taking a tiny bite of the cracker, and
then swallowed.
“Good. Now try this. Sip slowly.”
She poured a small amount of juice
into a paper cup, and I drank it, forc-
ing myself to concentrate on each
stage of swallowing.
The therapist smiled. “You’ve done
well. You’ve passed the test. For the
first few weeks, your food will be
minced or pureed. You must eat and
drink slowly and carefully. This is only
one of many things you’re going to
have to relearn how to do.”
Relearn. That word would become
a mantra of my therapist community.
Restoring what has been damaged is
a very complicated process.
REHAB AND RELEARN
My first night in the rehab ward was
terrifying. Alone with my thoughts, I
no longer felt like I belonged to the hu-
man race. My brain kept taking tours
into my distant past. I drifted in and out
of sleep, and through the night, I wept.
Yet memories, I was convinced,
were the one touchstone I shared
with my old self. They worked like a
metaphor to help establish my new
claim on “being.” A part of my brain
was damaged, but other parts seemed
to be working overtime to compensate
for what I had lost.
Thankfully, Pat would not let me
feel sorry for myself. Nor was the staff
tolerant of any quitting. As I traveled
through the halls in my wheelchair in
the weeks to come, I heard a chorus
of voices raised in a song of healing.
Rarely did I hear anger or annoyance
escape anyone’s lips but my own.
That first day of rehab, I had an ap-
pointment in the gym. “Do you know
the way?” one of the nurses asked. I re-
alized they expected me to wheel my-
self to the gym. Good luck, I thought. I
couldn’t begin to go in a straight line.
My right arm hung lifeless in my lap,
and when I pulled with my left hand, I
did doughnuts, spinning in circles.
“Drag your left foot along the ground
as you push,” a nurse advised. When
I tried, I made it a few yards before I
veered right and smashed into the wall.
“Perseverance,” she called to me.
I repeated the lurching motion, once
again smashing into the wall, then con-
tinued down the hall, swerving to my
right, almost colliding with an elderly
woman. Then, to my surprise, I bolted
in a straight line toward the gym.
The next few weeks were a grueling
process of relearning and repeating
the simplest movements: swallowing,
standing, stretching.
To regain movement on my dam-
aged side, I practiced “mirror ther-
apy.” The goal is to fool the brain. AIT’S UNSETTLING
TO HAVE YOUR
CHILDREN SEE YOU
SO VULNERABLE.rd.com 111Health Reader’s Digest