The Tired Tortoise

Monday, April 12

9:00 pm

Something I’ve had difficulty getting across thus far is what I mean when I tell people I’m tired after therapy. People tend to think I’m tired as if I ran a marathon, but it’s not that kind of tired at all. It feels more like I’ve been awake for more than 24 hours, and everything is simply shutting down. So when I’m tired after PT, it’s an I-want-to-go-bed-and-take-a-nap tired, not an I-just-ran-a-race-and-need-to-sit-down tired. Maybe that’s why my PT tech was unable to rouse me from my nap the other day!

Early this morning, while I was still waiting for my day to begin, I drew an image in my mind of what exactly happened with my body during the accident. My head tucked then stopped at the moment of impact, and my body flew over my head, which stretched all the muscles in my neck and body before landing on my back. In my mind’s eye, it’s like I did a neck bridge, except my body was stretching out all those muscles instead of using them. It’s not pretty. But that helped me to visualize and understand the trauma my body underwent. At the time of the accident, I was not in the best shape I’ve ever been in, but I’m grateful that my muscles have maintained some of the strength gained through a life of athleticism. That strength saved my life.

After a morning of my usual catching up, taking drugs, and chatting with psychologist Matt and my doctors, I had PT starting at 9:30. We returned to my old friend the overhead harness, with electrical stimulation on my calves and quads. When the electrical current went through my calf, you could actually see my foot flex up and in, which is an action I’ve been having trouble with while walking on my own (it’s why I keep dragging my toes). So, with that stimulation, I got up and walked 35 feet, turned, walk back, and sat again. I did that six times, trying to keep my feet up and straight with the help of the electrical cuffs. I felt pretty good about some of my laps, and others…well, there were a few times I would have fallen if Brian and the harness had not been there to catch me.

We then went to the big padded bench, where I lay down on my back with my knees up and feet on the bench. Brian had me lift my hips into a bridge and lower back down. (Christine wanted to use the word bum instead of hips. I told her, “You can call me a bum!”) I did three sets of 10. He then put a wide, circular elastic band around my knees, with my back and feet still on the bench, and instructed me to spread my knees to pull the band taught and then bring my knees back together in a controlled manner.

After that, Brian brought me back up to my room, where I stayed until OT at two o’clock. We worked in the CORE gym on a new machine, called Georgie, which is a kind of video game machine. In my wheelchair, I was rolled up in front of a computer screen. Around my wrists and upper arms they put wide velcro bands, which were attached by cables to a machine overhead, so I felt like a marionette. (“I’m a real boy!”) This allows them to take off or add weight, depending on the motion they want to correct. They first had me test the range of motion of my arms. They then put a kind of video game scene on the screen: there was a river, a canoe, and a dock on each side of the river. The idea was to put both of my arms out in front of me, and when I moved my arms in one direction the boat moved with them. I had to move my arms far enough so that the boat reached one dock, where it picked up cargo, and then back to the other dock, where it dropped the cargo off. I did that 10 times.

They then switched to a video game with an elevator. There were three floors. One arm at a time, I had to raise my arm to pick up passengers on different floors and let each passenger off on her requested floor. I did this ten times with each arm. This sounds pretty damn easy, but let me tell you, when you hardly have enough strength to pick up your arm to begin with, it gets really tiring. When I finished with Georgie and went back to my room, I was feeling the kind of tired that I describe above.

After OT, I felt a little depressed today. Even though I’ve made progress every day, I feel like at the rate I’m progressing I’m never going to get back to 100%. I know that’s not the way it works, but it sure as hell is the way it feels right now.

I am making progress. Today I did actually pick up a styrofoam cup, bring it to my lips, and take a sip through a straw without getting wet. Two days ago, I couldn’t even wrap my fingers around a cup. (Christine would like to emphasize how incredible she thinks this is. A week ago, he could hardly move his fingers at all!) And yet, there are still so many things I cannot do and still have to have people do for me. Even if I am more independent when I go home, for some time afterward, I will still need some help and will tire easily. Earlier today, my physical therapist started discussing things I will need when I’m home, like a ramp leading into the house. Linda may need the ramp more than I do; even if I can walk and get myself up a couple stairs, I’m going to want the wheelchair in the house sometimes, so a ramp will save her the trouble of carrying it.

My angel wife arrived right at four today, having driven straight to Richmond from Lauren’s house in New Jersey. She fed me dinner, shaved me, clipped my fingernails—all these things she hates to do yet does for me because she loves me. I think she could tell I was a little bit down, but having her there helped. Before she left, she opened my computer and changed the security settings so that I will no longer have to type in my password to get in (which I could do only with great difficulty). On my computer, I can now manage to move the mouse on the pad fairly well; only occasionally do I lose coordination and click on something unintentionally. (Again, having seen him one week ago, Christine is amazed that he so casually mentions being able to do such things at all. From a distance, the leaps in progress seem astonishing; yet, on a day-to-day basis, Christine imagines, the pace must be excruciating. Slow and steady wins the...well, wins a better life after a spinal cord injury.)