Do You know What Day It Is?

Do You Know What Day It Is?

The end of the first week in rehab. At some point in time, they sat down with me and my family and asked what my goals and expectations were for rehab. They came just short of telling me life was never going to be the same. My first goal was to walk out on my own, my second goal was to be able to continue with woodworking and the third was to get off oxygen. I don’t remember the rest, but they should have been things like being able to wipe myself, take a shower by myself and many other things we never think about, like not only picking up a cup but being able to put it back down without making a mess. In short, even though I was improving I was still a mess. They wrote these goals on the board, like I was going to forget them. Every morning the nurses would come in and get me ready for the day and as they left, they would write on the whiteboard next to my goals the date and time of their visit. This was great because I could never remember what day it was. I knew what day of the week it was -- Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday etc. but the actual date like September 15^th never stayed in my mind because I did not really care. The first question every day from my doctors and therapist was "what day is it?" I would just look at the board and answer them; they never seemed to catch on but mom and Deb did. We would just smile at each other.

That day I had a different speech therapist. She was nice and just wanted to stay in my room for our session. Her first question was, "Do you know what day it is?" I felt a little bad, but I was so tired of that stupid question I answered, “I could give a fuck what day it is; if you really need to know it’s written on the board.”  She just looked at me and said, "OK, got it," and continued with her session without missing a beat. I don’t remember much about it, but I do know there was no math involved; I liked her. The funny thing was that I met her three more times, and she never asked me what day it was. I cannot say the same thing for the other speech therapist I met with.

At occupational therapy they handed me a ball of Play-Do that had little plastic bb’s mixed in it and asked me to remove the bb’s. Well, this was a little tougher than it sounds when you have little dexterity in your hands. This sucked, but at least it wasn’t math. It was fun and challenging.

Physical therapy was different as well; we did walk with a walker, but it was only a short distance to a peddle machine. She set it to give me resistance but also to keep me at a specific speed. It was tough but it was right in front of a large window that looked out on a field of grass and trees. It was pretty and I could imagine walking in them. When I was finished with the peddle machine for my legs, they switched me to a peddle machine for my arms. I could still see out the window to the pasture, so it was a good workout.

Deb got there earlier that afternoon, and we went outside to paint but this time she had a coloring book with markers. It was fun, I colored on a pattern that turned out nice and Debbie said, “That is a nice one you should sign that one.” I said OK and without even thinking I signed my name. It was great, it looked good, normal. We both looked at each other, Deb asked, “Can you do it again?” It was not as easy this time, I had to think about it a little more, but I legibly signed my name twenty more times. About that time Cody and Annete walked around the corner. Deb stopped me and said, “Do you see who’s here?” I looked up and smiled at them and without even saying hi, I just said “I just signed my fucking name.”  They both looked confused and I just looked at them and said “No, that is huge I just signed my fucking name.”  I could not sign my name on Monday, but on Wednesday I could. It was great to see old friends, and we sat there for hours just talking. It was so nice. Now, Cody works in the medical field, so several times during our conversation, it seemed like he was evaluating me but at least he didn’t ask me what day it was.