Fred,
Time moves differently here at Ocean Vista Rehab. The calendar says I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, but it feels like an eternity of that movie Groundhog Day; endless days of meds, PT, and sitting around. That’s the worst part, the sitting and waiting. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin and I can’t stand my own helplessness. It makes me want to hurl and scream. And hurl again.
They say I’m making progress, but not enough to release me this week like they were supposed to. They said the insurance company approved another three weeks and I have a bad feeling there might be even more time here on the other side.
On one hand, I’m glad to have unfettered access to painkillers, but I don’t know how much more I can take it. Everything is whirling into itself like a smoothie in slow motion and I think all that TV might be burning holes into my retinas.
It helps to have distractions. I need more distractions. What I really want is to get outside on my own. A nurse will sometimes roll me along the cement paths that go by the garden. But I long to walk on my own again and far, far away from anyone else in this insane asylum. I wanna keep walking until I hit water.
There is one salvation — the puzzle group that Rosie introduced me to the other day.
It’s run by a youngish (I don’t know, 35? 45? 48?) guy named Brady. He’s a real nervous sort. Shaky. Looking towards the door like he’s expecting someone else to show up.
Actually, I don’t know if he runs it as much as he’s just always in that room, puzzling, and people decided to join him. The nurse manning the desk there always has a “Soothing Sounds Collection” CD on full tilt, so nobody can really talk. It’s more meditative than that bogus class The Director runs, that’s for damn sure.
Of course, you know that Rosie has been dragging me back to that meditation class every week. I’ve told her I have no interest, and that she’s fully capable of going on her own, but for some stupid reason, she can’t get herself to do it. Maybe that’s why she’s here – she’s incapable of doing anything on her own.
That’s a little harsh, but that woman will do anything to bring attention to herself, especially from The Director, short of throwing herself in front of a train. But you know she’d threaten to do it. You know, I don’t even understand why Rosie is here. She goes to all the regular appointments, and the exercise classes, and the social events, but as far as I can tell, she could live independently.
I tried asking about it, and before you chide me, I was VERY NICE about it! I just asked her how the PT staff here was and if they helped her recover from her injury (of which there is no sign of now).
Let me tell you what, she got snippy with me about it! She said something like, that’s none of your business! I have a whole personal care team here that I would die without, yada yada yada. She even stopped talking to me for a whole day, until she remembered that she can’t go anywhere on her own.
So that’s something to keep in my hat for when she drives me nuts again.
I do wonder about that Brady kid, though. It was like he was more shell-shocked than recovering from something in particular. I’ll have to ask my PT what kind of patients they have here. I thought this place was for physical recoveries, but I’ve seen enough stuff that makes me curious if they take people recovering from addictions and other stuff too – maybe mental episodes.
Can they do that? You’d think they’d need more specialty care to provide for that. I can promise you that meditation classes from The Director are certainly nothing special. Unless you’re a front row groupie like Rosie.
Well, keep me in your cold, dead thoughts, Fred. I gotta get moving again if it’s the last thing I do. I want to walk in those gardens before winter. Not that I’ll be here that long.
Heck, by then I might be joining the Olympic team for speedwalking. Unless they have speedcrawling?
Much love,
Ags