Chapter Nine: Day Pass

After two weeks in the infernal contraption, I realized that there had to be a better way to do things. It took some thought, but I realized that I'd have to force the change by somewhat drastic measures. I hated the bedpan, and I wanted nothing more than to be able to sit up when I was in my wheelchair. Thankfully, the time on the standing table in physical therapy helped me out quite a bit. One Tuesday morning, after breakfast, the orderlies came in to help get me in the wheelchair for another session in therapy. After getting situated in the chair and wheeling around for a minute, I told them that I needed to go to the bathroom, and that the jug wasn't going to cut it. They didn't want to put me back in the bed, so I told them that I had an idea. I rolled myself into the bathroom, then stood up on my uncasted leg. With the help of the grab bars, I rotated myself around and managed to get myself situated on the toilet to take care of business. In a few short minutes, I was done and ready to move on with my day. I called for an orderly again to help me back into the chair and asked her to put the back of my chair closer to upright. She was a little concerned about my request, but did what I asked. When I finally made myself comfortable, my right foot was close to the floor and I was sitting upright. Carol, my morning nurse on the weekdays, was shocked to see me sitting up when I rolled in to the hallway!

It was great to be able to look people in the eye again, and the nurses appreciated the fact that I wasn't running over them anymore. I started moving in and out of the chair by standing up instead of sliding across, and my left leg greatly appreciated the workout. Two months later, my physical therapist would remark that it seemed to make my transition out of the cast much easier.

Amidst my progress, things weren't so happy back home. In Boerne, a five hour drive away, my grandmother's health took a turn for the worse.

Earlier in the story, I briefly introduced my paternal grandmother, Patsy. My sister and I had always called her Granny (as opposed to Grandma, which was reserved for my maternal grandmother.) We'd celebrated her birthday a week after my tonsils had been removed. She was quite a character. A florist for most of her life, she was diagnosed with leukemia in the months after I was born and her doctors told her she had maybe five or six years. In my early childhood, she closed down her flower shop in downtown San Antonio and became more of a recluse. Many of my childhood memories involve sitting at her house playing Uno, Skip-Bo, and Mille Bornes into all hours of the night when my parents were fighting or needed a break from the kids. Her morning coffee was of the instant variety, the Cafe Francais powdered stuff...with a shot of Old Smuggler scotch. The rest of the day, she'd drink nothing but scotch and milk on ice. She'd go through two to three packs of Benson & Hedges menthols every day as well, but I think she actually smoked about a pack. She'd light one in her bedroom, take a few drags, then set it in the ashtray and go to the bathroom. There she kept another pack, and she'd light one and smoke on it while she did her business. It too would burn in the ashtray when she was done. She'd repeat the same process in the living room and kitchen throughout the day. It's a wonder the house never burned down! But on the bright side, she always had interesting stories to tell, and she loved playing cards. I think if it weren't for those years of games, I wouldn't have nearly as many outlets for my stress today.

Moving on with the story, Granny was living with us in the house in Boerne. One afternoon in early July, my father came home from work to find her on the living room floor. Apparently she had blacked out and fallen down. Surprisingly, she had no major injuries, but she wasn't all there anymore. Her words were scattered and making no sense whatsoever. My father called for an ambulance to take her to Wilford Hall. It turns out she had suffered from a viral infection that had an effect similar to that of a stroke. I was deeply concerned for her, but being in the hospital myself, just over 200 miles away, there wasn't much I could do to help and I accepted that I didn't have a way to go see her. My father had other plans. He knew that I might not have much time left to see her, so he got on the phone with my doctor and my physical therapist. They came up with a working plan that not only would allow me to see Granny one more time, it would give me a day away from the routine of the hospital and allow me to see Michael, my best friend of many years. My father and sister drove over to Houston one night and slept at my dad's friend's house. Bright and early the next morning, I was at the entrance to the hospital ready to be loaded up for the trip. Fortunately, we had a van with plenty of room, and it just took a few pillows to get me situated with the cast and the seats. The first order of business was Starbucks, and then the open highway to San Antonio. My father even let me have a few cigarettes on the trip, which I didn't expect him to do. I'd refrained from smoking during my time in the hospital, but my nerves were shaken with Granny's situation. I'm glad he understood!

We arrived at Wilford Hall around lunchtime. Getting out of the van proved to be easier than I expected, and the staff at the hospital gave me strange looks as they didn't recognize me as a patient of theirs. I was wheeled up to my grandmother's room, where she was somewhat aware of her surroundings. Not being sure what to expect, I wheeled up next to her bed and took her hand. She looked at me and gave me a big smile, then started to mumble incoherently. I began to worry that she might be developing Alzheimer's, just as her father had in my younger years. Dad reassured me that it was a result of the infection and that the doctors expected her to recover most of her faculties. I spent a couple of hours sitting there with her, telling stories about my stay in the hospital and what the prognosis was on my newly fused hip. She smiled a lot, and seemed happy just to have me in the room. Sadly, it was time to think about going back to Houston. I stood up for my grandmother and tried to give her a hug...but failed miserably. I couldn't bend myself in the right direction with my cast, so I sat down, took her hand again, and told her that I would see her again soon. She smiled again, and we went back to the lobby and the waiting van.

I met up with Michael before going back to Houston. We had coffee at Starbucks while he teased me about my cage, although he stopped as soon as I told him how much weight I'd lost since the surgery. When I checked in to the hospital, I was 302 pounds. At that point, with the cast on, I weighed in at 274. I'm pretty sure the cast was fairly heavy, but we had no way to know for sure at that point. He gave me a hug and we loaded up again for Houston. It was another long journey, but fortunately the traffic was headed the opposite direction. We stopped for a Whataburger before I went back to the hospital and their bland food. That night, alone in my hospital bed, I realized that I'd done a lot that day and that it might be the last time I got to see Granny.

More to come soon! I promise! Life is what happens when you're making other plans, unfortunately, but now that my schedule has evened itself out, I plan to be posting MUCH more in the coming days. I'm even going to open up a CafePress shop as another way to contribute to the cause. Send me ideas for slogans or pictures to put on the merchandise!

Justin