Tag: #LeslieAndMe

“Your Bones Held.”

Chapter Eight – Tuesday, May 7 – Thursday, May 9, 2024

Over the next three days, we learned that the next steps toward my recovery was to transfer me to the Christine E. Lynn Rehabilitation Center for The Miami Project to Cure Paralysis at UHealth/Jackson Memorial next door. The two facilities, although separate, were connected by a hallway tunnel on the first floor. 

In order to transition to Lynn, I was not allowed to be on any heavy pain meds and no meds via IV. I had to start being weaned off. I was allowed to have oral pain killers, Tylenol, nerve and muscle relaxers plus the nighttime Melatonin and Xanax. But I had to function like an outpatient in order to be transferred to Lynn Rehab.

I was not sure how it was going to go, but I was thrilled to be getting out of the hospital even though I was just moving into a different place. It was all about taking the next step in the healing process.

I researched Lynn. It had a fascinating story. It was also inspiring. It epitomized the lesson for anyone in recovery or life, never, never ever give up. 

Nearly 40 years in the making, Lynn stood tall as an eight-story building with beautiful views of downtown Miami. It was designed to be one of the country’s elite facilities for patients recovering from traumatic brain injury, spinal cord injury, cancer treatment, and other complex conditions.

As a near-native Floridian, I knew the backstory well. In 1985, Marc Buoniconti, son of legendary All-Pro and Hall of Famer linebacker and former Miami Dolphins Nick Buoniconti, sustained a spinal cord injury while playing football for The Citadel in South Carolina. It left him paralyzed from the shoulders down at 19 years old.

Born out of that tragedy was the Miami Project to Cure Paralysis. World-renowned neurosurgeon Barth A. Green, M.D. with the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine joined the Buoniconti’s in their quest for new treatments for traumatic spinal cord and brain injury and neurodegenerative disorders, including Parkinson’s disease, Multiple Sclerosis, ALS, and Alzheimer’s disease. 

In case you were wondering, yes, that was the same Dr. Green who called me out for my obnoxious behavior on Facetime. He was also the one who greenlighted our medivacked trip from Cozumel to the Ryder Trauma Center and Jackson Memorial Hospital for the lifesaving neurosurgery. Dr. Urakov was his protégé from UM’s Miller School of Medicine. How embarrassed was now that I realized who he was?

Almost 40 years later, on March 20, 2022, Lynn Rehab Center opened.[1] And two years after that on March 10, 2024, I was admitted.

I am not an especially religious person. But someone somewhere was looking out for me. Truly, “there by the grace of God go I.” For the rest of my life, I will look back on these events with wonderment and gratitude.

The night we learned about our upcoming transfer to Lynn, Dr. Green came to my room in person. He sat in the chair opposite us; Leslie in one bed and me in the other. He told us about Lynn and how intensive their therapy program was.

“Three hours every day,” he said with enormous pride.  

I was told earlier by the PT ladies that I had reached the maximum of what they could do for me on this side of the hospital. That’s why I was being transferred. Dr. Green and Dr. Urakov both insisted on this intense therapy for me and fought with my insurance company to get it.  

I have often thought about this man and his life’s work. I remain humbled and in awe.

While he sat with us, I had the chance to ask him why me? What was the story behind how he came to find me? Why did he do what he did? He didn’t know me. Yet, it was his decision and his alone that saved my life.

He simply said, “I don’t know how to say no.”

Chapter Nine

Friday, May 10, 2024 at 10 p.m.

The order finally came.

After 10 days on the spinal floor of Jackson Memorial Hospital, I was moving to Lynn Rehab Center. A bed had finally become available. I was not allowed to walk there. Instead, an orderly arrived to take me by gurney. He packed up our suitcases, my walker and whatever miscellaneous stuff we had accumulated over the past 10 days and at 10 p.m. took us down the elevator to the first floor and wheeled me through the connecting hall into the Lynn. It was beautiful. White walls, modern furniture, very state-of-the-art.

            The first floor had an aquatics center.

I was really hoping to be able to use it. I’m a pisces. I love the water. But with the new wound, I was unable to be submerged in water.  

Regardless, Leslie and I had been looking forward to this day since we first learned that the plan was for me to have intensive physical and occupational therapy there. It was cause for a celebration. There was a restaurant in Miami that I used to go to all the time when I worked in Public Relations and had many law firm clients in Miami. It was called Perricone’s. It actually had a large tree growing through it. I wasn’t sure exactly how close it was to the Jackson Hospital complex, but thanks to whatever delivery service they used, we were able to order a wonderful meal as we embarked on the next leg of this journey.

            My room was on the eighth floor. It was the brain injury floor. There were no rooms available on the spinal neurosurgery floor.

The room had one bed in the center, a big bathroom with a handicapped shower, a large credenza and cabinets. The bed for Leslie was pretty crappy. It was a flat couch with hard cushions. I knew that it wasn’t going to work for him, but we’d have wait to see what we could do for him in the morning.

We settled in and had our dinner. We had a charcuterie board of delicious meats and cheeses. I had lobster ravioli, a perennial favorite, and Leslie had chicken marsala. It was a total joy not to be eating hospital food. The only thing missing was the wine, but given the drugs I was still on, that wouldn’t have been a very safe option. I did try, however.

            While we were eating, the night nurse visited us. She informed us that tomorrow I was to learn how to bathe.

“I know how to bathe,” I said. “I’ve been bathing myself for 60 years, including the last five days.”

She seemed unfazed. “They’re going to teach you.”

I paused for a moment, remembering that when I needed help bathing, Leslie helped me. I wouldn’t let a stranger help me bathe then and I wasn’t about to let one help me now. I was perfectly capable of grooming myself. I don’t care if these people see hundreds of naked bodies all year long. Mine was not going to be one of them. 

