EXTRA!
_________________
LATE EDITION
________________________________________________
"THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE"
07-23-10
REVELATION
ACT ONE
Exactly two weeks ago I breached the 100 lb. mark. The significance of the amount of weight loss cannot be overstated, however, it’s not so much the physical number which is the hallmark of the achievement or that it was accomplished while restricted to a chair while paralyzed. Rather it’s the impact on my recovery where its relevance and import become critically apparent. The weight loss probably accelerated my recovery by at least a year if not more. And yet, beyond its relevance there’s a deeper more profound theme driving this story that as of yet has alluded me.
I am at a point in my recovery where standing is not an idealized option. Standing, and for that matter, walking, has been long overdue and a major source of frustration and concern: without fanfare or formal acknowledgment a temporary condition can quickly lose the very essence behind its underlying optimism; the condition becomes permanent.
I am happy to say that, although still frustrated and annoyed at the amount of time my recovery has taken, I can exclaim at the top of my lungs with arms spread wide and from the bow of any fantasy ship, seaworthy or not: I AM RECOVERING!! I AM KING OF THE WORLD! (Sorry Leo). My heart is pounding as I write these words because there were times I felt I would only say them in a dream. (Lay on your back for seven months unable to move and tell me your thoughts.)
To be sure, my joy and revelry are tempered by prudence and control. There is no question the road to functional recovery is by no means over. Chances are I may never fully recover, but as I tell my therapists, “I don’t need to run a marathon.”
As a result of my paralysis my right side is markedly weaker than the left. One of the effects is my left knee can’t bear much weight for extended time periods causing it to quickly fatigue and finally collapse. The video clip of my first “walk” taken on June 28, shows problems with the knee. (Check out my blog: Yancy's Guillain Barre) (Eskimos have seven different definitions for snow: here there are seven different definitions for walking). Since June 28, I have walked three additional times with each successive performance exhibiting greater strength, longer distance and a welcomed assurance of stride.
Clearly, the level and timing of my recovery would not have occurred but for the loss of weight. Given the absolute and near complete degeneration of most of my muscle mass throughout my body, any thought of successful recovery had to incorporate a significant restructuring of my diet and a persistent commitment to an exhaustive exercise regime with the unwavering aim at reducing my payload. That may sound funny but it can’t be more simply stated. With gravity my worst enemy, all weight unnecessary to function had to be removed. Lying in bed unable to move a muscle provided an exceedingly clear picture of the least best option.
You have to understand, my recovery attempt could not be half ass: a half ass attempt would only generate a half ass result. In the face of fleeting time I could not play this on the margin, I could not wait for things to happen, I could not live with myself if I thought my recovery was within my control which was not fully exhausted and exploited. All chips had to be played. There was no 80/20 policy available here. Everything that made me YANCY had to be called upon. To be sure, my stay here, which has been a constant battle with the administration, has been a test of my soul and of who I am as a man.
It’s interesting, as I am writing this piece, I just realized the primal force behind my drive to recover. The weight loss and fierce workout commitment are merely the resultant effect of a larger issue: my fear of failure.
Fear is the unknown variable fueling my hellish push towards recovery. Yeah, everyone can say I’m motivated, but motivation is only the end product of something deeper, a base emotion wired during man’s struggle to survive as a species. When pitted against a thundering pachyderm fear sent man in the opposite direction to survive and hunt another day. Likewise, when faced with effective death, fear sent me in the only direction plausible; recovery or die trying! It’s that simple. All I needed to do was develop the formula for my recovery.
Fear is a component of my emotion base I recognized when I was quite young and have strongly embraced and used throughout my life. I have never walked away from fear. When manipulated and controlled fear can incite a spirit laid dormant by complaisance and laziness to overcome obstacles thought out of reach. The key is to understand that fear elicits a physical reaction similar to the reaction experienced when excited; increased heart rate and adrenaline spike, among other generalized changes in body chemistry. I then go through the process of relabeling fear with excitement. Excitement begins to take root as the challenge becomes clear: how do I succeed against the odds? In this matter the adversary is paralysis and the stated charge is to gain control of my body to the extent it is physically possible. When complaisance or acceptance of the status quo gains footing fear (usually guised as guilt) begins anew forcing still greater action.
