*NOTE: The following is a part of an on-going series of "Stroke Posts". For an introduction to "Stroke Posts" click HERE.June: 2002
I had never before looked at a house and judged it's wheelchair accessibility.
But the day I was told by the Physical Therapist that Ben was going to have a "Day Pass" from In-patient Rehab I went straight back to our 1300 square foot townhouse and measured doorways, removed rugs, folded up bathroom floor mats, and added a handicap chair to the shower.
Ben had been in the hospital (between the ICU, the 2nd floor East Wing, and Inpatient Rehab) for 3 months. When I wasn't working over-time, I was at the hospital until the middle of the night. I would then drive home (half asleep) and return early the next morning for a visit before work.
So the fact that my new husband was going to be able to leave the hospital for a few hours one beautiful Spring day (on my day off) gave me the motivation to figure out any obstacle.
The rules were clear: I had to get Ben home (no field trips), and let him rest in bed. We had to limit his activity still, so he didn't get too exhausted. Ben was already doing three-times more Physical Therapy sessions every day than the "typical" patient.
After pulling up to the garage door, I helped Ben into the house via wheelchair. Once we got in the house and to the stairs, he pulled himself up with the banister. His left side was still extremely limited, so he had to rely on pulling himself up with his right arm and leaning on me to support his left side.
I didn't realize until I was holding my 200-pound husband up (mid-stair) that I was not going to fit beside him on our tiny townhouse stairs. Worried I would slip and drop him if I got above him on the stairs, I stepped down a few and got behind him. For some reason, I thought that if he DID loose his strength and slip I was going to be able to catch him somehow.
I guess I thought I was Superwoman.
Sure enough, toward the top half of the stairway, Ben started to get shakey. "I just need to stop for a minute to rest," but he needed me to support him while he rested. "I think I'm going to fall!"
With my right hand on the banister (to support myself), and my left hand picking up and holding his foot on every step, I was out of hands. Thinking quickly as he started to teeter back and forth from fatigue, I held him up with the only thing I had left to offer: my head.
Ben's "Rear End" was at just the right height for me to push the top of my head firmly against his "cheeks" and give him just enough support to prevent a potentially BAD fall down the stairs.
(I wish I was making this up.)
Frozen on the stairs, we had to use every ounce of energy we had left to hold that position and NOT fall down in an exhausted heap from laughing so hard.
The physical ordeal of JUST coming into the house, climbing the stairs, and changing into some jammies was enough to send Ben into dreamland. He slept for most of that first trip home. I can say that coming down the stairs was much easier and eventhough we were only able to have a few hours away from that dreaded hospital, it was enough to give us hope that things were going to start getting better.
I had everything figured out before the Big Day....except the stairs.
Ben had been in the hospital (between the ICU, the 2nd floor East Wing, and Inpatient Rehab) for 3 months. When I wasn't working over-time, I was at the hospital until the middle of the night. I would then drive home (half asleep) and return early the next morning for a visit before work.
So the fact that my new husband was going to be able to leave the hospital for a few hours one beautiful Spring day (on my day off) gave me the motivation to figure out any obstacle.
The rules were clear: I had to get Ben home (no field trips), and let him rest in bed. We had to limit his activity still, so he didn't get too exhausted. Ben was already doing three-times more Physical Therapy sessions every day than the "typical" patient.
After pulling up to the garage door, I helped Ben into the house via wheelchair. Once we got in the house and to the stairs, he pulled himself up with the banister. His left side was still extremely limited, so he had to rely on pulling himself up with his right arm and leaning on me to support his left side.
I didn't realize until I was holding my 200-pound husband up (mid-stair) that I was not going to fit beside him on our tiny townhouse stairs. Worried I would slip and drop him if I got above him on the stairs, I stepped down a few and got behind him. For some reason, I thought that if he DID loose his strength and slip I was going to be able to catch him somehow.
I guess I thought I was Superwoman.
Sure enough, toward the top half of the stairway, Ben started to get shakey. "I just need to stop for a minute to rest," but he needed me to support him while he rested. "I think I'm going to fall!"
With my right hand on the banister (to support myself), and my left hand picking up and holding his foot on every step, I was out of hands. Thinking quickly as he started to teeter back and forth from fatigue, I held him up with the only thing I had left to offer: my head.
Ben's "Rear End" was at just the right height for me to push the top of my head firmly against his "cheeks" and give him just enough support to prevent a potentially BAD fall down the stairs.
(I wish I was making this up.)
Frozen on the stairs, we had to use every ounce of energy we had left to hold that position and NOT fall down in an exhausted heap from laughing so hard.
The physical ordeal of JUST coming into the house, climbing the stairs, and changing into some jammies was enough to send Ben into dreamland. He slept for most of that first trip home. I can say that coming down the stairs was much easier and eventhough we were only able to have a few hours away from that dreaded hospital, it was enough to give us hope that things were going to start getting better.
Or at least that (together) we would be able to handle whatever obstacles we would have to climb.
2 comments:
Thanks for writing about this Nancy. It's amazing that you BOTH came out of this challenge stronger. I'm excited to meet you and Hayden later this month.
Nancy, My vision changed when Becca got her first chair. I don't go anywhere without noticing how wheelchair accessible places are. My 5 and 3 year old girls are experts at spotting the "button" that opens the doors or at pulling with all their strength to get doors open that have no button. :) We have been looking for a house and we love 70s ramblers because you come in on the first floor and everything Becca needs is all right there. It's amazing how your paradigm shifts so effortlessly, it doesn't take any effort to think differently when you are accommodating a loved one. What's hard is actually moving and changing physical things to help them fit better. I can't tell you the number of houses we have nixed off the list because of stairs! :D
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