Physical therapy worked wonders for me. God spared me from major nerve damage. Each day in therapy gave me confidence and measured improvement. My strength gradually returned. My room mate Myron made no progress at all. He became a prisoner in his bed limited to scratching his nose with one weak arm and fingers that didn’t move.
Mom came everyday religiously; Dad came on the weekends. Myron’s mom did the same. She was an attractive woman, not beautiful but pretty. She had red hair. His father owned a business and could not come often. They lived in the Northern Suburbs. As days passed, and the two moms spent time together, they became good friends as people do in a situations like that.
Within three weeks I had gotten my crutches and neck brace and was walking. I graduated to solid food because my swallow function had improved. My muscles still received the hot packs and the workout everyday. There was no talk of sending me home, but I had gotten to the point of asking “when” daily.
The day before Thanksgiving Dad appeared in the evening with Mom. The doctors consented to give me a weekend pass to celebrate Thanksgiving. They didn’t tell me in advance so I wouldn’t get overly excited about it.
Being home was wonderful, but it was also a shock. Home was quiet. It was so quiet that it was scary. There were no people walking in to check on me all day, and all night. We did have company but no one stayed very long. At the hospital, I took walks down the long corridors. At home, I walked the circle from the kitchen to the living room into the dining room and back. I missed the nurses stations and the smiles they gave me when I cruised by. It was too cold to go out. Anyway, I was too fragile to go out. No telling how I would react to a cold.
Mom’s cooking was even strange at first. This was the first time since August that I ate at home. I had gotten so accustomed to tube feeding and hospital food that her sumptuous meals that I had loved so much tasted different. I survived the weekend and I gladly checked back into the security of the hospital late Sunday afternoon.
Coming home on the weekends became a regular thing after that. I quickly got into the home routine and worked hard all week so I could go home.
The big surprise came at Christmas. The doctors and therapists all agreed the time had come to release me from the hospital to go home permanently. What a fabulous Christmas present that was for me and the family too! Mom got her life back and I was home anxious to return to school.
During mass on Christmas day, I thanked God for sparing me from a worse fate. I thanked Him for all the wonderful people who worked with me. Most of all, I thanked Him for my wonderful mom who never gave up on me. Her support and the vision of getting back in time for football tryouts kept me from going insane. I asked God for guidance about a career in medicine.
Filed under: Biography, family, health care, Jun-e-or, Memories, Motivation, religion | Tagged: Burnside, Chicago, Mendel CHS, Michael Reese, Physical therapy, Polio, Rehabilitation, Roseland | 2 Comments »
