Things have been less than ideal for my big sis right now. Hospitals and rehab and at-home support services are not new to me, but it is different when it is your sister. The same sister who used to terrorize the mean neighborhood boys into complete submission.
That said, I'm going to bring you back to the time last month when I participated in my second therapy session with Crazy Lady. It was about two weeks post-op. My sis was in a bit of a daze when my parents and I arrived. She had just had a seizure, the nurse informed us. She had fallen out of bed that night, or had a seizure and had fallen, they weren't sure. Also, her blood pressure was jumping around and she had to be monitored constantly. Crazy Lady was still positive about attending her physical therapy session.
The physical therapy rehab room was like something out of the movies. It was new and big and shiny. Mirrors, exercise equipment, parallel bars for walking, rows of therapy tables. The physical therapist that worked with Crazy Lady was young and positive and, thankfully, very aware of my sister's multiple conditions that needed to be monitored.
So when Crazy Lady started hallucinating, the therapist was immediately concerned. "I see a monkey over there!" CL mentioned, looking perplexed. "Do you have monkeys here?"
I immediately started giggling. Couldn't help myself. Please note in my description above, nowhere do I mention monkeys in the room. Therapy Lady scanned the room herself, "No we don't have monkeys here," she replied slowly. We were near the end of the session and Crazy Lady was perched between two parallel bars, taking slow and difficult steps. My sister had explained earlier that it is hard to figure out how to walk when you can't feel the bottom of your feet.
Therapy Lady stood in front of her and I stood behind, ready to catch. Ha, bad idea if you ask me. I have ADD and as soon as I heard the words "monkey in the room" I wandered off to find the critter myself. She didn't fall, so you can relax. When I got back (no monkey found), Therapy Lady was giving Crazy Lady the third degree, "So, is the monkey furry?"
"Yeah, is it telling you to do strange things? Does it talk to you? Does it want you to hurt anyone?" I had to chime in. Therapy Lady was not amused by my helpfulness. Crazy Lady was, though. We laughed all the way back to her room.
In the room things got less funny fast. The changeover with the nursing staff resulted in a drop-off of communication, and blood-pressure checks were discontinued. By the time... almost two hours later... the checks continued, her blood pressure (no surprise) had shot up. I was tempted to hook myself up on the monitor, pretty sure mine was reaching new highs after dealing with a hostile anti-social doctor and nurses who didn't believe anything they didn't read in a chart (her earlier blood pressure recordings had disappeared).
Not the best day ever. We later found out that an earlier doctor had reduced Crazy Lady's pain meds by 75% without telling her, triggering a number of problems. Boy, was she pissed. Even the nurses were appalled.
Crazy Lady thought my post might offer some comic relief, but I'm afraid this was less funny than I thought it was going to be. I did consider buying her a giant stuffed monkey for my next visit, but our mom was not amused by the idea. Maybe next time. Sugar will probably tear it to pieces. All the more reason to get one, perhaps.