On Christmas in the hospital

The last time I celebrated Christmas anywhere but North Hatley, it was 1984 when we spent Christmas with Margo, Chris and wee baby Louise. Before that, it was 1976 when as per then tradition, we spent Christmas with Granny and Grandpa M. in Westmount. As you may imagine, celebrating Christmas in the hospital was somewhat sad in comparison. 

By dint of applying a certain amount of hard headed logic and guilt trips, I managed to disabuse Philip of the notion that family members in North Hatley might opt out of coming into Montreal to see me. It would have been the usual suspects plus support staff.

I, or more accurately, my physio acting on my behalf, had secured the use of a conference room which had enough plugs for the toaster and the induction hot plate and a large table. It also had an easel pad on which Margaret drew a Christmas tree with some markers she found. Other people, your humble correspondent included, drew Christmas tree ornaments on post-it notes.

Kidney stews (yes, plural) were put on the hotplate to warm up while we opened stocking presents. Then it was braid, toast and kidney stews, one made with beef kidneys and the other with lamb kidneys. Then it was time for the “tree” presents. 

By the end of it, I noticed that I had less and less desire to say anything which I interpreted as being tired. One of the blasted problems with having been hospitalized for so long is that I get tired too easily. Goodbyes were said, before Mummy and Dominique helped me take things back to my room.

On seeing me

While Michael the Mole was here today, he took this picture of me backlit by the sunset which I find very evocative of who I am these days. I see the struggle against my injuries of both of body and spirit. I see the effort. I see the pain. I see the concentration. I see the sadness. I see the determination. I see me.

On quite a good day

Well, the breakfast group wasn’t much of a club as most of them were a bit monosyllabic mostly on account of how early it was. The available ingredients didn’t warrant bringing down the board, more’s the pity. I should have brought down my bottle of hot sauce. There were eggs, margarine, processed cheese, some pancake batter and bread. I combined four of those ingredients to make a fried grilled cheese sandwich. Hmm, maybe if I had rustled up some milk, I could have made French Toast. It was fun to cook after months of not cooking.

As protest against overtime, several of the P.A.s were wearing pyjamas. The hospital’s nutritionist came around with a stuffed panda in her pocket. She offered some chocolate and avocado truffles. I tried one and was relieved it didn’t taste of avocado. The room had a Christmas tree set up next to a plastic skeleton wearing a Santa Claus hat!

Then it was back up to my room for the weekly round of my doctors. Nothing particularly of note to relate. 

During my physio session I walked 27 meters in two jaunts. I then had a good session on the NU-step machine using only my arms and my right leg. The logic is that after I have the operation on my left leg, I will be unable to put weight on it for a goodly period of time. Therefore, I should build up my arm and right leg strength to compensate.

Back in my room, the sunshine was pouring in making it too hot. Thankfully, it was easy to open some windows. The Mole phoned about coming to visit now that he is Covid-free. I dozed for a bit, then went down to the gym to exercise my arms. While I was there, a choir came in to sing some carols. As it happened, I was more or less front and centre. I had to grab the mask I taken off during my exercise to hide my tears.

I don’t know which tartan that is.

Michael the Mole arrived bearing a parcel from Margo. It contained an excellent selection of goodies, a Scottish moose tree decoration (courtesy of Ben and Jude) and a shelf elf. It was very good to see the Mole after the lengthy delay.

On an eventful couple of days

 Over the course of Monday, I moved into what had been Steve’s room or part of the room. Plenty of space and lots of windows. About the only thing it is short of is space for posters.

During my Occupational Therapy session on Monday, the O.Therapist test my planning and maneuvering skills in a kitchen environment. In the therapy room next to the gym, there was practice kitchen set up. She had me move various objects around the area. At some times, I was to use only my right foot to propel myself while holding ceramic crockery in either hand. The ultimate test came when she asked me to put a plate and a bowl into a raised cupboard. The plate was easy. However, the bowl was to go into a stack, the top of which was beyond even my reach. The bottom bowl wasn’t beyond my reach so I took it and the rest of the stack out of the cupboard, put the bowl on top and replaced the stack. The Therapist had been hovering nearby, ready to prevent utter ceramic catastrophe. While debriefing me, she asked me why I hadn’t been worried about breaking the bowls. My response was that the bowls weren’t fine porcelain and that the institute must expect some crockery to be broken now and again. I might have been a shade arrogant or perhaps was meta-gaming the situation, but she was amused.

