An Interesting Birthday or How to Get a Better Wheelchair

I imagine that everyone can remember a birthday that was particularly special or unusual. Birthdays are generally anticipated as a time to be treated special. I think the majority of mine were rather tame, enjoyable but nothing to get too excited about. There was, however, one birthday that I will always remember. It was during a four month hospital stay.
Let me explain the situation. A few years ago I had what I thought was the “flu”. After not being able to eat for a week, I couldn’t take it anymore and went to the hospital. I walked into the hospital wearing my pajamas, a purple robe, and white socks stuffed into some loafers. I had no idea what my hair looked like and I didn’t care. I lay in the emergency room for several hours and endured many tests. At last, the doctors and nurses walked into the room wearing masks, gowns and gloves. The results were in – spinal meningitis.
About 10:00 PM the nurse noticed that I couldn’t feel my feet. I was whisked to the MRI machine and it felt like I was the tube for hours. It was hot and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I just kept praying that I would get out soon. Afterwards, I was wheeled to the ICU but that experience and the next couple of days are just a blur. My first really clear memory was the doctor telling me I had lost feeling from my shoulders on down. He stated that it would probably take a month or so to recover and that my biggest obstacle was being depressed. And then he asked if I was depressed. Was he kidding?
Next came weeks of occupational therapy, physical therapy and recreational therapy. It was hard work, exhausting work, and often frustrating work. Some of the care I needed was humiliating; some of it, like wearing a bib, was kind of funny. During this time the hospital staff was constantly trying to adjust my wheelchair so it fit me properly. Despite their efforts I still often slumped in my chair and sometimes my feet would slide off. A large, long, Velcro strap was used to keep me in my chair.
My birthday started the same as every other day in the hospital did. The nurses and techs woke me up, gave me breakfast, put clothes on me, transferred me to my wheelchair, and took me to therapy. In occupational therapy as I tried to button buttons, roll therapy dough, and stretch rubber bands around pegs, my co-workers came in wearing birthday party hats, some of them singing, and some blowing party horns. I was torn between laughter and embarrassment. It was a fun break in my day. But this was just the beginning of the birthday fun.
The recreational therapist had made plans to take me to Peck’s, a large garden center. This was my first time out of the hospital in almost two months. It was fun to look at the flowers and to help pick out plants for the hospital’s Healing Garden. It felt so good to be out in the sunshine and away from the sterile environment of the hospital. When we had finished our shopping, the therapist loaded the plants and me into the van.
The drive back to the hospital seemed to be bumpier than our previous drive. Was it just my imagination or was I just tired? As we got closer to the hospital I felt myself slip down a bit in the chair. It was uncomfortable, but we were almost to our destination so I shrugged it off. Less than a block from the hospital, so close we could see it, we braked for a stop light. The momentum caused me to slip out of the chair, at least part way. I tried to prop myself up with my elbows, but without the use of my legs I couldn’t stop sliding. The Velcro strap and the seat belt were now around my chest, tight and digging into my armpits. The straps were the only things holding me into the chair. The therapist seeing in me through the rear view mirror looked panicked. I heard several expletives that I won’t repeat here.
The therapist stopped the van in the middle of the street, unstrapped me, and laid me on the floor of the van. The floor was bumpy and hard against my back. The ride was rough but we made it back to the hospital without injury. Two female techs were called to help put me back in the wheel chair but lifting a dead weight from the floor to a wheel chair is a lot different than sliding someone over from a bed. As I lay there listening to them strategize how to get me back in the chair I felt helpless, at their mercy, and wondered how long this would take. Then two muscular, manly security guards came by, they lifted me and had me back in the wheel chair in nothing flat. The therapist was mortified. I was ready to be done with the birthday fun. Other than the Red Lobster dinner someone brought me later the rest of that day was fairly uneventful.
The next morning, after the usual morning routine, I was wheeled to the rehab room and there was a different chair waiting for me. It had a firm back so I didn’t slump and a seat belt so I didn’t slide. I could tell that the therapists were upset with what had happened but I thought it was extremely funny. I now have an interesting birthday tale to share with my kids and maybe someday my grandkids, but I don’t want to do it again!