2 weeks in the hospital, I’m going stir crazy. I must thank a family friend though. Her daughter was a nurse at the same hospital, and she would bring me seasons of the TV show Bones, and they brought me wonton soup. They were amazing to me. So now I’ve seen 4 seasons of Bones and probably read 25 books, my stepdad can’t bring them in fast enough. The nurses come in to find me balling my eyes out over and over. Each book gets to me way too much. I’m finally off morphine for my pain, I’m getting stronger each day. But my face, it’s staying the same. No luck on my right side. Now, I learn I will be going to the rehab unit at the other hospital. Now I will spend my days with older adults who’ve had hip and knee replacements, and I will be a 19 year old kid who can’t really walk for a stupid reason (I was very emotional these days.) My best friend was a saviour in these first two weeks. She booked time off work, took a bus to Toronto, and would come to the hospital everyday with my stepdad and climb into bed with me and we would do crosswords and read and knit together all day. She was amazing, I’m so grateful for her. My mom would tease us and call us twisted sisters, the nurses would just work around her when they took my blood.
I do have a kind of funny story to lighten this somber mood. When the day came to get transferred, I was sitting on my bed all ready to go, dressed in normal (but easy to put on) clothes. Two guys come in, the first thing they say? “Is your grandma in the washroom? We’re ready to go when she is.” I kind of gave them a blank stare, and then they realized I was the patient. “You’re Kyla?” And I nodded. They awkwardly smiled and apologized, telling me they usually transfer older people to the rehab unit and weren’t expecting someone my age. We had a good laugh and then they loaded me on the stretcher and took me over.
In the rehab unit, I lucked in for the first week, they didn’t have room in the public rooms, so I got put into a private room that you typically have to pay for. This was probably a good thing, as I cried a lot those first few days, at least I could do so in privacy. Now, it’s time for rehab. I’m scared I’m going to forget some details of this story that you should know (this took place almost 3 years ago.) I hope I don’t forget anything.
Okay, so rehab. Basically we were working on rebuilding the strength, balance and coordination in my legs, and somewhat my arms. No one was worrying about my face just yet, I guess it was more important that I could walk (which is true I guess.) Now instead of sitting in my room all day reading, I was forced to do rehab twice a day for 45 minutes to an hour. This involved walking up 3 stairs, walking down these stairs, doing stretches, walking with a balance bar beside me, lifting and lowering my legs, catching a ball, etc. I can’t remember everything I did, but you get the idea. At this point, a social worker came in to check on my emotional well-being. I did break down a little bit with her, but who wouldn’t? I can’t emphasize enough how grateful I am that I had such an amazing support system while I went through this. My parents visited everyday and worked so hard to keep my spirits up. At this point I was allowed to go home for a night or two on the weekends, which was a great break from the white walls of a hospital. I was also allowed to sign out on a whiteboard and walk around the hospital (with my walker of course), I could even go outside!
So we will leave off today with my increased freedom. Check back tomorrow, I get out of the hospital!
My amazing best friend and I