She then asked if I would like to join a Thursday morning “breakfast club”. The group works to make breakfast for themselves and thus practice O.T. skills in a real world environment. I said I would.

I had been feeling good about myself that afternoon, but a bit before supper, I happened to watch a Facebook video of a bad car accident. That triggered a major crying jag. One of the attendants tried to bring me out of my grief by saying people had lost more limbs than I and had gotten over it. She herself had suffered a workplace injury to her hip which had her in crutches for nearly three years. It was well meant, but it made me feel like a crybaby. I knew I was going to get better. I still felt like crying.

I think anxiety over Tuesday’s shopping trip contributed to reaction. I had worried about whether I was really ready as well as whether Mummy was the proper person to accompany me. One the issues that worried me was that she isn’t very familiar with malls in general and the Underground City in particular. I had inquired if there was anything in particular she was looking for and she said no.

So, around noon, the taxi-van came and picked us up at the Lindsay and dropped us off at the corner of McGill College and de Maisonneuve. We went into Indigo and used their small elevator to go up to the main floor. Then there was a phone call from the taxi company that I didn’t quite understand which resulted in us going back down the elevator to wait for the driver. After several minutes and a couple more phone calls, it suddenly clicked that the driver was looking for someone at the Montreal General Hospital. He had been given the wrong phone number.

Back up on the main floor, I headed to a favourite spot to find a particular species of non-fiction book I like. There wasn’t anything appealing. When I turned my head, Mummy wasn’t there. I made my way back through the shelves and caught sight of her walking into young adults some distance away. After some industrious wheeling, I caught up with her. In hindsight, I should have asked to let me know if she wanted to go off on her own. There was some more usage of Indigo’s elevator as we went down to pay, then back up to pay after an employee told the queue that the upstairs cashes were open and waiting for customers.

We left Indigo from the upper floor and into the Place Montreal Trust. We used its larger elevator to go down two stories to the “Metro” level and then went into the adjoining Carrefour Industrielle Alliance for lunch. The Valentine in its food court has a particular and tasty burger that I haven’t seen at any other Valentines. It is called the Doritos Cheeseburger and consists of a cheeseburger with spicy nacho flavour Doritos and spicy sauce. Yes, not the healthiest thing, but it was I wanted.

After lunch, we went to a Hallmarks’ store in an unsuccessful bid to find bulk Christmas cards that I liked. Then it was back through Place Montreal Trust to the Eaton’s Centre. Mummy was amazed and surprised by the signs indicating that work was in progress for the new McGill REM station. I pointed out that the Mount Royal Tunnel had been under us for a century. Evidently, the REM doesn’t get much coverage in the Sherbrooke Record.

Moose mural in the Place Montreal Trust

Mummy then wondered if there was anywhere that sold nighties. As luck would have it, there was a “La vie en rose” lingerie shop on hand. I left her there with the instructions to meet me at the SAQ a little further along. I was finishing my transaction when Mummy joined me. We then went into a drugstore. It had rather narrow aisles, which were made worse by end displays which caught on the wheelchair. I think the staff were relieved when we left with body wash and facial tissue. That was the end of my list.

Mummy hadn’t been successful in her quest for a nightie so I suggested we go to the Bay. She was reluctant as it was the other side of the Anglican Cathedral, so I let it slide.

I was getting a bit tired even though we still had about an hour. We headed back toward Place Montreal Trust. I asked her if there was anything she wanted. She said she wanted coffee. What type? Espresso type. So I pointed to a fancy coffee stand while I took a picture of a chair that looked like a Christmas tree ornament. 

As I went to join Mummy, a kindly older woman approached me with sympathetic words regarding my injury. I made the mistake of not only thanking her but chatting with her. I say mistake because I briefly described what had happened which summoned up a bit of a crying jag that I only just suppressed.