Over the last seven months fear has motivated me to wake up every morning with one directive in mind, recovery: to lose weight and to get stronger. The system seems to have worked at least from a third party perspective. Everyone tells me that I’ve come a long way, although I see it differently. I have a long way to go. I cannot let complaisance take over. I am still very much afraid. I don’t know if I’ll ever lose that fear, I don’t know if I ever want to lose that fear.
WEIGHT LOSS
I have broken the 200 pound mark, coming in at 199 lbs. for a total loss of 104 lbs. I need to lose 24 lbs. to reach 175 lbs. at that point I’ll decide whether to go lower.
DEPARTURE DATE
My goal is to discharge myself at the end of August.
A new odyssey will begin.
Remember, it could be worse.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
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Friday, July 23, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
"THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE" 07-09-10
EXTRA!
____________________
MORNING EDITION
_______________________________________________
"THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE"
07-09-10
The unbelievable has happened! The improbability has occurred! A wondrous event has visited all concerned. A milestone by any measurement, I have lost at total of 101 lbs. in seven months!! I now weigh 202 lbs. or 33.33% of my total body weight. And let me remind the faithful, the weight loss was completed while restricted to a wheelchair while recovering from total paralysis.
To fully appreciate the enormity of the feat, the accomplishment must be placed into perspective.
On Tuesday morning December 8, 2009, I awoke with the usual body tightness and disgruntled attitude from not getting enough sleep. I sat up in bed, not realizing that would be the last time, and stretched out my arms and twisted about my torso at the waste; the usual unremarkable morning routine. Without effort I lifted my heavy frame from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. It was 7:30 a.m.
Almost immediately, I realized something was wrong with my gait. Initially, I couldn't put my finger on the cause of my uneasiness and instability. The only thing clear was a distinct feeling that my lower body wasn’t functioning as usual. I quickly dismissed the event as over-concern: after a warm shower I would feel as good as new.
I was right, the shower did make me feel better overall; in fact, because I did feel better my earlier unease became singularly magnified. Why was I still having trouble walking? As I walked up and down the hallway I realized I was walking flat-footed, similar to walking with swim fins. I stopped in my tracks. I pushed on the balls of my feet and found I couldn’t stand on my tippy-toes. That was the first sign of palpable weakness. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the problem, no time, so I dismissed it, hoping that it would take care of itself without my intervention. Denial rooted in fear.
That day I was able to work out of my home without having to drive to my office downtown. I sat down at my desk and began typing. All was well. Throughout the morning I was on the phone negotiating several disputes fully cognizant of the details surrounding each situation. After a couple of hours, though, I noticed my fingers weren’t hitting the keys with the same force as usual. Was the weakness in my feet related to the weakness in my fingers? I immediately feared I had suffered a stroke. Mentally, I reviewed my morning’s activities. I was able to think and converse without limitation throughout the morning, impossible had I suffered a stroke. I felt hope even if it was only a glimmer. Denial was fading into fear.
I proceeded head long into my work.
After a short time I stood up to grab some water. Any question of whether something was wrong was put to rest. Not only were my feet weak, my legs were getting weaker. Whatever affected my feet was now inching up my legs and into my hands. There was no doubt now, I was getting weaker throughout my body. I called my lifeline, my son Forrest to put him on notice something was wrong.
It was now the afternoon and my growing concern made it impossible to work. I was definitely having significant problems walking. My arms were now used as guides against the wall to steady my walk. Forrest finally came home where he found me sitting on the sofa. It was the safest place in the house. He wanted to take me the hospital but I refused. He had a college final the next day and needed to prepare. I told him I would be alright. After he left the living room I got up to take a shower. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wanted to feel clean should I have to be hospitalized. Within several steps of the sofa I fell hard into the armoire and crashed to the floor. This would be the first of several falls over the next few hours. It was 5:30p.m.
