Draughts Championships, but I’d done it. She got up, complimented me on my ingenuity, declaring she’d never seen Draughts played quite that way before. From behind me she put her arms firmly but gently around my chest and pulled me back up into normal seated position. “No, not quite Brad, we’re here at this very moment trying to ascertain exactly what we have to work with, what you’ve got use of, you’ve got to get to you to use your hands.” She’d obviously established there was nothing wrong with my problem-solving capacity. Thank goodness I didn’t dare suggest my new ‘trackies-down’ version of Checkers. “OK, let’s move over to the other table and try this.” The table had crayons, markers, pens, pencils and great reems of butcher-paper on it. She positioned my chair as close to the table as possible and locked the brakes. Then from a table adjacent to ours she retrieved a box of moulded plastic shapes with Velcro tags attached. She fiddled around with a couple of versions and selected what she thought might suffice. The plastic mould fitted snugly to the inside of my hand and was secured to the back by the Velcro tags. She then weaved a ballpoint-pen inside the shape which gave me a hand with a sort of a writing position. Very clever, if not very mechanical. It didn’t feel like my hand at all. “Now let’s see what you can do.” she asked. With my arm positioned at the top of the writing plinth and piece of paper and pen at the ready, she said let’s see if you can draw a straight line. She was determined to let me achieve at least one task in today’s session. Again very patiently, very thoughtful, very clever. I managed, with the help of gravity to drag the pen back in the direction of my belly until it fell off the table and stabbed me in the leg – didn’t feel a thing. “Very good, let’s do that again.” We went through the same procedure again and again. And, albeit basic, I did feel a sense of progress. “That’s great, try to do the line straighter. Here let’s try a marker.” she encouraged. Again same result, a little crooked but near enough to a straight line. Then, all of a sudden, no warning given I felt a growing anxiety begin to well-up inside, longing for home-life. I wanted to hold Christene close to me, have the kids jump into bed with me and have a wrestle and a cuddle. I wanted things to be a little like they used to be. Embarrassed I turned my head away from Kylie as tears began to flow down my cheeks. I started to cry uncontrollably. Blubbering. Kylie got up and moved my chair over to her desk and pulled a couple of tissues from the box in the draw and moped up the flood. She didn’t even blink at also tidying up my nose, which by this time was running like a tap. How embarrassing. Kylie was a little more 10 years older than Jacqui at home and here she is, a veritable stranger cleaning up a near 40 year sniveling old sook. I didn’t know where to look. She repositioned her chair and sat directly in front of me, took my hands from my lap and held them ever so gently on her lap. 3 or 4 minutes passed without a word exchanged as I managed to compose myself a little. “What brought that on, Brad. Do you know?” again she whispered. I took a couple of deep breaths as she again wiped my eyes and nose. “Kylie, I know I’m a quad. If I’m stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life all I want to be able to do is physically hold my wife and children close to me. Is that too much to ask? And please don’t trot out the ‘it’s early days yet’ line.” again I sniffled. “Brad you’re a high-level quad, but your injury is incomplete. There’s hope. You should, over time, gain some shoulder movement, some useful finger movement and I feel some bicep response to assist in lifting and holding things, including your beautiful Family.” she said. By this time I was in the controlled-sob mode. “Kylie, it’s been a big couple of days. I found out 2 days ago that Christene and I are expecting another baby, our 3rd, due mid September, all things being well.” I used the baby-news as the excuse for breaking down like a big-girls blouse. She continued to hold my hands ever so gently. The only person to show such care and gentleness was my Christene. I found myself looking into her eyes as if she were Christene. Am I losing the plot? I think if I could have, I would have leant over and given her a big hug and a kiss. Thankfully I didn’t attempt that. It would have ended up with me careering forward and landing face-first in her crutch – charming.
“ Hey Brad, here’s Julio. Right on time. Are you OK? It’s been a big first session, let’s call it a day, I’ll see you in a couple of days or so, take it easy”
And with that enormously emotional out-pouring of feelings, it was all over. I did feel a sense of relief, a sense of cleansing. Probably just by the sheer volume of emotion that spontaneously left my crippled body. Imagine, subjecting a total stranger to all that. Still embarrassed, I thanked Kylie for her kindness and thoughtfulness. “Thanks Kylie, you’re a real gem, see you soon”.
“Hey Julio, are you ready. Let’s get back to the ward, mate.” I directed. Again, Julio rabbited-on about his family here and overseas all the way back to the ward. I nodded but wasn’t in the mood for a real chat. I felt completely drained and exhausted and found myself yawning several times in transit.
It's amazing just how much a game of Draughts can take out of you!
