Life in the rehab facility keeps me so busy I haven’t had time to think about a blog. My phone has rung more than once, and I had two visitors which made up for the fact that Jordan caught a “but” and couldn’t come.
I have been a spoiled baby about being here. I want to be home. I have family, friends, my dog, and my wonderful new cottage to enjoy. When I talked to any one of my children, tears were close to the surface and though I tried to hide it, I was one big lump of self-pity. They knew, and all I managed to accomplish was to make them feel guilty for something that was beyond their control.
I had a friend who used to exclaim, “I had an epiphany today!” We laughed and said life for her was one big epiphany—but tonight I share that feeling. My mother was in two nursing homes and died in the second. It was a difficult period for all of us, and Mom was by then not quite lucid—so she wasn’t always easy on our guilt. Today I realized that being here has plummeted me right back to those difficult years.
My Megan stressed tonight that they have all tried to tell me that mine is a totally different situation and rationally I know that. But those subconscious thoughts and memories are there. And I’m dealing with them.
I also owe my surgeon and family doctor an apology. The therapy I am getting here is far superior to what I would have gotten if I’d gone straight home. I’m highly impressed by the knowledge and practice of both the physical and the occupational therapist. They move me in ways I didn’t know I could move or never thought I’d move again, and they find aches I didn’t know I had. I’m gaining self-confidence by leaps and bounds (I know, pride goeth before, etc etc.) My room is comfortable but far from posh; the food is not that great, but the people are kind and caring—and gentle, which is important at this point. I hope not to be in this facility for long, but I will be a good camper while I am.