Forrest came running out if his room visually concerned. I told him everything was alright, “I just lost my balance.” To allay his fears I told him we would go to the hospital after his morning final. I continued towards the bathroom. I now needed to hold the wall as I walked the long hallway. Once in the bathroom I looked into the mirror wondering what was happening with me and whether I was going to be alright. Forrest was on my mind. I looked at my hands and recalled the old black and white movie “The Pride of The Yankees” with Gary Cooper who played the Yankee Ironhorse, Lou Gehrig: he died from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. Jesus Christ, what was I in for?
Once inside the shower, I realized I had to get out of there soon. Somehow my subconscious became aware of my body’s distress and signaled for retreat and safety. I was overcome with fear of falling. I didn’t realize it then, but my psyche’s concern for my survival and preservation would become more pronounced as my condition worsened. Fear and the attendant survival reaction is a wired response over which we have no control.
Ever so gingerly I maneuvered my body towards the shower door. The problem was this was not a walk-in shower, but a shower/bathtub. I braced my left arm against the wall and firmly planted my left foot against the rise in the tub wall as I slowly lifted my right leg. How I prayed not to fall in the shower. All I could think of was breaking an arm, leg or hip; and what about Forrest, scaring the crap out of him.
I grabbed within me and struggled to raise my leg above the edge of the tub. I didn’t realize how physically limited I had become in less than twelve hours. At least Lou Gehrig had several years before he died. My foot barely breached the crest of the tub; all I had to do was place it on the floor beyond and I would be half-way home, safe. Basic Instinct then took over.
Before I knew it my subconscious reacted to what was going on. My left knee buckled pushing my foot out of position. I heard the squeaky sound of my foot slipping over the tub’s slick wet surface. Meekly, I grabbed for the shower door but was unable to hold up my weight. I was falling. I yelled for Forrest anticipating the worse. All I remember was trying to roll into a ball and land on my back. I collapsed onto my left side with my left arm pinned underneath me and my head just missing the faucet. Forrest came busting through the door looking as scared as I felt. He reached for my hand thinking I would be able to assist in my own recovery. I couldn’t. I was simply without any strength.
It was then that I began to appreciate my overwhelming size. At the time, Forrest was a tall 21 year old strong athlete yet he couldn’t extricate me from the tub. He repositioned himself, legs wide and gave it another heave. I moved. After a few more grunts and tugs he was able to maneuver me to the side of the tub where I gathered myself and took in what had just happened. For a moment I guess we were both in shock. Nothing was said but we both knew then this was serious.
With Forrest at my side I slowly stood up taking care to actively feel my body. I was not going to be taken by surprise again. Forrest reprised his push for the hospital, seeing something in me I didn’t or couldn’t. I told him everything was alright and we would go to the hospital right after his final. He went back to his room not persuaded. I stood for a moment before the mirror thinking about going to the hospital. The thought of being inconvenienced from going was actually getting me upset. Hell, I did not want to waste an evening at some hospital only to be told to take two aspirin and drink plenty of fluids. Maybe, I would feel better by morning. Then it happened, without any forewarning I collapsed right onto the bathroom floor. This fall was different: I didn’t fall over; I collapsed onto myself similar to the way the trestles gave out in the World Trade Center, straight down.
Forrest was quickly in the bathroom, now upset with me for not heeding his advice. I had to accept the facts. I was getting progressively worse at an accelerating rate. Where would it end up if left unchecked? I told him to help me to the sofa where I needed to think through the problem. With my hands on either shoulder I followed him into the living room. Even with him supporting some of my weight I felt extremely weak. In fact, without his support I would have fallen. My dependence on others for my wellbeing began at that moment.
We approached the sofa with caution, by this time anticipating anything. At the foot of the sofa we stopped so I could maneuver onto the cushion. Within a couple of seconds and while still holding Forrest’s shoulders, I fell again. At this point, I was ready for the hospital.
The next problem was how do I get down the stairs? I now couldn’t walk even with support. So I crawled. With Forrest leading the way I crawled out of my home to the descending stairwell. After several attempts we realized he could not safely bring me down the stairs, I was simply too weak and too heavy. I had no choice but to descend the stone covered steps on my butt one agonizing step at a time. Once down the steps Forrest struggled but picked me up on my feet, and with my knees locked, sandwiched me against the wall as we shimmied down the corridor to my waiting car. That would be the last time I would walk.
