life in rehab

I have been back in in rehab for a few days now, and it’s time to write about it. My first facility was the highest rated in the area, but while the staff were dedicated, competent, and willing to do even the yucky parts of their jobs without flinching, the place was seriously understaffed. It often took half an hour to get a response from the call button.

After I went back to the hospital for a few days, I was taken to a different facility, a bit less glossy but better staffed, and just as well served.

None of these have private rooms; i share a room divided by a cutain. My first roommate left the tv on all night; fortunately his tastes rann to old crime dramas like Castle and Veronica Mars and not infomercials. My second groaned literally 24 hours a day: some of this was evidently supposed to be words. Strangely this was less annoying than it sounds. Today I was moved to a different room, where my roommate just wants to Iisten to baseball games quietly on the radio. I can live with that.

I’m here for physical and occupational therapy, which is going very slowly. The rest of the time I’m in storage, basically. It would be a lot more boring without my iPad to read and slowly peck out this post on. Oh, people come by regularly to give me pills and take my blood pressure or bring me meals. The food is nutrionally adequate but dry, usually cold by the time it gets here, and very dull tasting. But my condition is such that I can’t eat much anyway.

I have a hospital bed with user controls for raising and lowering various parts, but it’s hard to find a position in which it’s comfortable to lie for extended periods. I spend most of my time sitting on the edge of the bed, bending over a rolling table where I keep my iPad, phone, jug of water, and other things I might need. I clear off a space for meals. With a walker, I can hobble ten steps to the bathroom, but any further requires someone to push me in a wheelchair.

And so I sit, day after day with many more to come. That’s my life.