Sunday: Lots of exercise

Redjeb gets physical therapy 6 days a week (skips Saturday).  So today he had a really good PT who only works weekends, and she really had him do all kinds of interesting exercises.  On top of that he had occupational therapy in the morning.  And on top of that, forgetting that he was to have PT today, he (with my encouragement) walked almost the entire way to the garden using his wheelchair as a walker).  He got really tired though so had to sit on the chair the last few yards.  But it is good to see that he is getting stronger and more able physically.

Everyone says Redjeb looks great and the physical therapist who saw him today was shocked to learn his age.  She thought he was in his early 70s.  Others have said the same.  Me?  I look like the one who has been hit by a truck (car I mean).  But I am a lot more rested than before.  There is still underlying stress re RJs health, the insurance crap, etc.  But much is more under control, and I am in my little apartment with my "things."

Redjeb was telling friends who stopped by today (Marilyn and Fred at whose house I stayed in Port Jeff) that while in the hospital he had these feelings that he was in a Control Room and could not get out cause all the names, including his, were misspelled and had to be spelled right to get out.  The other names that were misspelled were names from Kafka.  It was this same "dream" that caused him to call me that day a couple weeks ago when I had gone to NYC and begged me not to abandon him.  And it was Fred and friend Philip who answered my call to go see him ASAP.  And very soon thereafter Doug and Carol who also live on LI rushed to the rescue too.  By the time I got there that eve he seemed quite content.  I do believe the reassuring familiar faces came at the very right time.  But in many ways this was not a dream nor hallucination, as he was really like a prisoner in the hospital, unable to exercise his will, not understanding what was going on, being drugged and not able to escape.  

Tomorrow is supposed to be a big day.  Some consultant is supposed to look at the tons of xrays they took last week and say what has healed and what has not so far.  Since RJ doesn't have pain, I suspect much has healed.

There is to be a "family meeting" in the afternoon to discuss the results, what plans they will have based on them, such as what kinds of PT they can do, and when they estimate he will be discharged.  I know he really wants out of there, though he does admit it is a nice place. There are lots of things that don't work right there, starting with the kitchen, but basically it is not like the kind of nursing home that we usually picture.  It is clean, (doesn't smell, as someone pointed out today), is basically quiet (except for the damn buzzer/ringers that go off all the time), and is tastefully done (even the old part of the place).

People keep asking how I am doing and saying they are worried about me.  Even though I am fine, I tell you, you almost lost me this evening.  I got on the downtown #1 subway, dragging a small suitcase with me (filled with stuff taking home from his room that he doesn't need).  The car that I got on was very hot, as the AC was not working.  I planned to jump off at the next stop and run on the platform into the adjoining car.  But just then several people started through the doors inside that connect the subway cars to each other.  I never go through those doors as is dangerous to jump from one car to the next, but when I saw the others moving that way to the next cooler car, I decided to join them.  However, I was at the end of the pack, and just as I got to the part where you step from one car to the next--with just a partial grate on the side connecting the cars--the guy ahead of me let the door slam into my face.  At the very same time the train gave a jerk as it started up.  I  lost my balance and began to fall backwards (cause of the suitcase I was dragging).  As I was trying to steady myself, well aware of  the moving train and the tracks which I could see off to the side, the door behind me started to close, almost trapping me between the cars.  I say almost, cause superman flew to the rescue in the form of a nice young man (Oh, if I were 23 again) who opened the door behind me and held me upright.

I thanked him profusely, rather embarrassed at my stupidity. Then he and I both moved to the cooler car at the next stop, running from door to door on the platform.  Five minutes later believing that I had survived that ordeal quite well, I did manage to fall up the steps exiting the station.  Another young man came to my rescue and even offered to take the bag.  I refused, insisted all was well, and actually made it home unscathed.  Maybe I am a bit tired or whatever.  But I tell you, New Yorkers are great.