I’ve been going to physical therapy every Monday & Friday since I was released from the rehab hospital. Every month, they have to reassess patients for fall risk and progress toward reaching goals. Continue reading
When your body starts doing weird, scary and painful things, paying for care is the last thing on your mind. Or at least it was for me – I was more concerned with actually getting treatment, which was difficult enough. It’s not that I didn’t think about it at all – at $100 for emergency department visits, $50 for urgent care visits and $10 for generic prescriptions, the co-pays were draining the family bank account. Once I was actually diagnosed and treatment began, though, I can honestly say I didn’t care about the costs. It was working and that was all that mattered. I didn’t know how my medical insurance worked or what other benefits were available. Continue reading
I went to the neurology office Thursday morning for the nerve conduction test that I mentioned in the previous post. To make a long story short, the neurologist and his assistant zapped my legs and arms with low current electricity and measured the time it took to travel through my nervous system. Continue reading
At the end of my first hospitalization, my physicians wanted to send me to an inpatient rehabilitation facility; a facility where I would be taken care of by a skilled nursing staff and pushed to my limits by a team of highly-trained physical and occupational therapists. I objected and ultimately refused at the time. I didn’t think it made sense to do intensive physical therapy until my cast came off and I could put weight on my leg. I also was completely out of time off from work. We struck a compromise: I would be released to go home in care of Mrs. Loco, I would get regular visits from a physical therapist and visiting nurse, and I would work from home. To this day, I stand by this compromise as the right decision for the time.
At the end of my second hospitalization, though, with my leg nearly healed and my cast soon to come off, we had to revisit the same decision. Continue reading
When Mrs. Loco asked me what I wanted for Father’s Day, I told her that all I wanted was to be at home with her and our daughter.
When I was released from the hospital, all of the physicians told me that some days would be better than others. I should expect to have good days and make progress towards recovery, but also bad days when I just wouldn’t feel good. The neurologists gave me strict instructions to call them immediately if I started trending back down in terms of strength or muscle control. So when, on the morning before Father’s Day, I tried to transfer from the wheelchair to the walker so I could take a shower and completely failed, I knew something was wrong. This was a maneuver I had performed multiple times per day, not to mention one that was critical to living day-to-day. As hard as I tried, and as badly as I needed to make it happen, I couldn’t push myself out of that chair and onto my
feet foot. There was just no strength in my left leg at all. Trying not to panic, I called the neurologist and confirmed that I needed to go back to the emergency department.