It was about 11:00p.m when we arrived at USC Hospital. Forrest left me in the car while he sought help. He came back with a wheelchair. I then transferred from my 2006 BMW to the waiting wheelchair. My life, indeed, would never be the same.
Over the course of the next several hours, I was prodded, poked, pinched and pushed. My spine was tapped for fluid two times and I was X-rayed. My blood was drawn on several occasions. Every hour or so some specialist about to discover the cure for cancer would come by and ask me the same questions: If I had been to an exotic locale, eaten any exotic food or had the swine flu vaccination. A series of reflex tests were conducted over the course of the early morning, each one eliciting an ever weaker response.
My poor son was with me through the early morning. I convinced him to go home and get some sleep for at least a few hours so he could study before the final.
I was now in the Intensive Care Unit where I was being monitored for, among other things, respiratory failure. By sunrise the next morning the doctors had preliminarily diagnosed GBS, they weren’t sure, but were confidently comfortable with it.
What movement I had left was quickly leaving. It seemed the physical degradation was occurring right before my eyes. Within hours I was paralyzed from the neck down.
By this time I was experiencing sensory overload. I was being told I had a syndrome, as opposed to a disease, the cause of which was unclear, the cure of which was unsure and how the medication administered worked, was uncertain. I only knew one thing, I was certain to die.
The next five days were nothing more than hellish. My life was a living nightmare punctuated by extended waves of deep rooted fear at levels I never thought imaginable. To suggest I lost my mind, went insane for a time; I don’t doubt. What I didn’t lose, however, was control. By the end of my five day stay I knew I would survive. The question was how was I going to do it on my terms.
From USC I was transferred to Rancho Los Amigos in the City of Downey, California where I’ve been receiving rehabilitation for the past six and a half months. It was during the admission process where I learned my weight, 303 lbs. I don’t doubt I was heavier when admitted into intensive care but for purposes of this book I will use the 303 lb. figure.
Here is where the odyssey begins.
(I have attached a picture of what I looked like one week after I was admitted to Rancho on December 9, 2009 and a picture taken about June 22, 2010, 8 lbs. ago. Truly astonishing. I have 27 lbs. to go to hit my target weight of 175 lbs.)
____________________
MORNING EDITION
_______________________________________________
"THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE"
07-09-10
The unbelievable has happened! The improbability has occurred! A wondrous event has visited all concerned. A milestone by any measurement, I have lost at total of 101 lbs. in seven months!! I now weigh 202 lbs. or 33.33% of my total body weight. And let me remind the faithful, the weight loss was completed while restricted to a wheelchair while recovering from total paralysis.
To fully appreciate the enormity of the feat, the accomplishment must be placed into perspective.
On Tuesday morning December 8, 2009, I awoke with the usual body tightness and disgruntled attitude from not getting enough sleep. I sat up in bed, not realizing that would be the last time, and stretched out my arms and twisted about my torso at the waste; the usual unremarkable morning routine. Without effort I lifted my heavy frame from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. It was 7:30 a.m.
Almost immediately, I realized something was wrong with my gait. Initially, I couldn't put my finger on the cause of my uneasiness and instability. The only thing clear was a distinct feeling that my lower body wasn’t functioning as usual. I quickly dismissed the event as over-concern: after a warm shower I would feel as good as new.
I was right, the shower did make me feel better overall; in fact, because I did feel better my earlier unease became singularly magnified. Why was I still having trouble walking? As I walked up and down the hallway I realized I was walking flat-footed, similar to walking with swim fins. I stopped in my tracks. I pushed on the balls of my feet and found I couldn’t stand on my tippy-toes. That was the first sign of palpable weakness. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the problem, no time, so I dismissed it, hoping that it would take care of itself without my intervention. Denial rooted in fear.
That day I was able to work out of my home without having to drive to my office downtown. I sat down at my desk and began typing. All was well. Throughout the morning I was on the phone negotiating several disputes fully cognizant of the details surrounding each situation. After a couple of hours, though, I noticed my fingers weren’t hitting the keys with the same force as usual. Was the weakness in my feet related to the weakness in my fingers? I immediately feared I had suffered a stroke. Mentally, I reviewed my morning’s activities. I was able to think and converse without limitation throughout the morning, impossible had I suffered a stroke. I felt hope even if it was only a glimmer. Denial was fading into fear.
I proceeded head long into my work.
After a short time I stood up to grab some water. Any question of whether something was wrong was put to rest. Not only were my feet weak, my legs were getting weaker. Whatever affected my feet was now inching up my legs and into my hands. There was no doubt now, I was getting weaker throughout my body. I called my lifeline, my son Forrest to put him on notice something was wrong.
It was now the afternoon and my growing concern made it impossible to work. I was definitely having significant problems walking. My arms were now used as guides against the wall to steady my walk. Forrest finally came home where he found me sitting on the sofa. It was the safest place in the house. He wanted to take me the hospital but I refused. He had a college final the next day and needed to prepare. I told him I would be alright. After he left the living room I got up to take a shower. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wanted to feel clean should I have to be hospitalized. Within several steps of the sofa I fell hard into the armoire and crashed to the floor. This would be the first of several falls over the next few hours. It was 5:30p.m.
Forrest came running out if his room visually concerned. I told him everything was alright, “I just lost my balance.” To allay his fears I told him we would go to the hospital after his morning final. I continued towards the bathroom. I now needed to hold the wall as I walked the long hallway. Once in the bathroom I looked into the mirror wondering what was happening with me and whether I was going to be alright. Forrest was on my mind. I looked at my hands and recalled the old black and white movie “The Pride of The Yankees” with Gary Cooper who played the Yankee Ironhorse, Lou Gehrig: he died from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. Jesus Christ, what was I in for?
Once inside the shower, I realized I had to get out of there soon. Somehow my subconscious became aware of my body’s distress and signaled for retreat and safety. I was overcome with fear of falling. I didn’t realize it then, but my psyche’s concern for my survival and preservation would become more pronounced as my condition worsened. Fear and the attendant survival reaction is a wired response over which we have no control.
Ever so gingerly I maneuvered my body towards the shower door. The problem was this was not a walk-in shower, but a shower/bathtub. I braced my left arm against the wall and firmly planted my left foot against the rise in the tub wall as I slowly lifted my right leg. How I prayed not to fall in the shower. All I could think of was breaking an arm, leg or hip; and what about Forrest, scaring the crap out of him.
I grabbed within me and struggled to raise my leg above the edge of the tub. I didn’t realize how physically limited I had become in less than twelve hours. At least Lou Gehrig had several years before he died. My foot barely breached the crest of the tub; all I had to do was place it on the floor beyond and I would be half-way home, safe. Basic Instinct then took over.
Before I knew it my subconscious reacted to what was going on. My left knee buckled pushing my foot out of position. I heard the squeaky sound of my foot slipping over the tub’s slick wet surface. Meekly, I grabbed for the shower door but was unable to hold up my weight. I was falling. I yelled for Forrest anticipating the worse. All I remember was trying to roll into a ball and land on my back. I collapsed onto my left side with my left arm pinned underneath me and my head just missing the faucet. Forrest came busting through the door looking as scared as I felt. He reached for my hand thinking I would be able to assist in my own recovery. I couldn’t. I was simply without any strength.
It was then that I began to appreciate my overwhelming size. At the time, Forrest was a tall 21 year old strong athlete yet he couldn’t extricate me from the tub. He repositioned himself, legs wide and gave it another heave. I moved. After a few more grunts and tugs he was able to maneuver me to the side of the tub where I gathered myself and took in what had just happened. For a moment I guess we were both in shock. Nothing was said but we both knew then this was serious.
With Forrest at my side I slowly stood up taking care to actively feel my body. I was not going to be taken by surprise again. Forrest reprised his push for the hospital, seeing something in me I didn’t or couldn’t. I told him everything was alright and we would go to the hospital right after his final. He went back to his room not persuaded. I stood for a moment before the mirror thinking about going to the hospital. The thought of being inconvenienced from going was actually getting me upset. Hell, I did not want to waste an evening at some hospital only to be told to take two aspirin and drink plenty of fluids. Maybe, I would feel better by morning. Then it happened, without any forewarning I collapsed right onto the bathroom floor. This fall was different: I didn’t fall over; I collapsed onto myself similar to the way the trestles gave out in the World Trade Center, straight down.
