[past] rehab hospital, part I

good news: there's a bunch of pictures and videos in this post! sorry for the lack of visual components up to this point. :]

like i mentioned at the end of my last post, my time at the rehab hospital was very difficult, but also very rewarding. 

but also very difficult. 

a lot of big things happened during my first week at OVH. nearly right after i arrived at my new home, Troy showed up sporting a pretty sweet mohawk -- a sign of support for my impending hair cut. (and probably a bit of encouragement to take the shaved head route since i was balking at the idea, even with half my hair already gone.) 

a CNA arrived soon after to get my vitals and weight. i was shocked when he said that the bed scale was weighing me at 107 pounds. i told him there was no way that was correct! i mean, i know i hadn't been eating much, but i was 125 pounds before this whole situation started. how could i have lost nearly 20 pounds in less than a week? i didn't believe that scale until i saw pictures of myself many weeks after (see below). throughout my whole hospital stay, my family offered to get me anything i would actually eat. the In-N-Out across the street got some business on my behalf.

on Sunday, a physical therapist named Eric came to evaluate me. i was so happy to see that he was a younger therapist. because the median age of the patients on my unit was 85, i was worried i would be treated by somebody who wasn't current with therapies for younger patients. Eric was super friendly and was excited to treat me. he said all the other PTs were going to want to have me since i was young and had a great potential for improvement, but he said he would make sure he got to keep me. 

On Sunday evening, i  finally agreed to let my sister Alicia break out the clippers and buzz my head. Troy and most of my family gathered in the little bathroom to take part in the experience, and those who couldn't be there physically joined via Skype. some of the nurses even peeked in. we made sure to take lots of pictures and video of the whole process:

the before: looks like normal hair on one side...

the other half

my biggest supporter

rockin' the punk bangs

my sis, Angela, trying to make the bangs work

despite my smile, i was sad to see it go

while i held up pretty well during the shave, i broke down toward the end. i had a difficult time seeing all my hair go -- and not even in an all-girls-love-their-hair kind of way. it was more that i hated seeing myself bald because it made me look sicker than i thought i was. or was i that sick? i didn't like to think about it. there were some advantages to my freshly shorn noggin, though: first, i found out that i have (or, had) a rather perfectly shaped head, which elicited many compliments from visitors and hospital staff. i also got to go back to my natural hair color in a very quick way (something i had been meaning to do anyway). on a more practical note, the buzz was easy for me to care for with only one working arm. 

after the shave, Troy left to drive the four hours back to Flagstaff -- a trip he would take many, many times over the course of the next year plus. my mom stayed the night with me on another uncomfortable makeshift bed -- something she would do nearly every night of my three-week stay. even now, i am so thankful for the sacrifices my loved ones made for me in my time of need. 

there's so much i want to remember about rehab. if you get bored and quit reading, i totally understand! for the purposes of remembering, though, i think it's important for me to type this all out.

the menses

what? you're hesitant to read something with menses in the title? ok, i might not blame you. it's important for me to include it in my blog, though, because it marked some interesting feelings during my hospital stay. i'm like any other female: i hate cramps. when i felt the first tinge of cramping after i arrived at the hospital, however, i can't really describe how good it felt. it was painful, yes, but the pain was something i was familiar with. everything since February 21 until that time was completely unfamiliar -- and scary. my period, though? i knew that. i knew what to expect. who knew Flo could actually be a relief?

Grams

after the first few days, i found out that my family had not informed my Grandma White about what had happened to me. because Grams had some heart problems, they did not want to tell her until i was out of the woods so that she didn't get too worked up. my parents wanted to keep waiting to tell her, but i insisted that she know. i knew Grams had great faith, and i knew her prayers on my behalf could help me. so, after dinner on the Friday after my arrival, i called Grams myself. we figured that if she heard my voice, she would know that i was ok and would maybe take the news a little better. just in case, my dad arranged for one of her friends to be next to her during the phone call in case she got too distressed. 

