I have been thinking about a year ago at this time – I was still in rehab with a broken hip and waiting for the doc to tell me I could have full weight-bearing on my right leg. When Feb. 24th came around, I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about it as an anniversary, but what would I call it? Marking of a milestone or event? Still haven’t figured it out yet – fortunately the world won’t come to an end if I don’t have a name for it. The other weekend Eddie and I were on Pacific Highway South, we passed Stafford and his comment was “I don’t ever want to think about that place again!”.
I had a different feeling about it – I think of it fondly because of the people I met and who were so good to me as I began to recover. I think about my room on the first floor – all my own, not having to share with anyone. It had a view west and I saw Puget Sound and Vashon Island across the way; plus I saw the planes landing from the south and taking off to the south. There were lights on at night, plus I looked down on Pac Highway South and saw the traffic and the lights.
I was the first time in a long time the focus was on me, healing, therapy and just doing normal personal things. I was alone in my room – I had books and writing material but somehow I was too tired to touch any of them. I was tired all the time but still was able to laugh with the aides, the therapists, the staff in the dining room as well as the doc and nurses. I still had to deal with stuff for Mom and for Eddie as well – plus listen to him complain about dealing with Mom as if I had no idea what it was like. I did spend a lot of time in my room with the door closed, it was great.
One thing I learned was that when I ask for something, make sure it is very specific because I don’t know what will show up otherwise. I kept thinking and saying, I need a break – I see now I needed to say 2 weeks in a spa because I ended up with a broken hip. In some ways it was a bit of a spa but not in the usual way. I remember when I went up to therapy there was the smell of newly baked cookies – they had a jar on the front desk for anyone who wanted them. It was easy to recognize the peanut butter cookies, but not always other kinds.
What I remember most are the aides who were always there for me. Eleanor usually came in to help me get dressed – a tall, well endowed black woman not only chewed gum but also snapped it quite often. I thought that would drive me crazy faster than anything. Strangely it didn’t. Eleanor was like a mama bear, she took care of her charges and defends them , even going up to therapy to make sure they weren’t terrorizing her charges. She had a great sense of humor and we laughed a lot. I think she was from the South somewhere – for some reason Alabama comes to mind. One day she was helping me put on my bra and I said something about “the girls” were in all the way. apparently she had never heard that expression before and found it funny.
She didn’t suffer fools gladly but if I needed her, she was there for me. About three weeks after I arrived, I woke up with a terrible flare-up, I hurt all over and she came in and found me crying on the john. She was a very comforting mama bear and was so good to me. When I went upstairs to therapy, I was still having a miserable time, so Carol, my OT, put on hot packs for shoulders and dipped my hands in paraffin. It helped and as usual, by afternoon I was more comfortable. It wasn’t the only time I had trouble, it wasn’t until I was able to take the Methotrexate again for three weeks before I began to feel much better. They had stopped it so my incision would heal well. I don’t remember the doc telling me that, though I was pretty doped up in the hospital for a bit – not sure I remember very much of that part.
I remember one time when I was working with Sabrina, a PT, and I was having problems that day. I finally told her “I don’t mean to be uncooperative, it just hurts more than usual”. Her reply surprised me – “Uncooperative! You have never refused to do anything we have asked!”. They could tell when I was really having trouble and not just dogging it. There were times when I was there and someone would refuse to do things, kept saying it hurts. Or refuse to work with a particular therapist, though no one was sure why.
I am forever grateful to every one at Stafford, they made it possible for me to leave on my ow two feet and a wheely walker.
Gift of RA 