September 8, 2006

Well, today we found out insurance won’t pay for the commode seat. This seems preposterous – the hospital bed was never meant to be a permanent fixture, but the commode seat is something he’ll need for the rest of his life. I suggested Gary contact our Bridge Program person, and Gary’s therapist thought it might do some good to talk to the university insurance person. Gary is skeptical either of these moves will help.

At therapy one of the other therapists came through the door from the gym to the waiting room and nearly hit Gary’s wheelchair. Not that it was the therapist’s fault, it was ours, or really, mine. The little waiting room is crowded with chairs along each wall except for right behind the door, and that is where I usually stand, because my leg starts bothering me if I sit (I wonder if there is a Guiness Book of World Records entry for longest time not sitting), and there is also room there for Gary to put his chair against the wall. The therapist apologized, and Gary said that it was okay. When the guy had left the room, Gary added out of the side of his mouth to me as if he were still talking to the guy, “I didn’t even feel it.” This set us both to laughing, but I’m sure the guy wouldn’t have thought it funny, which is of course why Gary didn’t say it to him.

I managed to pay only half-attention to Gary this time, using my other half of attention on editing my story. I can tell you that he again increased weight on one of the cross-cable exercises and on the lat pull-downs, and that he was able to do thirty reps instead of fifteen when he did the “diagonal pain” exercise with his left arm using a two-pound weight – it was just last week when he couldn’t use any weight at all on that exercise.

The therapist thought the curb around the corner of the little group of buildings where the rehab place is might be low enough for Gary to practice wheelies on, so we checked it out. We were in front of a pizza place, and apparently we managed to freak the owner out. First he came running out apologizing that one of his employees was parked in the handicapped spot, and she moved her car, which wasn’t affecting us at all (though, granted, she shouldn’t have been parked there). Then when Gary prepared to try to take the curb (the therapist holding onto the gait belt around his wheelchair’s axle), the guy ran out again and asked if we wanted help getting Gary up the curb. We told him we were practicing. Maybe he thought we were going to report him to somebody, or maybe he was trying to make a good impression so we would order a pizza from him :-)

Anyway, the curb was too high for Gary to practice on, much higher than anything he’d ever done, so after one failed attempt, he passed on trying some more. The therapist told us if we located a suitable curb we could take a little outing one day and Gary could practice there.

Next Monday, the plan is that I will take Gary to therapy, but then he will take the LETA bus to school afterwards and then also home. He is reluctant to take the bus to therapy because they may come fifteen minutes early or late, which means to be sure to make the therapy session he might end up getting there half an hour early, and he doesn’t want to waste that time. So far I have not pointed out that by having me take him, that eats about an hour of my time (that is about what it takes to just help him into the car, disassemble his chair, pick up some food for him, take him to therapy, assemble his chair, and then leave him at therapy and return home). By having him take the bus as he will do on Monday, that will give me about two hours of time back on a therapy day. I haven’t decided whether or not to press for more by having him take the bus to therapy as well (if you’ve been following the blog, you know that I put in other time on his care).

Of course we may have days like today where other things arise that increase “maintenance” time. After I brought him to school and assembled his chair, I was about to help him transfer out of the car when I said, “Something smells.” We looked at each other. “Better check,” he said. I did, and said, “Oh, crap.”

So I had to disassemble his chair and take him home and help him get cleaned up and changed (and he had to do another bowel program session). By the time he was ready to get back in his wheelchair (an hour and a half later), my writing group meeting was about to start, and one member was supposed to be going to talk over some ideas she had after hearing from a publisher and a new member was supposed to be there as well (or so I thought – it turned out she didn’t come). But all week Gary had been planning to go to the math colloquium today. I thought maybe I could just throw him in the car (figuratively speaking, of course) and drop him off, but he wasn’t ready to leave, not having had lunch and still having some cleaning up to do. Though I felt a little torn about it, he told me to go to my meeting, that that was the way it goes. I know he was frustrated with his body and disappointed about not going to the colloquium and he was also sorry that I had to spend the extra time helping him, but I don’t begrudge him the time when it is out of his control. It’s the time that is in our control that we are still working out. ;-)

By the way, the therapist agreed with me that the LETA bus strapping in was inadequate, and she questioned whether the driver had known what he or she was doing (funny aside – I thought the driver was a she, Gary thought the driver was a he; if the same person comes again, I’m not absolutely sure how we’re going to resolve this). She thought Gary should insist on a four-point strap-down, and she also thought the bus should have a seatbelt/shoulder strap for him. So, we’ll see. Gary didn’t seem to be as concerned about it as we were.