Finding a Rehab Center

Finding a Rehab center

So, now we were trying to find a rehab center, but I had to prove I was well enough to go to one. I had to get approved by an Infectious Disease Consultant and a neurologist. The IDC was easy, just more blood tests and CT scans, nothing new. The neurologist was a different story; they couldn’t find one qualified in our area, so they found one in Kansas City.  Due to the circumstances, she chose to interview me via a video conference on a very large tv screen.

Let the dog and pony show begin. I remember Deb and the nurse trying to clean me up and make me presentable. They were doing their best to try to keep me awake. I was reminded that if I wanted to go to a rehab center, I had to prove to her that I was a good candidate and that I could stay awake.

I did my best; I smiled and I was very polite. Then the same questions I was going to have to answer every day for the next four weeks. What’s your name? What’s your date of birth?  What day is it?  There were so many questions. I knew most of them, but my interest started to fade, so she switched tactics. Can you lift your left hand? Can you make a fist? It went on over pretty much every body part. She found out I had very limited movement on my right side and none on my left side. I remember a lot of orders to move something on my left side and that body part on my right side would move. She went on to ask even more questions. I remember telling her that I needed this to recover better and that I was up for the challenge. She seemed to like that; we ended the interview on a good note.

Who knew that there were not a lot of rehab centers looking for a 200 pound, paralyzed, stroke and covid victim. It didn’t seem like we were getting a lot of takers. We did get one face to face interview, and I remember the look on his face when he saw the shape I was in; he didn’t have a very good poker face, and he ended up admitting that he had not realized I was paralyzed. I tried to reassure him that I was ready for the challenge, and I was a coachable team player. I was trying to read the room; he appeared to an athletic looking young man that I was betting had been a past college athlete of some kind. So, with every question I tried to answer with a positive upbeat answer. Ready to work hard, stay positive and be very coachable, that kind of thing. He told us that their program was not for the faint of heart, they had a proven regiment of physical therapy, occupational therapy and speech therapy and that they kept you busy most of the day with very little down time.  That sounds like the place for me I said. He just smiled and left the room for a few minutes. When he returned, he came up close and said, “I like you and I hope we can help, but I will have to get it approved by our team of specialists. Right now, you have a lot of special needs, but I think you could be successful there. He wished me good luck and told me to keep up the good work.”

Like I said at the beginning of all this, I was a heathy, powerful 50-year-old that still worked out on a regular basis and was heavily muscled. After being violently sick for three weeks, ventilated for seven days and now paralyzed, my physical body was starting to wear out and deteriorate fast. My muscles had shrunk down, especially the ones I had spent years trying to increase were now shrinking by the day. Because of this and the lack of movement, my muscles and joints were screaming at me and for the first time pain was now very debilitating. I had some bed sores, but they were nothing compared to the pain in my hips and lower back. You think that a hospital would have endless options for pain relief, but with all the other medications I was on, all they could safely give me was Tylenol. Yep, Tylenol, well no offense to Tylenol but it didn’t do shit!

The last two days were not memorable, other than that the rehab place got back to me and said that I was approved; but I was in a lot of pain, especially at night and I was just trying to focus through it. Luckly, they allowed Debbie to spend the last two nights with me. Poor Deb didn’t get much sleep; she spent most of the night rubbing my hips and lower back and talking to me. She was awesome; I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to take it without her. Finally, the last morning in the hospital, a couple of nurses came in round five and sent Debbie home so she could get some rest before the trip to Wesly Rehab Center. They gave me a very thorough sponge bath, and I felt like they were being a little rough.  After breakfast, the morning seemed to take forever. Our pickup time kept getting moved back. We were supposed to leave around 10am but didn’t get out of there until closer to 1pm. I don’t remember a lot of fanfare; I was ready to get out, and I think they were ready as well.   There was nothing crazy this time, no sirens, no flashing lights. I was strapped to a gurney and placed me in the back of a white mini-van, and we started the 30-mile trip to the rehab center.