The Mayor of Rehab

I think we are nearing the finish line here. I hope so. I’m tired of driving a half-hour each way and answering the Covid questions to see my husband. I’m sure he’s tired of alarms going off every time he shifts his weight on the bed because the bed thinks he’s standing up.

Greybeard the Pirate is making amazing progress. He is walking very well, his double vision is improving, and his speech therapy is helping A LOT. I still have trouble understanding him sometimes but usually if he slows down it’s okay.

Apparently the eyeglasses I fought so hard to get are useless. SOME GRATITUDE, MAN. I had to yell at people to get those made! At least pretend they’re fine and switch to the old busted glasses when I’m not looking, jeez.

I am meeting with the therapy team on Monday. They call it “family training” and I guess it’s a show and tell of what kinds of things they’re doing and which of those things we’ll need to continue at home. My hope is that I can go to that and then be all “Okay, thanks, we’re leaving now” and then bring him home.

The good news is that part of his recovery is to… do stuff. I had offered him the use of my cowbell in case he’s upstairs and needs something but he said the therapists tell him that he’s supposed to get up and do whatever it is that needs done. THIS IS AMAZING NEWS. It also appears to encompass things like chores, so instead of yelling “JILL, EMPTY THE DISHWASHER” he’s supposed to do it himself! It will help with movement and memory! I’m hoping “folding laundry” falls into this category as well and if I play my cards right, I might not have to do anything domestic for a good long while!

Every cloud does indeed have a silver lining.

Once we’re home and start establishing a routine, we are going to sit down and make a list of everyone who needs a thank-you card or whatever. It’s a long list. Freddie is very grateful for all the medical staff in both the hospital and the rehab, because they have taken very good care of him. Aside from one nurse and one nursing assistant that I didn’t personally love, everyone we have worked with has been outstanding. So there will be a lot of thank yous going out.

My husband is a personable guy. He is genuinely interested in people and has been making friends with all of his caregivers over the past week. He was the Mayor of the Neuro Floor over at Morristown and he’s the Mayor of Kessler Rehab this week. This is a good thing, because he’s the one who remembers names in this relationship. I’m super-bad at that so I rely on him to find out people’s names and remind me. The fact that this side of him is coming out so strongly is a very good sign.

As for me, my gratitude is focused on all of you, my dear readers. All of your check-ins, your offers to help, your Starbucks gift cards, and your incredibly terrible jokes helped a lot these past two weeks. I know a lot of folks asked if there is anything they can do and it’s very hard for me to ask for what I need, but if you really feel like you need to do something, I could use a bunch of Wegmans gift cards. Wegmans is my happy place, and cooking is the main way I deal with stress, and there’s going to be quite a lot of that in the next little while, I think. So if you’re willing, that’s what I need and can really really use. I promise not to spend it all on scratch-off lottery tickets and booze. You can reach me via text, email, or Facebook if you need my address, and thank you in advance.

I’m not sure we’re going to get back to “normal.” I don’t think we ever were normal in the first place, so whatever we end up doing is going to be what it’s going to be. We need a routine, because our house is an ADHD house (everyone has it except one of the dogs and possibly the cat, but he’s a psychopath so…) and routine is KING in this joint. Any fluctuation in our routine crashes the whole boat so with luck, we’ll get that back together and get on with it.

This has been an… interesting fortnight, to be sure. It feels like the longest and the shortest two weeks ever, and it’s definitely not a period of time I ever want to re-live. When the TARDIS lands on the lawn, we definitely aren’t going back to any of this bullshit. What we’re gonna do is go see the Sex Pistols in Manchester in 1976, then swing by Live Aid at Wembley in 1985. But 2020? No thank you. Zero stars, would not recommend.

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