2S
After fifteen hours at the Emerson Hospital ER, our ambulance pulled into Encompass Healthcare Rehabilitation Hospital Tuesday evening at about 7:00 on July 20, 2026. A non-displaced fracture of the left femur where it connects to the pelvis. Floor 2 South, room 229C, would be my home for the next 2.5 weeks.
As discomfort consumed me, I was unaware of how blessed I was about to become...
An eternal sleepless night ensued, the endless din from the sterile hallway flooding our room. "Good morning!". I took a minute to recall where I was. Between the shots, meds, vitals, swollen feet, hip and knee pain and trauma of it all-- it was chaos. Over the next several hours, I met the three leads on my team; Andrea would be my Occupational Therapist; Kaylee, my Physical Therapist; and Rachel, my Speech Pathologist. Speech? Not related to my femur fracture, but "why not?"; my voice sucks and I'll probably learn something. One thing I've gotten better at along my PLS journey is to say YES. You never know what opps YES can create.... (Coach Chilton anyone?)
I learned that I would have 3 hours of therapy daily; weekends on request but not guaranteed; 3 squares a day; pokes and prods at any time; a daily therapy schedule issued in the morning; and nightly doc visits. And countless times I would push the "m'aider' button to get assistance with some annoying or embarrassing immediate bodily or functional need.
Days passed as I began to settle into a kind of rhythm. I got to know Don, my roommate-- a retired doctor, and current teacher, mentor, role model, and story teller with a special gift for random acts of kindness. I slept and woke early; we all did. I established a morning ritual of how to washup given my physical limitations. I had my daughters bring my speaker and a few things from home like a horse statue and my own non-slip socks so I didn't have to wear the square-toed too big or too small ones, some fave clothes and pants that would accommodate my urinals (or "urinators" as I came to call them!). As I began to get around in my wheelchair, I followed Don's lead; he would work each day to keep his half of the room neat and clean and organized. I started to do the same; the ritual gave me some sense of control, critical to maintaining some state of mental health when it all seemed to be falling apart. And with so many people coming and going, it didn't take long for my room to become an obstacle course and a hazardous one at that.
I worked to remember names and to get to know the people who were taking care of me. I made an effort to introduce myself to other patients, each of whom was in their own unique pain cave, yet we shared a common bond that I tried to fortify. I took nightly wheelchair walks down around the floor, to see who I could see and to combat the isolation we were all fighting. I stopped and wondered at the beautiful pictures on the wall, trying to guess where they were taken. There was one ocean view with Rosa Rugosa in the foreground that I swore was taken in Cuttyhunk, where I try to join my kids and cousins every summer. Find beauty in every day, I say, even if for a split second.
And my friends prioritized me. They visited and brought me flowers, gave me shaves, Starbucks, sushi, chocolate, did my laundry several times (thanks Kara and Alexa)...Fabio even diced up an antipasto spread; but every single visitor gave me the one thing I've come to believe is the most precious gift anyone can ever give-- time. Time says, "I am here for you. I gotchu." What sweeter words are there? How I love to hear them...
As I began to wheelchair around a bit more, I got permission to go outside alone, marking a little milestone. There was a huge, majestic pine tree that I would sometimes sit under, taking off my socks to let my feet feel the beautiful grass and connect to mother earth. There I would daydream as I gazed at the hilly trail on the far side of the parking lot, spotting the occasional hiker or mountain biker. Like the music I would play in my room, it became a way to feed my soul during my time at Encompass, just as I do at home.
I'll tell you who else sustained me during my time at Encompass, and will forever, and I don't say that lightly. Andrea. Kaylee. Rachel. They would lead my therapy, blazing the trail that would lead me home. Initially, I wasn't sure what to expect from them, especially given the fact that my PLS severely complicated my hip rehab. How would they handle it? Do they even know that I have it? What it is? Does anyone here know? Do they know about my balance? Rigidity? Spasticity? Speech, reflexes, reactions, pseudo bulbar affect...? That I struggle to communicate? That I couldn't walk before the broken hip? The questions multiplied. "Slow down, tiger," I told myself. One step at a time. Sometimes, as in this one, that would be a lot.
"What was it," I've asked myself, "about my therapists that made such an impression on me?".
They kept me safe, above all else.
They listened. If they did not understand, they would ask me again; they wouldn't fake it.
Their time with me was their time with me; they were present.
They believed in me-- there were many times I didn't believe I could do something but they did.
They let me fail. If I couldn't do it, they let me try and fail until next time.
They made it fun; think of group golf therapy outside and Jenga with other patients. We were smiling, laughing. Sense of humor is a therapist's tool and I hope we all took it home with us.
They were supportive; if I got down on myself, they found a way to lift me up.
They were professional; they knew their stuff. I could tell they'd done their research on my disease.
They challenged me. When I needed it.
They kept hope alive. They never said "can't." Even if our answer was eventually "no," they always inspired hope.
They got to know me as a person, beyond my broken hip.
They care deeply about what they do-- no mailing it in.
They were open to my sometimes crazy ideas. Never judging.
They reassured me when I had doubts, like when I feared that I would be sent home before I was ready.
They saw missteps as opportunities. Like the time my PBA took over during the "sockgate" conflict, Rachel turned it into a learning opportunity for the entire staff.
To Andrea, Kaylee, Rachel and the entire Encompass community, I am forever grateful. I see you.
I miss my time at Encompass. I miss the people. I miss the patients, nurses, therapists, docs, 2 South, the wall pictures, the trees, the parking lot, the treats that I would order with my meal and stockpile in my second drawer, and more...I miss the community.
All of it is with me today, tomorrow and will be forever-- that place that believes in me, that inspires me; the people I do not want to let down. I say it often these days, because I feel it. Whether I am in the pool, at the firepit, in my wheelchair with the horses that are nearby, sitting in the sun, successfully navigating daily activities of living, or thinking about my time at Encompass, I believe it when I say, "I...am a lucky man."
STOP ASIAN HATE
BLACK LIVES MATTER
Comments