Chapter Ten – Saturday, May 11, 2024
I do not know where this whole modesty thing came from. Generally speaking, I was not modest about my body before. I wasn’t overly showy about it either. I mean I was married three times and had two kids. My body had certainly been through some things. So, I didn’t think it was about being modest. I’m pretty sure this whole experience was more about not being in control.
I’ve always been independent. Fiercely so, and proud of it. Even as a little girl.
I was born in the 1960s, grew up in the 1970s and disco danced my way through the 1980s. I was too young to be a hippie, but I was right smack in the middle of the Women’s Movement of the 70s. “You’ve come a long way, baby,” was the Virginia Slims slogan. “I am woman; hear me roar,” were the lyrics the of 1972 Helen Reddy song. “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle,” Feminist activist Gloria Steinem was famous for saying. My sister and I even joined more than 100,000 people to march on Washington, D.C. on July 9, 1978, in favor of ratifying the Equal Rights Amendment. The year before, on my 16th birthday, my parents gave me a necklace with a pendent that said, “I am me.” They always knew.
I knew too. I knew I would have a career. I knew I could do anything I wanted to as long as I worked hard enough at it. I didn’t need a man. I liked men, but I didn’t need one to accomplish my goals. I had me. That philosophy over time would prove not to always benefit me. That, and the choice to keep my maiden name, adding my husbands’ names to it. Having two last names turned out to be way more of a hassle than it was worth.
***
When morning came, I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I got up and showered even before the nurse made her morning rounds with my meds. I was clean, dressed and ready for whatever the day would bring.
Around 7:30 a.m. a young women appeared at my door. Her name was Melissa. She was the physical therapist. Melissa asked if I needed help bathing and I said, “Nope. Already done.” She was surprised. She asked if I could do what she did as she went through the motions of bathing oneself and I copied her. It felt stupid but she was just doing her job. And I had done mine.
Then, she moved onto the next thing. She walked with me to the fitness center on the third floor. It was huge. It had multiple floors. The walls were glass and overlooked downtown Miami. It was bright. All the equipment looked shiny and new. We sat down on a low padded table where she reviewed the rules again of healing after spinal surgery.
“No bending, lifting or twisting,” she said.
“BLT, yes I know,” I confirmed.
“Good,” she said. “If you drop anything, don’t bend down to pick it up. I will get it. At home, you can get a device called a gripper. Let me get one for you to practice.”
She went to get this device that looked like what people use to pick up garbage in the street. It had a long pole with a gripper on the end.
“You just pull the lever, and the gripper closes around whatever you need to pick up,” she said.
It seemed kind of silly to me, but I tried it anyway. Most of the things I tried to pick up slipped off the gripper’s end. It wasn’t very grippy.
I finally said, “I won’t be alone much at home, so I don’t really have to worry about not being able to reach things or pick things up. Leslie will be home when I need help, and my son will be home. I’ll have help.”
That was the first time I had imagined being home and I liked the feeling. Home meant normal. No pain.
That was not to be, but it was nice for a moment to think about.
***
Melissa was a joy. She was the first person I met in the hospital that didn’t feel like I was meeting her in a hospital. She was young and joyful. Smart and ambitious. She was good at what she did and loved doing it. We had a good time. She probably would have enjoyed anyone who could engage in a conversation. Remember, I was on the brain injury floor. Not many patients were very lively or even chatty. She said I was a welcomed change.
Melissa had me do modified squats over the low, padded table, to strengthen my quads. She said that they would be doing a lot of the work while my back healed in the brace. Then we tackled the stairs. She knew that we had 17 stairs in our house. There were stairs in the gym that connected the first floor of the gym to the second floor. There were easily twice the number that were in my house. She put a chair on the landing halfway up the staircase in case I needed to rest. Then we started up. When we got halfway, I didn’t need or want to rest. Moving felt great. Fully breathing made me feel alive and hopeful for the first time in a while.
The light and airiness of the gym was sustenance for my soul. I didn’t want to leave, but after 90 minutes, I really did need a rest. My back hurt and I was tired. She walked me back to my room. I thanked her and we hugged. I asked when I was going to see her next. She said Monday. She was off on Sunday. I reluctantly said goodbye and laid back in bed, putting a full sleeve of ice on my back. Therapy was only half over. I still had 90 minutes of occupational therapy in the afternoon.
***
After lunch around 1 p.m., Another young woman knocked on my door. She introduced herself as Brittany the OT. She was blonde with a kind face and sweet smile. She assessed my ability to stand and walk. Then she told me even though I was capable of walking on my own, she had to take the wheelchair that was tucked under the credenza with us just in case. I forgot what floor she pushed but it was definitely the occupational therapy floor. It had a whole car on it, a full kitchen and laundry room. Today’s OT was to navigate the kitchen. My task was to make cafecito. Cafecito is rich, delicious and sweet Cuban coffee. In Miami, it’s usually served around 3 p.m. in professional offices as a pick-me-up.
She had me measure the correct amount of coffee, add water, screw the silver moka pot together. Put it on the stove. Turn on the stove and wait to capture the first part of the coffee that brewed. I mixed that with sugar to make a frothy syrup. Then added the rest of the coffee and poured it into little thimble-sized cups. We each drank a shot.
We chatted while we made the cafecito. We talked about how I could cook and do the laundry at home. I explained that our washer and dryer were front loaders so I wouldn’t be able to do the laundry for a while. We also talked about reorganizing the kitchen to suit my limitations like moving the pots and pans from a low drawer to leaving them on the counter so I could get to them. Putting the cats’ food and water on the counter so I didn’t have to bend down. Most of the adjustments I was going to have to make were common sense things that just had to be thought through. At the end of our session, she walked me and the wheelchair back to the room and said she’d see me again on Monday afternoon.
I was tired but exhilarated. I had a productive day. I felt pretty good. My back hurt, so I iced it again. But my spirits soared. I was on my way back. I was going to put this misery behind me and not look back.
Or so I thought.
The Reddy Life 