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florida80 · 06-13-2019

Ready for rehab

That afternoon, a rehab doctor appeared at the end of my bed. At first, he told me, they’d thought my stroke was fairly mild. Nothing showed up on the CT scan. But a second scan revealed I’d had an ischemic stroke—an obstruction in a blood vessel—on the left side of my brain, resulting in the paralysis of my right extremities.

“What caused it?” I asked.

“We don’t know. I’d guess hyper*tension. Your blood pressure was very high. But you have other conditions that could have been contributing factors.”

Risk factors for stroke include high blood pressure, diabetes, high cholesterol, sleep apnea, and being overweight. I qualified on all fronts.

“The good news,” the doctor said, “is that a bed has become available in rehab. You’ll be put on a six-to-eight-week intensive rehab course, followed by eight weeks as an outpatient. You need to be willing to work hard. What do you think?”

“Yes, I can do it,” I answered, although at the moment my body suggested otherwise. “Count me in.”

The next morning, Pat and Nicole were both there when a man and two women arrived to take me for a walk. With one swift movement, they had me perched on the side of the bed. “We’ll walk as far as Nicole, OK?”

I stood, slightly stooped, looking across the room at my daughter. I shuffled, my left foot lifting, my right foot dragging behind. Each step seemed like a gigantic task. I almost lost heart halfway across the room, but I refused to give in.

I walked a distance of only 20 feet, but Nicole seemed excited and applauded. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “You did it. I’m so proud of you!”

“Congratulation s,” the therapists chimed in. “You’re ready for therapy.”

“I’m so hungry,” I said. “Even a bowl of gruel would be nice.”

A young nurse lifted my wrist and took my pulse. “We’re not allowed to give you anything to eat. Not until the Swallow Lady has been to see you.”

Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab
Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest

I stared up at her. “Swallow Lady? Who’s that?”

“The speech therapist. We don’t want you choking on your food.”

“I can swallow,” I said. “I’ve been swallowing a bucketload of pills.”

“Yes, but that’s different,” she said as she disappeared beyond the curtain.

06-13-2019	#1520
florida80 R11 Độc Cô Cầu Bại Join Date: Aug 2007 Posts: 113,793 Thanks: 7,446 Thanked 47,161 Times in 13,136 Posts Mentioned: 1 Post(s) Tagged: 0 Thread(s) Quoted: 511 Post(s) Rep Power: 162	Ready for rehab That afternoon, a rehab doctor appeared at the end of my bed. At first, he told me, they’d thought my stroke was fairly mild. Nothing showed up on the CT scan. But a second scan revealed I’d had an ischemic stroke—an obstruction in a blood vessel—on the left side of my brain, resulting in the paralysis of my right extremities. “What caused it?” I asked. “We don’t know. I’d guess hyper*tension. Your blood pressure was very high. But you have other conditions that could have been contributing factors.” Risk factors for stroke include high blood pressure, diabetes, high cholesterol, sleep apnea, and being overweight. I qualified on all fronts. “The good news,” the doctor said, “is that a bed has become available in rehab. You’ll be put on a six-to-eight-week intensive rehab course, followed by eight weeks as an outpatient. You need to be willing to work hard. What do you think?” “Yes, I can do it,” I answered, although at the moment my body suggested otherwise. “Count me in.” The next morning, Pat and Nicole were both there when a man and two women arrived to take me for a walk. With one swift movement, they had me perched on the side of the bed. “We’ll walk as far as Nicole, OK?” I stood, slightly stooped, looking across the room at my daughter. I shuffled, my left foot lifting, my right foot dragging behind. Each step seemed like a gigantic task. I almost lost heart halfway across the room, but I refused to give in. I walked a distance of only 20 feet, but Nicole seemed excited and applauded. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “You did it. I’m so proud of you!” “Congratulation s,” the therapists chimed in. “You’re ready for therapy.” “I’m so hungry,” I said. “Even a bowl of gruel would be nice.” A young nurse lifted my wrist and took my pulse. “We’re not allowed to give you anything to eat. Not until the Swallow Lady has been to see you.” Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest I stared up at her. “Swallow Lady? Who’s that?” “The speech therapist. We don’t want you choking on your food.” “I can swallow,” I said. “I’ve been swallowing a bucketload of pills.” “Yes, but that’s different,” she said as she disappeared beyond the curtain.