D
Yesterday was both the best day so far and a day that will haunt me for a long time.
John can't sit up on his own yet, so to get him out of bed, they need a lift.
(except he's bigger, not so well dressed, and can't hold himself up like that sideways. lol)
So his PT and OT got him out and to the physical therapy room. (I like "gym" better.) Thankfully, I sat behind him. Thankfully, because he stood, and I could tell by the expression on everyone helping him's faces and the way they all stood around him, he did most of the standing himself. He really STOOD! A full five seconds! He told me he thought he'd never do that again before, so tears streamed down my face.
And then, he did it again.
He also did other exercises because chairs cause excruciating pain, and, not only are the exercises good to get his arms strong enough to walk those parallel bars, but they devert his mind from the pain of the chair.
And then he went back to his room, and the PT told him he has to sit there for the remainder of the hour. And, she's been having this fight with John's nurses, because they keep saying they don't know how to use the lift, but it's basic nursing training, so they ought to. But she was going to lunch, so she was forcing their hand.
25 minutes before John would return to his bed, he was beside himself in pain. (I'm busy trying to divert his mind, but, let's face it, me talking just isn't that exciting.) 5 minutes left and we already had it figured out it takes 5 minutes to get him ready, so I go out to ask the nurses to start getting him in bed. I get one of those, "I will when I'm ready looks."
They come in after 5 minutes -- four of them and they heard about this lift thingy, didn't realize there was one in the room, one of them has done it before, but not with that sling, which is new because of some useless regulation just put in place about bedsores, (I tell him he IS the reason for that regulation), blahblahblah.
15 minutes later, John is dangling with the only thing stopping him from having his knees IN his chest is the foley bottle and the poop bag! They're between his face and legs and he's squished so tightly, I hurt! But I wouldn't say anything for fear these nurses would stop to discuss it with me.
20 minutes to get him from the chair to the bed, and another half an hour cleaning him up because the other end of one of those tubes left spraying it all around him. (And, no, not the catheter.) Oh, and the nurse forgot his gown, so guess who lived with the full monty while nurses stared at him for no particular reason other then to spend tie mentally ticking off their "did I miss anything" list.
His PT stop by a minute later and I burst out crying when I begged her never to put him through that again.
She won't, but she is worried this sets a precedence. I know it does, but he's my husband!
Really hard to believe God's just not messing with us.
John can't sit up on his own yet, so to get him out of bed, they need a lift.
(except he's bigger, not so well dressed, and can't hold himself up like that sideways. lol)
So his PT and OT got him out and to the physical therapy room. (I like "gym" better.) Thankfully, I sat behind him. Thankfully, because he stood, and I could tell by the expression on everyone helping him's faces and the way they all stood around him, he did most of the standing himself. He really STOOD! A full five seconds! He told me he thought he'd never do that again before, so tears streamed down my face.
And then, he did it again.
He also did other exercises because chairs cause excruciating pain, and, not only are the exercises good to get his arms strong enough to walk those parallel bars, but they devert his mind from the pain of the chair.
And then he went back to his room, and the PT told him he has to sit there for the remainder of the hour. And, she's been having this fight with John's nurses, because they keep saying they don't know how to use the lift, but it's basic nursing training, so they ought to. But she was going to lunch, so she was forcing their hand.
25 minutes before John would return to his bed, he was beside himself in pain. (I'm busy trying to divert his mind, but, let's face it, me talking just isn't that exciting.) 5 minutes left and we already had it figured out it takes 5 minutes to get him ready, so I go out to ask the nurses to start getting him in bed. I get one of those, "I will when I'm ready looks."
They come in after 5 minutes -- four of them and they heard about this lift thingy, didn't realize there was one in the room, one of them has done it before, but not with that sling, which is new because of some useless regulation just put in place about bedsores, (I tell him he IS the reason for that regulation), blahblahblah.
15 minutes later, John is dangling with the only thing stopping him from having his knees IN his chest is the foley bottle and the poop bag! They're between his face and legs and he's squished so tightly, I hurt! But I wouldn't say anything for fear these nurses would stop to discuss it with me.
20 minutes to get him from the chair to the bed, and another half an hour cleaning him up because the other end of one of those tubes left spraying it all around him. (And, no, not the catheter.) Oh, and the nurse forgot his gown, so guess who lived with the full monty while nurses stared at him for no particular reason other then to spend tie mentally ticking off their "did I miss anything" list.
His PT stop by a minute later and I burst out crying when I begged her never to put him through that again.
She won't, but she is worried this sets a precedence. I know it does, but he's my husband!
Really hard to believe God's just not messing with us.