We went up to the street level of the Place Montreal Trust to wait. Mummy was struck by the desire to check out a store called Decathlon as a store by the same name in Switzerland had sold nice merino shirts. I let her go. However, it turned out it was in the Eaton Centre, not the mall we were in. I suggested she go over, but she said no.

At about the time the taxi was due, we crossed over Ste-Catherine Street to shelter in the atrium of what used to be Basha’s. It has now become a Sports Experts. I was tired and was a little short with Mummy when she wanted to go up to look for a merino shirt. Not only is there a Sports Experts in Sherbrooke, there is also one of their associated Atmosphere stores which is owned by a good friend of my Mother’s.

I was dead tired by the time I got back to the Lindsay.

On a marvellous present

By rights, I should be writing about doing some kitchen related occupational therapy yesterday and my first shopping trip today. However, I am extremely tired so I am going to concentrate on the best of the best.

Mummy brought in a package that had been couriered from Victoria by Jonathan on behalf of Margo’s John. It was wrapped in kraft paper that Arthur and Ruby had drawn on with an adhesive measuring tape as a ribbon. I had been told that I might open it before Christmas.  After reading the card, I had to open it then and there. It was a cutting board with an inlay depicting a moose on a bicycle. He had got a tattoo artist friend to draw the image. Absolutely gorgeous, thoughtful and creative. John, I’d bow to you on my knees if I could.

What’s more is that I just might have the opportunity to use it soon as I will be participating in Occupational Therapy session involving making breakfast. I think I am going to bring the cutting board to show it off!

On a bittersweet couple of days

Well, Steve has left and the Hospital is quieter without him. If I remember correctly, his flight takes off at 5 PM. His RCMP buddy picked him up around 1 o’clock in order to get some lunch in before the flight as well as to have extra time to check-in luggage including a wheelchair. A few minutes after they departed, his friend came up to do one last check of the room and came out with a pair of wheelchair gloves and the bottle of French’s yellow mustard Steve had been using to treat an issue with his stump. I feel just a bit like Paul Simon’s narrative character in “The only living boy in New York” in which he waves goodbye to “Tom” (i.e. Art Garfunkel) who is on his way to Mexico to play a part in Catch-22.

Still, tomorrow the room will be mine. *cue evil laughter* One of the things I have worked out is that my new wardrobe will be easier to access in the wheelchair.

The woman in charge of trimming toenails came by the room yesterday. We had some trouble figuring out how to get my feet onto the bed while I was sitting in the wheelchair. It took some doing but we sorted it out in the end.

As it was a nice day, I decided to go out. After carefully bundling myself up, I headed out the Lindsay Pavilion’s entrance. Roughly opposite it was a wheelchair ramp up to the Mahatma Gandhi Park. I made my way up it, only to be stopped by a ride of ice about 2 inches high. I went back down the ramp and then along to Hudson Avenue. On the way back, I saw a woman and her son coming the other way on the sidewalk. She got her son to give way to me before asking if I needed help. “No, thank you. I’m just out to enjoy the sunshine.”

Today’s progress was simple, though perhaps just the slightest bit risky. After using the toilet, I summoned an orderly as per standard procedure. However, I asked her just to be ready to intervene and to let me make the transition by myself just to see. She agreed and I made it smoothly. I even lifted my left leg into its leg rest. Until I get further clearance, I’m not going to make a habit out of it.

On a couple of milestones

Good times.

I had an appointment at the Montreal General yesterday (Friday). I was duly woken early and given an early breakfast. After dressing, I was given an envelope with my information and told that my transportation had arrived. 

I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was not assigned an orderly to accompany me. In some ways, it made it easier to navigate the General and its bureaucracy as I didn’t have to “drag” the orderly in my quest to get information out of the General and delivered to Human Resources at my workplace. There was however the bureaucracy to deal with which meant I got back to the Lindsay later than expected. Still, a very nice milestone.

This meant that I missed my physio session which was a pity as it does me good not only physically but psychologically as well. I did get my occupational therapy session in. Between the O.T. and myself, we worked out a protocol for me to use the bathroom to answer calls of nature. I think of this to be a significant milestone.

There was another bit of good news yesterday as someone who seemed authoritative said that I will be moving into Steve’s room on Monday as he leaves on Sunday afternoon. The hospital needs the time to fumigate and disinfect the room of his Britishness. ;-)  (For the record, I cleared that joke with Steve who embellished it.)

To top it off, it is a lovely sunny day.

On an advantage of picketing

At some point past 9 PM on Tuesday night, an argument broke out between members of the staff more or less just outside my room. I am not sure exactly what it was about but I caught the words “break” and “the strike” in the torrent of creole inflected French. It went on for a bit too long so I summoned an orderly. While waiting, I opened up my iPad to the picture of me on the picket line earlier that day. When the orderly came, I began by saying I respected her and the other members of the staff to the point that I had joined the picket line. However, I would really appreciate it if she were to first close the door, and second ask the people arguing to take their discussion elsewhere. She accepted my requests.

Yesterday during physio, I used a special high walker to cover 3 meters during 3 different up sessions. The Physio has “threatened” me with demanding 1 more meter each session. ;-)

Back in my room, I had the pleasure of first being visited by Philip and Mummy, bearing souvlaki, and then being joined by Michael, bearing toonies for vending machines. We had ourselves a good long chat. We were later joined by Steve. 

Possibly it was too long a chat as after my OT session, I was very tired. Around 8, I was having crying jags. I made the “mistake” of phoning Margo to distract myself. As she talked about her none too great situation, I had to say that I just wanted to hug her. This set both of us off crying. The nurse came by with my evening meds during either that call or another tearful call to my mother. I asked her to give me time.

After the phone calls, an orderly came by and noticed my tears. This provoked a bit of sympathy along with a mild admonition not to be sad as it might bring me down. While I understood it, I was a bit vexed by it. The nurse was a bit more sympathetic and brought a box of Kleenex.

On the picket line

This morning, after physio, I went exploring and made my way to the cafeteria in the Gingras Pavilion. I looked out one of its windows for 10-15 minutes watching airliners coming in to land. There was an Air Canada Airbus 330 that had me dreaming of travelling to far off places. 

In afternoon there was an appointment with someone about getting me a better “boot” or brace for my left foot. Afterwards, there was a fair bit of free time before my three o’clock meeting with my occupational therapist. So I donned several layers of clothes and went over to the Gingras Pavilion and out to join the picketers. It was a bit of an education, particularly as to how hard it is get the wheelchair uphill while wearing my cross-country ski gloves. The strikers were glad to have my support, even if it was only for a few minutes as my left foot wasn’t well wrapped up. It was rather cold to me, even though it was 3 degrees above zero.

(For the benefit of readers outside of Quebec, healthcare workers in Quebec are currently in rather contentious labour negotiations with the province, along with several other public sector unions. There is ample evidence of hypocrisy and bad faith on behalf of the party in power which recently voted in a 30% pay increase for themselves. Healthcare workers are in the midst of a short strike.)

On a bounce, of sorts

I keep falling down, I keep on hitting the ground 

I always get up now, see what's next

Birds don't just fly, they fall down and get up

Nobody learns without gettin' it wrong

I won't give up, no, I won't give in

'Til I reach the end, and then I'll start again

No, I won't leave, I wanna try everything

I wanna try even though I could fail

From “Try everything” sung by Shakira

I came close to hitting the ground today. I was walking between two parallel bars when I put my right leg too far forwards and it bent too much. I didn’t have enough strength in it to straighten it so I began to sink towards the floor with increasing speed. I tried to control myself with my arms. Thankfully, the Physio was there and she pushed the wheelchair forward and pulled on the waist belt which was there for the purpose. I landed ungracefully but injury-free on the chair.

No harm done, and indeed, I feel I bounced emotionally as the song quoted above came into my head. It is from the movie Zootopia. That movie follows the adventures of young and enthusiastic female rabbit who joins a big city police force despite institutional prejudice against smaller animals in law enforcement. That might explain why there exists an organized crime syndicate run by arctic shrews.

I mentioned it to my psychologist this afternoon in a session in which he concentrated on the psychology of pain. He is either a fan of animated movies or a father as he knew the reference.

