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Sunday, March 3, 2013

Life after rehab

It's been a while since I posted anything about my "history" I left off when I got out of rehab. I really don't like talking about how horrifying the experience was there. Again, not the nursing staff or the regular Doctors or the therapists, I mean that psychologist. Still to this day the mere hint of that man sets my family off on a tirade worthy of Henry the VIII. So now that I am feeling exceptionally stable let me dig back into some of the hard times. Yeah, I guess I'm a masochist!

So let me begin with my exit from rehab. After the social worker decided I needed to go to a nursing home (and had made arrangements for me to be taken the next day) I was freaked out that everyone was giving up on me and sending me off to die. Yes, I know that was a bit over the top, but like I said, Gramma died a year earlier in a nursing home because no one was capable of taking care of her. She could still walk, with assistance, but I couldn't. She could feed herself, I was finally able to feed myself. She needed help with personal needs so did I. She was a tiny little thing by that time, I was not. So yeah, I didn't expect that my family could take care of me in the condition I was in. But mom assured me that they (mom & dad) would take care of me.

The next day I was expecting a trip to the nursing home but when mom got there she said that I was coming home with her. That my dad, bless his heart, was home building a ramp to get me and my wheelchair into the house. That they were giving me their room because the doorway was bigger and my wheelchair could go through it, my old room the doorway was too small and the room just wasn't big enough, plus their room had a bathroom. I was so happy, I swear that did me more good than anything else. She told my nurse that she wanted to talk to the social worker.

The social worker wasn't happy, one, she had already made arrangements for me, two, psycho psychologist said I was in danger around my father and three, my house hadn't been inspected. Well, it must have been THE LOOK from my mom because she suddenly started back tracking and started on paperwork for me to be released to the care of my family because I was HOME in about 6 hours. It sucked having to move back to mom & dads at 30 but hey, I was where I needed to be. I continued OT & PT as an outpatient until I started another relapse in about 3 weeks from my release, more about that at another time.

Until next time, keep believing in the magic of life & stay well.