i was very nervous about setting Grams off on a heart attack, so i did my best to sound like my normal self. when i explained what had happened, i was as upbeat and positive about my recovery as i could muster (even if it didn't necessarily match what i was feeling). Grams was very shocked, and told me she had to hang up because she couldn't handle what i was telling her. oh, no! what if she dies because of what i told her? thankfully, Grams called me back and i was able to explain things to her more fully. 

spasms & Baclofen

up until i called Grams, i hadn't really rehearsed my entire story to anybody, nor had i really thought about it in that much depth. between the emotions of rehashing the scariest days of my life and the nerves associated with calling Grams, my body did not react too kindly. if you recall, i had already been having strong spasms in my leg -- that was nothing new. what was new, however, was their intensity. the weekend was filled with many, many instances of uncontrolled shaking in my leg and multiple panic attacks. (ok, it was actually one really long panic attack.) the two did not work together well at all; the more panicky i felt, the stronger my spasms were. 

Eric (my PT) had tried to convince me prior to this point to start taking a muscle relaxer called Baclofen. he explained that, with the medication, i would move better in therapy and my spasms would diminish. i wanted nothing to do with Baclofen, however. i didn't like the thought of putting more drugs in my body, and i was not keen on the side effects, particularly the fatigue and sleepiness. as much as i resisted the Baclofen, my spasms were literally out of control -- not even Troy could hold my leg down. i finally gave in and took the pill. the spasms did decrease over the next couple days, and while the meds definitely took a toll on my energy level, my therapists promised me that i would get used to the feeling and would establish a "new normal" in my life. (fyi, i miss my old normal!)

i would be remiss if i didn't include the part about Baclofen making me drunk. apparently, it was necessary for me to take this medication with plenty of food and water. before i realized this, though, my mom and Troy got to witness my drunkenness. mostly, they just laughed, and i couldn't blame them. i was stupidly slaphappy and would laugh for minutes at a time for no reason. i think this side effect came at a good time to cheer us up. :]

therapy

my first few days of therapy were incredibly challenging. i couldn't make it through a single physical or occupational therapy session without crying. i'm sure my therapists thought i was unstable emotionally; which, to be fair, i guess i really was. in addition to my lifelong struggle with anxiety, i have also had some run-ins with depression. about seven months before finding myself in the hospital, i had finally weaned myself off the antidepressant i had been taking for a few years. i finally thought i was strong enough to get by without it. so, take the fact that i am prone to depression and have anxiety and mix that with the normal, expected feelings of somebody whose life has just been flipped upside down: that was me. i was absolutely overwhelmed. the rational part of me knew there was hope, but the depression stifled it. thankfully, my psychiatrist called my mom around this time to see if there was anything he could do to help me. why, yes! i was quickly started on an antidepressant.

every weekday during my entire stay, i attended three hours of intense therapy. usually, the mornings were reserved for OT since many of my ADLs (activities of daily living) took place then. i was blessed to have a wonderful COTA (Certified Occupational Therapy Assistant) named Ashley who was the same age as me. this made the naked parts of therapy (showering, dressing) so much less awkward than they could have been! i was also treated by other COTAs and OTs, all of whom helped me make huge gains in gross and fine motor control of my upper extremity and in learning how to compensate for my hemiparesis. it was (and still is) amazing how my therapists' seemingly simple tools and ideas made such great dents in my recovery. for instance, just by applying pressure against my hand and asking me to try to push back against the resistance, i was able to extend my elbow for the first time. and, knowing that i loved baseball and softball, their idea to roll a ball down a board and challenge me to extend my wrist to trap it between my palm and the board proved the most successful of many attempts to help me move my wrist. 

for PT, the focus was on getting me up and walking and strengthening my lower right side so i could improve my balance and endurance. Eric had me on the table mat on my knees, on all fours, on my stomach and on my back. it was surprising how horrible my balance was at first, and i fell on the mat many, many times. (quite frustrating!) he also had me work at the parallel bars and on a set of steps. i spent a lot of time learning to walk again -- first by moving my feet to scoot my wheelchair, then by wearing a brace and using a quad cane while being anchored to my therapist with a gait belt, and then by losing the gait belt and hoping i didn't eat it. 