Admittedly, I’m not about to try everything right now. I am wiser than that. Pogo sticks are right out for the moment.

On an unexpected visitor

I was sitting in my wheelchair at a mobile table in my room this afternoon when I heard an orderly talking with someone at the entryway. She confirmed to him that it was my room. I looked up to see a largish masked man dressed in dark clothes approach me. I couldn’t for the life of me place him. He made things easy by saying he was Roland, my step-cousin. Then he opened his eyes wider and for some reason that made me recognize him.

Your last meeting was at the funeral of Donald, my uncle and his stepfather, in February 2013. (That’s a cheat because there’s a draft blog post about that event that I will neither publish nor destroy.) He had been sent by Suzanne, his mother, bearing two boxes of chocolate and one of Belgian chocolate cookies. We chatted and caught up on news. His daughter is now 20 and is at law school in Sherbrooke! His son is at Vanier. How time flies! I suggested that he put his daughter in contact with Mummy.

An unexpected treat.

On two steps forward, one step back

During physio on Friday morning, I lined up with the parallel bars, took hold of handholds and listened to the pain in my left leg. I didn’t go further and asked if we could do another exercise, please. So it was off to the therapy bed for a variety of things to do.

In the afternoon, I had a session with who I have been calling the Ergo as in “Ergothèrapistee”. I have been informed that the proper English translation is “Occupational Therapist”. Which only goes to show what false friends can be. The O.T. first tested the sensitivity of various bits of my left arm using a set of monofilaments. Later, she brought me up to me room for some training on how to navigate the bathroom. That day’s lesson was how to get on and off the commode. The first part went well. However, I made the “mistake” wanting to use the facility while I was there. This lead to some trouble with my undergarment. The net result was that it was mutually agreed that more work needed to be done before that is my standard way of doing business.

A friend of Steve’s arrived from B.C.. As he was an RCMP officer, I asked him if all RCMP collision reports included a “Moose involved” tick box. Apparently, they do. This afternoon, the two of them headed off to parts unknown, probably a wheelchair friendly pub.

The Mole arrived just after lunch and we went down to communal area downstairs with vending machines. I bought a soft drink, and Michael and I chatted at a window looking towards Laval. I spotted two male cardinals in some trees nearby. Unfortunately, the Mole’s eyes weren’t up to the task.

On a small step

Yesterday, the Ergo had me doing some practical things in the bathroom. I asked if I might make it truly practical and try shaving at the sink. So we got my shaving kit out and away I went. What I remember most from yesterday’s physio is doing more standing which included leaning to my left in order to put more weight on my left leg. I ended up spending about 6 hours in the wheelchair in a row.

This morning featured a session of “poke and prod” ;-) with my various doctors, a nurse and my Physio. The latter mentioned that I was doing quite well but that I tired easily. I can’t argue with that. Actually, the physiotherapy and my “wheelchair” license have done wonders for my mental health. I noticed yesterday or the day before that I was much less stressed. It feels wonderful to be actually doing something.

During today’s physio session, I was asked to stand with the parallel bars. I was then asked to  move my left leg forwards, then my hands one by one, then lift my right foot ahead while suspending my weight with my arms. So I made one shuffling step forwards. Then another, and another. I had walked!

After some mobility exercises on a therapy bed, I gathered my things to head back to my room. Steve came into the gym asking what was new. I raised three fingers, then made a walking gesture with my hand. He was his usual enthusiastic self to the news.

Mummy came in the afternoon. She was also happy for me. She had brought some biking gloves from my condo. After some chitchat, I donned the gloves and showed off my prowess at transferring myself from bed to wheelchair. We went down to the gym where I made a display of “zooming” around the room. The Physio was there and I introduced her to Mummy. In hindsight, it felt a bit like a parent-teacher meeting!

On showing off in the gym

The Ergo arrived a bit late but nothing serious. As previously mentioned, my first question to her regarded the logistics of my lower left pant leg. Between us, we worked out that it could be rolled up and snapped. We then went down to the gym where she tinkered with the left leg rest. To honest, much of the session seems to have gone by in a blur.