Forrest was quickly in the bathroom, now upset with me for not heeding his advice. I had to accept the facts. I was getting progressively worse at an accelerating rate. Where would it end up if left unchecked? I told him to help me to the sofa where I needed to think through the problem. With my hands on either shoulder I followed him into the living room. Even with him supporting some of my weight I felt extremely weak. In fact, without his support I would have fallen. My dependence on others for my wellbeing began at that moment.
We approached the sofa with caution, by this time anticipating anything. At the foot of the sofa we stopped so I could maneuver onto the cushion. Within a couple of seconds and while still holding Forrest’s shoulders, I fell again. At this point, I was ready for the hospital.
The next problem was how do I get down the stairs? I now couldn’t walk even with support. So I crawled. With Forrest leading the way I crawled out of my home to the descending stairwell. After several attempts we realized he could not safely bring me down the stairs, I was simply too weak and too heavy. I had no choice but to descend the stone covered steps on my butt one agonizing step at a time. Once down the steps Forrest struggled but picked me up on my feet, and with my knees locked, sandwiched me against the wall as we shimmied down the corridor to my waiting car. That would be the last time I would walk.
It was about 11:00p.m when we arrived at USC Hospital. Forrest left me in the car while he sought help. He came back with a wheelchair. I then transferred from my 2006 BMW to the waiting wheelchair. My life, indeed, would never be the same.
Over the course of the next several hours, I was prodded, poked, pinched and pushed. My spine was tapped for fluid two times and I was X-rayed. My blood was drawn on several occasions. Every hour or so some specialist about to discover the cure for cancer would come by and ask me the same questions: If I had been to an exotic locale, eaten any exotic food or had the swine flu vaccination. A series of reflex tests were conducted over the course of the early morning, each one eliciting an ever weaker response.
My poor son was with me through the early morning. I convinced him to go home and get some sleep for at least a few hours so he could study before the final.
I was now in the Intensive Care Unit where I was being monitored for, among other things, respiratory failure. By sunrise the next morning the doctors had preliminarily diagnosed GBS, they weren’t sure, but were confidently comfortable with it.
What movement I had left was quickly leaving. It seemed the physical degradation was occurring right before my eyes. Within hours I was paralyzed from the neck down.
By this time I was experiencing sensory overload. I was being told I had a syndrome, as opposed to a disease, the cause of which was unclear, the cure of which was unsure and how the medication administered worked, was uncertain. I only knew one thing, I was certain to die.
The next five days were nothing more than hellish. My life was a living nightmare punctuated by extended waves of deep rooted fear at levels I never thought imaginable. To suggest I lost my mind, went insane for a time; I don’t doubt. What I didn’t lose, however, was control. By the end of my five day stay I knew I would survive. The question was how was I going to do it on my terms.
From USC I was transferred to Rancho Los Amigos in the City of Downey, California where I’ve been receiving rehabilitation for the past six and a half months. It was during the admission process where I learned my weight, 303 lbs. I don’t doubt I was heavier when admitted into intensive care but for purposes of this book I will use the 303 lb. figure.
Here is where the odyssey begins.
(I have attached a picture of what I looked like one week after I was admitted to Rancho on December 9, 2009 and a picture taken about June 22, 2010, 8 lbs. ago. Truly astonishing. I have 27 lbs. to go to hit my target weight of 175 lbs.)
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE - 07-06-10
THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE - 07-06-10
• ANOTHER HOLIDAY, ANOTHER DAY
The first week of July, along with 4th of July celebrations, has left just as quickly as it came. Its swift passage somehow made my absence less troubling, but nevertheless, isolated and unable to join in the Independence Day festivities was frustrating as well as maddening.
The weekend was not without some spectacle, however: through the mini-blind covered window I was able to capture a few splashes of mixed colored streams of light stretching high into the air only to be overtaken by gravity and deposited beyond a stand of trees off in the distance. Throughout the night and into the early morn small concussion explosions could be heard about the area signaling the more adventuresome pyrotechnicians were out in the field.
