A few weeks ago, I started going to a physiotherapist around the corner from our apartment. I hadn’t had any physiotherapy since leaving the hospital, and I’d begun to decompensate while waiting for PT through homecare and/or an outpatient musculoskeletal rehabilitation program I’d been referred to. When it had become evident that I needed and was ready for more, my palliative-care doctor and social worker diligently began nagging the rehab hospital. Meanwhile, I took some initiative and made a PT appointment in the community as a stop-gap measure.
The PT I saw was mostly good. She was clear, though, that her aim for me was maintaining the status quo, not making actual improvements—a fact that bothered me to no end. I’m currently in an eager-to-make-gains-and-get-on-with-things phase, and while I understand that I can’t go back to my previous baseline, I still want to progress past where I am now. I’m confident that I have room to grow, and when I put my mind to something, I’m stubborn as a mule about working toward my goal.
Serendipitous, then, that the call finally came on Thursday: it was the rehab program offering me a spot. All of my appointments for the twelve-week duration are already set, and I left my PT/OT assessment today feeling really motivated. More details to follow.
This is happening at exactly the right time, almost as if the stars have aligned to light a path for me. It’s nuts to think that I spent last summer fighting to stay alive. Was that really only a year ago? When I ask myself that question, I’m all the more grateful and relieved that I’ll devote this summer to reclaiming everything I can.
De Morbo Sacro: Life and/with Epilepsy 