Never Gonna Keep Me Down (But They Try)

Wednesday, April 21

7:00 pm

I’ve never done any training of the kind of intensity that I’m doing now. They drive me until I’ve totally broken down—and then they make me do more. (Christine: “That sounds demoralizing.” Lee: “It’s not fun.”)

This morning during walking practice, I walked in a big circle (in the harness), part of which included a couple steps up to a platform and then a ramp back down. I have no idea how many times I walked that course, but it was a lot. They wanted to get my heart rate to hit 140. I did hit it, and I averaged 106. I was getting to the point where my muscles were breaking down. I had to keep walking.

I went straight from walking practice with Zane to PT—which was basically walking practice with Brian, but this time without the harness and with the addition of standing up and sitting back down in between rounds. He wanted to see how well I was able to stand up and sit down when fatigued. I actually think I did pretty well.

Directly after PT, I got hooked up to the hand pedals on the stim bike and cycled for 20 minutes. That’s probably the least taxing thing I do, because the bike sometimes does part of the work, although they did tell me today that I was doing all the work. Some days the bike is easier than others, which I imagine has as much to do with fatigue as the settings on the bike.

After lunch, I went with Linda back to the wheelchair specialist Blythe because I had a minor complaint about my wheelchair. So I got a new chair, which I quickly realized was significantly less comfortable than my previous one, and one minor wheelchair complaint turned into four major complaints.

I went straight from the wheelchair clinic to combined OT/arm and hand recovery. Once again, Eliza made me do pushups on my hands and knees until it became physically impossible for me to do another pushup. Then we shifted to the roller on the wedge and did several of those, while squeezing my gluteus maximus.

After a short, much-needed break, I was taken back down to the CORE gym, where I was supposed to pedal the stim bike with my legs. By that time, though, I was so annoyed with my new wheelchair that I asked the tech to take me back to Blythe instead, who put my old chair back together and gave it back to me. I no longer complain about it. The cure was worse than the disease. (That’s how rehab feels, too, even though I know it’s not.)

It’s not just that the therapy is hard. It’s that everything I do is freaking hard. I had to dress myself this morning, and it took me a good 15 minutes to put on my underwear and sweatpants. Forget the socks. If I see something across the room, I can’t get it, no matter how much I want it. The good news is that I’ll soon be cleared to make the transition from the bed to the wheelchair by myself, which will make a lot of things easier, although I don’t know how soon “soon” is. It will help when I won’t have to call and wait an indeterminate amount of time for someone to come aid me.

By the way, after experiencing severe back spasms last night, I would like to apologize to every woman who’s ever had a child and suffered back contractions. I’m sorry for not being more empathetic.

Linda came back around 5:30. (Speaking of women in my life, I’m slowly breaking up with Cathy again—didn’t have to see her until about 6:00 today. She’s not a nice mistress, but at least she won’t ruin my marriage, if only because I have a very understanding wife.) Linda shaved me and fed me dinner—what little I ate. Nothing tastes particularly good lately. (Christine notes that Linda told her that she got in trouble with a nurse for feeding him dinner today; apparently she is supposed to make him do it himself. But when every little task is so difficult to accomplish, it probably feels nice for him to let someone do that for him at the end of a long day. Besides, he did manage to brush his own teeth today, so he’s still making strides!) Linda stayed and kept me company until visiting hours ended and she was kicked out. And then I called my favorite youngest daughter. (Aw shucks, Dad, out of all your youngest daughters?!)

I don’t have to walk with Zane tomorrow, so I think tomorrow will be a better day—or, at least, a little less exhausting.