mat work

this day was SO windy. i thought i would fall over at any moment

when i saw this pic, i realized how much weight i really lost.
no bueno!

at this point, i had little control of my butt, hips, and hamstrings, and no control over anything lower. since my calf muscles weren't working, my knee was hyperextending somethin' fierce. with the help of the AFO, the cane, a lift in my right shoe and some major concentration, i was able to make some progress with walking. at the end of the three weeks, Eric's goal was for me to be able to get myself off the floor -- kind of in preparation for if i ever fell at home and nobody was around to help me. i figured i could accomplish this task because i knew my left side was strong and could compensate for my right side. turns out i was wrong! it actually took a couple months after leaving the hospital for me to be able to pick myself up off the floor (no pun intended). he also wanted me to be able to get into and out of his motorcycle sidecar, because, why not. that goal was a success, and i have pics to prove it. :]

apparently, it was against the rules to take me for a spin :[

one more thing about therapy: i know i've mentioned it was frustrating, but it was also utterly exhausting -- and not any type of exhaustion i had ever felt. my body was tired, yes, but it was my brain that was the most drained. when i first got to OVH, i was told that i would need to rest in between sessions of therapy. i didn't understand why until after my first session. trying to move even one of my lifeless body parts required the most intense focus i had ever exerted, resulting in an incredible fatigue that i can't really describe. 

thank goodness for TV and the Internet

between the Baclofen and fatigue from therapy, i always wanted to sleep when i wasn't with PT or OT. for the first time in my life, though, i could not nap. at all. (if you know of my affinity for snoozing, this should surprise you as much as it did me.) no matter how hard i tried, sleep was elusive. 

instead of sleeping, i tried reading; that, too, was a bust. because of my panic problems, i was so worked up at all times that i couldn't calm down enough to sleep or focus on more than a couple sentences of a book or magazine. my racing thoughts never slowed, but were instead filled with a constant stream of fears about having another stroke or getting sicker. my heart felt like it was beating as quick as a hummingbird's, even while i was in bed and trying to relax. the only peace i could find (most of the time) was by looking at stuff online or watching TV. the mindlessness of both activities somehow provided a brief reprieve to my worried mind. luckily, Bones was on almost every night, so i got to introduce my mom to one of my favorite shows. :]

more about my stay at OVH in part II…

[past] president’s day, part three

the first doctor to see me gave three possible diagnoses: a sudden onset of MS, a slipped disc in my back or maybe even some sort of viral complication from the flu. he said his wife had that particular virus years ago and it had paralyzed her for a while. he asked if i had had the flu recently. i told him i had, the week before. maybe that's what it is! that sounds curable! the doc had me swab my nose so he could test for that possibility.

next in was a neurologist. she asked questions and examined me. when she looked down my throat, she called the nurse over to show her something. "see that?" she asked, referencing the hangy thing in the back of my throat. "see how it is leaning to the right? that's something you don't see often."

what?!

she ordered an MRI for me. as i waited to be taken in, i went through bouts of panic and shorter bouts of calm. i was so thirsty, but they wouldn't allow me to drink anything. only ice chips, a few at a time, and IV fluid. less than an hour into my ER visit, i had to pee so bad. the nurse brought in a bedpan. i felt helpless but could care less about modesty (a recurring theme over the next month or so).

when it was time for my MRI, they shot me up with Valium to help me calm down. i was already in major shock, and the thought of being in a narrow tube with my head strapped down did not help matters. (it was one thing to be in the tube and lay still if i could have moved had i wanted to; it was an entirely separate matter to be told not to move and know that moving wasn't even an option.) i wanted Troy to come in with me, but they told me that was not a possibility. somehow, thanks to God and the Valium, i made it through. we went back to my "room" and waited.

the next thing i remember, the doctor with the swab came to say the test results came back negative. the paralysis was not induced by flu. dang it.

the neurologist then returned with a picture from the MRI. this first image is what i saw (the other two came later):



what was that huge spot on my brain? she explained it was an aneurysm of some sort. a brain bleed. i don't recall much else of her explanation.

