Resurrection: Back to the Wheelchair

I should've started this a long time ago, but as they say: "Better late than never."

So here I am at the Shepherd Center in Atlanta, Georgia. I am a quadriplegic of 23 years and counting, and I came down here to get flap surgery done on my behind where it has broken down into a rather significant sore. I would post a picture, but it's kind of gory. It even freaked me out when I saw it. At its worst, the sore went clear down to my femur bone. My nurse said that she could reach down and touch it. All that emptiness had to be filled in: hence the flap surgery.

A flap surgery is when a surgeon -- in this case a plastic surgeon -- opens up the area and pulls a flap of healthy muscle tissue into the gap. I had mine done a couple of weeks ago I guess it was. It's hard to make sense of time laying here day after day in an empty room void of decoration with only a television for company. During the course of a day I'll see my nurse or my nurses assistant -- which down here they call a tech -- maybe four times a shift. There are two shifts per 24-hour period -- every one works seven to seven -- so I have a face change every 12 hours.

I'm really disappointed in the morning care. The people here seem to have this attitude that there is only a certain amount of work that they are supposed to do and anything more is really putting them out. For instance, I have to ask to have my teeth brushed in the morning. I have to ask to get my hair brushed. Maybe they are adverse to brushes. But it's the same way in every hospital I've ever been in. I was just hoping it would be different here.

Occasionally, I'll get a tech that brushes my teeth without my asking, and that's what I know I have someone that's a grade above the norm. Today was such a case. My tech’s name was Deana. She's an attractive young woman of 23, married two years, and currently going to Georgia State for her nursing degree. It's always easier for me to get up in the morning if there is a pretty face to look at.

And today was my second day back in the wheelchair since my surgery, and Julie, my physical therapist, drove me out to the main nurse's station for the floor. There must've been at least five very good-looking nurses there. I knew a couple of the faces, but there was this one nurse that was exceptionally striking. We even made eye contact for several seconds. My heart goes pitter-patter just thinking about her. And when it was time to get back in bed, Deana and Julie were at the helm, both equally attractive.

I told Deana that if every day were as good as today I would have no complaints. And so I leave you with that thought. Think of what would make your day a good day. Is it something you have control over?