• THE ART OF LUNACY
I have frequently referred to my experience here as the sequel to “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.” The level of untreated insanity in this place (this unit in particular) is truly astonishing and provides for some of the funniest commentary and exchanges I’ve ever witnessed. To be sure, these people should not be housed in a rehabilitation facility, rather, they should be placed in an asylum where proper treatment can be provided. But there not, and I have to laugh.
I’m in a room with six beds each separated by a floor to ceiling curtain hung on track. Only in the past couple of weeks have all six beds been occupied. Since I’ve arrived to the unit in February one of the room’s inmates has never left his bed (but for his weekly bath) and has remained ensconced behind the closed curtain. He’s been behind “the curtain” for almost one year. Keep in mind; his is a self–imposed prison. He can very easily leave his bed should he choose to do so. Being a resident and citizen of China and here illegally, the hospital has requested the Chinese government to pick him up and return him to his birthplace. China has flatly denied the request and refused to pay for the patient’s return to the motherland. HAH! So he languishes here where the hospital is forced to provide him medical care.
In defiance of the medical staff the patient refused to eat a couple of months ago citing the incompetent kitchen staff as compared to Chinese cooks and the lack of fresh ingredients. After days of fasting the doctor then gave him an ultimatum: either eat the hospital food or be force feed through a gastrointestinal tube. The goofball is now reluctantly eating. It’s funny to watch the nursing staff shyly open the curtain to see whether he’s alive. Each time they’re met with a very Chinese sounding “fuck you!”
Another guy, an elderly Chinese fellow, recently was admitted to the unit suffering from a stroke. He told everyone he’s a kung fu master. Well, someone looked him up on Youtube. Believe it or not the guy has several videos posted. They show him hitting himself in the head with a hammer without any apparent pain, showing his mental control. Let’s figure this one out: repeated hits to the unprotected head with a hammer…, stroke. Master? Now the guy, bed ridden, yells throughout the day “sandwich!” Two minutes after he eats his regular meal he yells, “sandwich!” The guy is only about 5’5” and weighs no more than 120 lbs. How many sandwiches can one small guy eat? And time doesn’t matter to this guy. It could be six in morning and he’s yelling for a sandwich. The other night it was three in the morning when I heard screaming coming from several directions. It was this lunatic yelling for a sandwich and another guy telling him to shut the fuck up. The sandwich fiend only started yelling louder. I hit the nurse call button for the supervisor. The guy next to me, an older Japanese man with a strong Japanese accent joined the shouting match yelling, “You no kung fu master, you fucking idiot. Shut the fuck up. You have no respect!” The Japanese guy succeeded where everyone else failed. Not a word was heard from the sandwich hound for the rest of the night. For the time being the sandwiches have been slow in coming. Every once in a while you’ll hear him yell “sandwich”, when he becomes annoying our Japanese friend politely reminds him of repose and community.
The trick to being surrounded by lunacy is to enjoy it.
• STATUS
Given the July 4th, holiday there was no therapy yesterday. I’m hoping to walk today during my 3:00 session. I continue to get stronger at all levels. I can now hold my left arm parallel to the ground while keeping my wrist from bending. The bending of the wrist was causing me significant pain. The whole movement of my forearm was being affected by the weakness in my wrist.
Although still not functioning, my right bicep is also getting stronger. There are more examples of little achievements which may not amount to much, but when you start at less than zero, any positive growth is a blessing.
• WEIGHT
As a result of eating 4th of July Jell-O with whipped cream and blueberries I only lost one pound. HAH. Not true. The Jell-O had nothing to do with it. I’m down 98 lbs. I weigh 205 lbs. By next weighing I will have lost 100 lbs. I only have 30 lbs to reach my goal of 175 lbs.
Keep in touch. Remember it could be worse.
Listen to the silence.
• ANOTHER HOLIDAY, ANOTHER DAY
The first week of July, along with 4th of July celebrations, has left just as quickly as it came. Its swift passage somehow made my absence less troubling, but nevertheless, isolated and unable to join in the Independence Day festivities was frustrating as well as maddening.
