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.
The Reddy Life 