i had Troy call my boss at work to tell her i wouldn't be in the next day. this will probably take some time to figure out, i thought. maybe i'll have to stay in the hospital for a few days. i called my parents and explained to them what had happened. "do we need to come up there?!" my mom asked. i told her we'd see what the doctors said next and call them back.

i drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours. finally, at around 11 at night (according to Troy; i don't even remember), they transferred me to the ICU. my stay in the ER had not felt like 8 hours, but i could probably thank the Valium for that.

the end of president's day is pretty foggy for me. i know i had nice nurses in the ICU who frequently helped me on the bedpan. my room was dark. there were IVs. i'm sure i said many prayers. i remember Troy's tired face. i told him to tell my parents to drive up from Tucson. Troy tells me now that i kept asking him if i was going to die.

most of all, i remember the headaches starting. deep, painful, lingering headaches like i'd never had before. no amount of Tylenol helped. just as i would drift into unconsciousness, the pain would increase, making sleep for me -- and Troy -- very difficult. i moaned and squeezed Troy's hand, willing myself to sleep and escape a day that had started as a carefree holiday.

[past] president’s day, part one

february 21, 2011. the day i think i'll always want to remember and try to forget. the day this new chapter in my life began.

on friday the 18th, i drove up to flagstaff to spend the three-day holiday weekend with my boyfriend, troy. that night, we watched the Dark Knight. saturday we drove into the woods and played in the snow. sunday was church and a yummy homemade dinner. i don't remember what we made, but i know it included biscuits. the whole weekend we talked about how we wished it would snow really hard so that i would get snowed in and have to stay in flagstaff longer.

on monday morning, we got up early, jumped into our longjohns and thick socks, filled our camelbacks and headed up to snowbowl for a half day of snowboarding before i had to head back to tempe. this was only our second snowboarding trip of the season. i was pretty sick during the first one up in brianhead, utah, so i was really hoping to have a solid day at snowbowl. even before we got up the mountain, though, i was feeling nervous and not as excited as i had hoped. looking back, i wonder if i somehow knew what was going to happen. but to be fair, feeling nervous is definitely not new for me -- i'm a worrier (that's why my friends call me whiskers. <--- if you get this reference, consider me impressed).

worried or not, i didn't want to ruin the trip for troy, so we bought our lift tickets and started riding. my worry eventually subsided, and we had several fun runs. my right leg was hyperextending a lot, making carving very difficult. i figured it was leftover weakness from my broken ankle that hadn't returned back to normal yet. in fact, i had started seeing a physical therapist to try to strengthen my muscles. so, i just chalked it up to a weak leg.

around 1:30, i told troy i was going to take a break and rest my leg. i unstrapped and walked into the lodge to go to the bathroom. my right leg was like jelly. i almost couldn't walk. dang, i thought. maybe i should call it a day. so i limped back outside and sat down by the lift and waited for troy to finish a run. when he made it back, i told him i was going to rest a bit more, and then i'd join him again after his next run. he left. i pulled out a leftover biscuit and started eating. i saw troy get on the sunset lift and start his ascent. the next hour was the scariest of my life.

like a typical right-hand-dominant person, i was feeding myself the biscuit with my right hand. after the third or fourth bite, i noticed my arm felt heavy. then really heavy. then it was gone. i couldn't lift it. and i couldn't move my leg. within 30 seconds, i had lost all movement on my right side, and it was completely numb.

immediately freaking out, i scrambled for my phone. dead. there was a girl and a guy sitting close to me. i frantically asked the girl to use her phone and fumbled over the keys dialing troy's number. no answer. redial. no answer. one more time. nothing. my freak-out had now turned into intense panic.

"please!" i yelled to the girl and guy, "please go get ski patrol! i need help!"

"uh, ok," they said. but they didn't move. more urgently this time, i begged them to hurry and get help. the guy got up and went toward the lodge.

i laid back on the snow, trying to get ahold of myself. i prayed and pleaded for Heavenly Father to help me. my hyperventilating was causing my left side to tingle and not work properly. i'm losing my left side too, i thought in terror.