The weekend was not without some spectacle, however: through the mini-blind covered window I was able to capture a few splashes of mixed colored streams of light stretching high into the air only to be overtaken by gravity and deposited beyond a stand of trees off in the distance. Throughout the night and into the early morn small concussion explosions could be heard about the area signaling the more adventuresome pyrotechnicians were out in the field.
• THE ART OF LUNACY
I have frequently referred to my experience here as the sequel to “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.” The level of untreated insanity in this place (this unit in particular) is truly astonishing and provides for some of the funniest commentary and exchanges I’ve ever witnessed. To be sure, these people should not be housed in a rehabilitation facility, rather, they should be placed in an asylum where proper treatment can be provided. But there not, and I have to laugh.
I’m in a room with six beds each separated by a floor to ceiling curtain hung on track. Only in the past couple of weeks have all six beds been occupied. Since I’ve arrived to the unit in February one of the room’s inmates has never left his bed (but for his weekly bath) and has remained ensconced behind the closed curtain. He’s been behind “the curtain” for almost one year. Keep in mind; his is a self–imposed prison. He can very easily leave his bed should he choose to do so. Being a resident and citizen of China and here illegally, the hospital has requested the Chinese government to pick him up and return him to his birthplace. China has flatly denied the request and refused to pay for the patient’s return to the motherland. HAH! So he languishes here where the hospital is forced to provide him medical care.
In defiance of the medical staff the patient refused to eat a couple of months ago citing the incompetent kitchen staff as compared to Chinese cooks and the lack of fresh ingredients. After days of fasting the doctor then gave him an ultimatum: either eat the hospital food or be force feed through a gastrointestinal tube. The goofball is now reluctantly eating. It’s funny to watch the nursing staff shyly open the curtain to see whether he’s alive. Each time they’re met with a very Chinese sounding “fuck you!”
Another guy, an elderly Chinese fellow, recently was admitted to the unit suffering from a stroke. He told everyone he’s a kung fu master. Well, someone looked him up on Youtube. Believe it or not the guy has several videos posted. They show him hitting himself in the head with a hammer without any apparent pain, showing his mental control. Let’s figure this one out: repeated hits to the unprotected head with a hammer…, stroke. Master? Now the guy, bed ridden, yells throughout the day “sandwich!” Two minutes after he eats his regular meal he yells, “sandwich!” The guy is only about 5’5” and weighs no more than 120 lbs. How many sandwiches can one small guy eat? And time doesn’t matter to this guy. It could be six in morning and he’s yelling for a sandwich. The other night it was three in the morning when I heard screaming coming from several directions. It was this lunatic yelling for a sandwich and another guy telling him to shut the fuck up. The sandwich fiend only started yelling louder. I hit the nurse call button for the supervisor. The guy next to me, an older Japanese man with a strong Japanese accent joined the shouting match yelling, “You no kung fu master, you fucking idiot. Shut the fuck up. You have no respect!” The Japanese guy succeeded where everyone else failed. Not a word was heard from the sandwich hound for the rest of the night. For the time being the sandwiches have been slow in coming. Every once in a while you’ll hear him yell “sandwich”, when he becomes annoying our Japanese friend politely reminds him of repose and community.
The trick to being surrounded by lunacy is to enjoy it.
• STATUS
Given the July 4th, holiday there was no therapy yesterday. I’m hoping to walk today during my 3:00 session. I continue to get stronger at all levels. I can now hold my left arm parallel to the ground while keeping my wrist from bending. The bending of the wrist was causing me significant pain. The whole movement of my forearm was being affected by the weakness in my wrist.
Although still not functioning, my right bicep is also getting stronger. There are more examples of little achievements which may not amount to much, but when you start at less than zero, any positive growth is a blessing.
• WEIGHT
As a result of eating 4th of July Jell-O with whipped cream and blueberries I only lost one pound. HAH. Not true. The Jell-O had nothing to do with it. I’m down 98 lbs. I weigh 205 lbs. By next weighing I will have lost 100 lbs. I only have 30 lbs to reach my goal of 175 lbs.
Keep in touch. Remember it could be worse.
Listen to the silence.
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