So, true to form, I said, “Over my dead body they will.” Then thought, here we go again. More stupid rules for the lowest common denominator to follow.

But I wised up.  

“What time does PT usually start,” I asked.

“Around 7 a.m.,” she said.

“Thanks,” I answered.

I would be up at 5 a.m. to shower.

[1] https://news.med.miami.edu/a-dream-finally-realized/

“Your Bones Held.”

Chapter Seven – Monday, May 6, 2024

Early in the morning on day five I had a breakthrough.

Dr. Tyler Cardinal was the neurosurgeon who assisted Dr. Urakov with my spine surgery. Tyler, as he asked to be called, made rounds very early every morning, before or just at sunrise. The morning after I was cut off from the narcotics, I was depressed. I was hurting. I was frustrated and felt stuck. Mentally, I was in a bad place.

No one really sleeps in the hospital. They bother you all night long, so I was up. It was still dark outside when Tyler walked into my room, carrying his usual backpack. He set it down on the chair and approached my bed. He asked me the same thing every morning.

“How are you today?” he asked.

Usually, I’d describe some progress I made the previous day. This time I answered, “Not good. I am in a lot of pain. It’s constant. I can’t get comfortable because I can’t stop lying where you operated. It hurts and I’m getting really tired of it.”

He thought for a moment and replied “You did just have back surgery. Of course it’s going to hurt.”

I looked at him with disdain. That was not the answer I was looking for. I asked him to do something. Prescribe something. Knock me out. Make me sleep until the pain went away.

He offered nothing but said he would speak with Dr. Urakov.

First off, I knew Head Guy Dr. Green told Dr. Urakov that he had spoken to me about my obnoxious attitude. I knew Dr. Urakov knew not to give me any more drugs that would make me mean. And I knew that Tyler was not the guy in charge. None of this improved my mood.

***

After he left, I spent a lot of time thinking about what he said. I didn’t like it at all. I felt betrayed. The doctors told me my prognosis was for a 100 percent recovery. What they didn’t tell me was how much it was going to hurt until I recovered and how long I had to suffer. That was when the realization hit me. While Leslie was lying next to me uncomfortable in his makeshift bed, there was nothing he could do to make the pain go away. I was in this by myself.

No one was going to help me any more than they already had. I could beg for more pain meds, but I wasn’t going to get them. I could scream and holler at the nurses but that was only going to make matters worse for me. I’d been spoken to already by the man in charge. He was not going to tolerate any more shit from me.

I had a choice to make. The only thing I had any control over was my attitude. My perspective. My way of thinking. I could not bend anyone here to my will. That jig was up. I threw as many fits as they were going to tolerate. It was time for me to come to terms with my predicament and make things better for myself.

I had one objective: get better and get the hell out of there. Even if I had to fake it. It was suck it up time.

I started to think about the progress I had made, enumerating the positives. I no longer had a catheter. I was no longer chained to the bed. I could move about. I had a back brace. I had a walker. I had Leslie. I could shower. I could wear my own clothes. I had the PT ladies every day, teaching me to do things with this brace on. I had a pic-line in my arm, so I didn’t have to get stuck every time they drew blood or gave me a shot.

The choice was clear. I could wallow in my pain, or I could just figure out how to make myself as comfortable as possible until I was discharged.  

I started using ice bags on my back. Long, thin, white hospital-grade bags that held one layer of cubes. I laid on it in bed and had some relief. I tied it to the brace and walked around with it.  

I asked for melatonin to help me sleep. I asked for Xanax to help keep my anxiety at bay. Then I asked if I could be allowed to go down to the hospital cafeteria for food. All my requests were granted. In fact, it was Tyler who granted those requests.

The pain was still there but my attitude toward it was different.

***

Day five was a big day for Leslie too…

Not only was he seen in the ER two days ago, gotten a legitimate diagnosis from our now-shared neurosurgeon and was fitted for his very own matching back brace. He also had a specific plan of care and a timeline to mend his compression fracture. 

After all those days in the hospital, we had sort of settled into a routine. I was able to shower with minimal supervision. The PT ladies took me for a walk. Some days they arrived while I was still drying my hair and gave me pointers on how not to bend the wrong way or twist while doing it.

Each day, Leslie and I put on fresh clothes, our braces and had breakfast together. The nurses were kind enough to have ordered him a tray for every meal. Then we’d go for a walk in the hall.

After a very rough start, yelling and cursing at everyone, I made amends. I apologized to all the nurses I bitched at. Pretty soon after that, they came to enjoy us. I had gotten significantly stronger and was walking pretty well. We still kept the walker with us as a precaution as we buzzed around corners and sped down the hall straight aways.

On this day, we walked the entire hallway multiple times and met new people. Everyone knew our story. We were hard to miss. One of the people we met on that walk was Elena. She was the head nurse for the neurosurgical wing. She was very happy to see me out of bed. She was equally thrilled at how well I was walking. Seeing me in street clothes she remarked that I looked like a visitor rather than a patient. That made me feel very good. Progress! And progress noted from a professional. Elena became a wonderful person to know. She would prove to be instrumental in not only my well-being but Leslie’s as well when the time finally came for him to be taken care of.

In the meantime, she made our comfort and progress her business. She heard how uncomfortable Leslie’s previous hospital bed was with the deflating air mattresses. So, she ordered one of her staff to do some redecorating. That night, a lovely woman came to our room wheeling a real, freshly made hospital bed for Leslie. She moved things out of the way. Set up the room so we could get around and asked if we needed anything more. It was a definite bright spot in our long stay.

Thanks to Elena and her staff, Leslie was finally comfortable. With all the focus on me and my recovery, it was hard to remember that Leslie was hurt too. Thank God his injury was not life threatening, or we’d be in an even worse situation.