It was then time for physio. One of the first things she had me do was to try to go around the gym as fast as possible. I had worked out that I was faster hand propelled than using my right foot to assist to I lifted it up forwards to be out of the way. Around the three quarters mark, I found my ability to keep it up flagging. To simply drop it down might have resulted in unnecessary hurting so I stopped to rethink my strategy and instead tucked my right back under the chair where it would easier to hold out of the way. The Physio asked why I had stopped and I explained. I added that while she had asked me to go fast, rehab as a whole was a marathon and taking the time to work out the issue was wisdom. She agreed.

After a second circuit of the room, she installed me on a machine she inaccurately described as a stationary bicycle. It was of the recumbent variety, but the label she applied confused me as I assumed the motion would be circular when in fact it was reciprocating, that is back and forth. She wanted to see how much my left leg could bend at the knee as well as if I could bend and unbend it repeatedly. I spent about 8 minutes doing that. Then there was some more range of motion exercises on a therapy bed.

The Mole arrived after lunch and we had a jolly confab. Steve joined in and away the conversation went. Eventually, I decided I wanted to show off to the Mole and steered the party to the gym, Steve also wanting to get in some more exercise time. In the process, the Mole met my physio and my doctor whom he thought well of. I did some “dull” lifting of dumbbells interspersed with circuits of the gym in the wheelchair. 

Earlier in the day, Steve told me that he will be returning to Mission on the 17th of December. This instantly had me mentally eyeing his room and assessing various strategies to get it.

On putting on trousers

Today marked the start of rehabilitation at the Lindsay. It began with the Ergo Therapist coming to my room to see me. She began by explaining some of the details of my wheelchair to me. She then outlined the procedures for getting into and out of my wheelchair. These were then put into practice. We also discussed what my goals were. She asked me for three. The first two, which I prefaced as being long-term goals were to walk and ride a bike. The third I qualified as a nearer term goal, which was to be able to shop in the wheelchair.

The Physio came while the Ergo was still there. She guided me to a gym on the ground floor. She directed me to a set of parallel bars. She raised them to a suitable height. There was a period of instruction about the proper procedure before she fitted a belt around my waist to allow her get a good grip on me should she need to control my body. After some discussion, a fair bit of trepidation and couple of false starts, I pushed and pulled myself up. It felt much easier than with the walker at the Champlain. I gingerly experimented with various positions for my left leg as well as varying the percentage of weight I was putting on my right leg. It seemed like more than a minute, if not two I was up. I then got back into the wheelchair with less control than was truly desirable. No harm done, just a bit too fast.

It was time for a well deserved cup of water. After catching my breath and quenching my thirst, I did it again and I believe I stayed up for longer. My return to the wheelchair was better controlled. Overall, the Physio said she was proud of me. She went to fetch the Ergo who was nearby. They wished to see me stand again, but after getting into the “start” position, I just felt I didn’t have it in me. There was then a session on a therapy bed where the Physio tested the ranges of motion of my left knee, ankle and wrist.

Next up was a session with the psychologist whose name I hadn’t memorized making it a bit difficult for the Physio to guide me to. However, we found him in the end. Because of the spike in Covid, we were wearing masks. At the end of the hour, he said he would like to do the next session via Zoom or Teams so he might see my face. I found that quite interesting.

Then, I navigated and propelled myself back to my room. There was an orderly sitting on a chair near the entry and I asked her to help me get back into bed. (At present, I need someone to move my left leg while I make the bed-chair transit.)

After lunch, the afternoon was mine to while away. Around 4:30, I was chatting with Steve, when a certain parcel arrived from Amazon. I quickly put the contents to their proper use. In doing so I did something I hadn’t done in more than 3 months. I wore trousers!

Someone had mentioned that trousers with side snaps or buttons existed. After some internet and soul searching, I ordered a pair from Amazon. They arrived a day earlier than promised which was very nice. They seem to fit, though I haven’t worked out how I will wear them below my left knee or if I will pin them up somehow. How to do that will be first on my list of things to discuss with the Ergo tomorrow. The pants make me feel more dressed and therefore closer to normal.

They made me presentable to Lynn and Katie, a pair of co-workers who were kind enough to come around bearing shortbread. Always be presentable to guests bearing shortbread.

A good day.