- 20 -
Embedded Files
I was not prepared to be home.
Exhausted and emotionally drained, I sat in my idling car along the curb and took in our house, the green front yard, and the expansive flowerbed promising a rainbow of spring colors. Everything was as it should be—but nothing was the same. In the depths of my subconscious, I had compartmentalized the there and the here. There was the nightmare. Here was my safe place and refuge where everything was beautiful and peaceful.
Crossing state lines had not deterred it. It was uninvited and unwelcome. Its audacity to invade my life, my home, and all that I held dear was a personal affront to me. I had not anticipated how our crisis, transposed onto our once-normal life, would impact me. And even though I was being completely illogical, I grieved nonetheless. Thoughts volleyed against my emotions. Had we made the right choice? Was Matt going to get better? What were we going to do? And, of course, all the while, I knew this new reality was here to stay—no guaranteed 90-day satisfaction or return policy.
Wearily, I began unpacking the car as fast as possible, knowing that time was short. Frequently, I checked my watch and wondered where Matt was and how he was doing. Halfway through the process, Sunnyview Hospital called to inform me that Matt had arrived safely and questioned why I wasn’t there yet to sign the requisite paperwork. Tears began to flow again. How was I going to face an unfamiliar facility and routine when I hadn’t even begun to mourn this new feeling of loss? All around me, a sense of gloom and foreboding bore down upon my not-so-broad shoulders. I longed for my family's strength and moral support to help me face the inevitable next steps into the unknown. But Sunnyview did not know this, nor was it their concern. They needed me to sign the admission forms now. So, pulling myself up by the proverbial bootstraps, I quickly stowed the rest of the perishable food in the refrigerator and took my first of many 40-minute trips to Matt’s new home away from home.
Exiting our housing development, I could see in my mind’s eye Matt playing with friends, riding his bike, trudging in the wood outback, or scampering through the fall leaves on Halloween night dressed as a Ninja Turtle—a whole bag of candy in hand. Then, down the street where he learned to drive, and in his inexperienced hands, 45 mph had felt like 100, and the flesh of my face had distorted from the velocity of our acceleration. Past the grocery store, my church of 30 years, the shops, and the traffic lights as I traversed the village of Ballston Spa heading south. All was in order, the physical world again reminding me of the disparity between it and our upside-down world. Spring flowers and trees, which had bid me farewell in Easton, were beginning to bloom in upstate New York. Perhaps the constants of my surroundings and nature were giving me a reassuring hug, and I hoped their stability would anchor me when all else was awry.
Redirecting my attention as I neared Sunnyview Rehabilitation Hospital, I knew how blessed we were to have a nationally recognized specialty hospital within driving distance of our home. It is devoted to helping people recover from traumatic injuries, illnesses, and major surgeries. They offer comprehensive programs for stroke, pulmonary disease, brain injury, amputations, speech and hearing problems, and a variety of other services. Matt’s team of healthcare providers would be led by a specialized physician (a physiatrist) who treated patients suffering from disabilities that affect their physical and cognitive functioning. The rehab team would also include physical and occupational therapists, social workers, speech therapists, vocational counselors, rehabilitation nurses, and psychologists, amongst other programs. Their goal, and ours, would be to maximize Matt’s function and ability to participate in daily activities. I came with a Christmas Wishlist of everything I wanted to see happen and prayed the staff and its programs could deliver.
On arrival, I sized up the hospital. It was a brick building with a circle out front, a patio area complete with flowers in bloom, and a covered walkway where patients and families enjoyed being outdoors. From the outside, it seemed nice and welcomed me to venture in. I gathered my wits, stepped across the threshold, signed in at the front desk, and headed down the hall. Entering his room, I found him lying in bed. I quietly whispered, “Here I am, Matt, here I am. Let’s make this happen.”
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse