Part 3: Riverfield

Sadly, Monday morning did not bring with it any moving toes, or any movement at all. This second stroke was much more severe and my left side was much worse than after the first stroke. That morning I had a (very uncomfortable) camera stuck down my throat so that a picture might be taken of the back of my heart. The picture revealed that I had a congenital malformation of the heart in that the foramen ovale did not close completely at birth. The doctors surmised that this was the reason that I ‘stroked’ (twice). Apparently, many people live with the same ‘defect’ their whole lives with no issues at all, but a small percentage experience problems. Surgery was immediately scheduled for the closure of the hole.

Luckily, these days, to do heart surgery one does not always have to open the chest cavity. My surgery was done almost remotely, via a special scope; through an artery in my groin area. Amazing really, that they could close the hole like that. I spent a lot of time in ICU that week, and a lot of time throwing up on nurses who were trying to feed me. I had a lot of family and friends visit me in ICU, the nurses seemed oblivious to the fact that there were visiting hours, which was nice of them. I guess it didn’t surprise me that I was surrounded by much older people in the ward, all recovering (trying to) from various serious ailments such as heart and/or brain surgery. One man across from me was in a lot of trouble. I’m not sure what all his problems were, but I knew that he had serious trouble urinating. Once while attempting to go in one of those bottles he took so long that he fell asleep while trying. He woke with a start only when he had spilt the contents of the bottle on himself. I felt so, so sorry for him and wondered if he had done bad things in his life to deserve to be where he was.

So now that my (ex) hole in the heart would not cause any more problems, the next task was to get going with some rehab. My mom did her research and found that the best place for me would be Riverfield Lodge near Fourways. I would have to go to a proper rehab centre as I required constant care from doctors and nurses and rehabilitation sessions numerous times a day from various specialists. I was given a private room, which was nice. There are not really wards as in a normal hospital – usually there would be a maximum of three in one room. The food was terrible, there’s no other way of putting it. The staff were not too bad, although the nurses at times did not seem to understand the severity of the paralyses in my left side.

A typical day would start with the nurses busting into my room at 5AM like the Gestapo on the Night of the Long Knives. Thankfully, they did not attempt to kill me, but rather proceeded to switch the lights on, rip my clothes off, stab me in the stomach (the only place this injection could be taken – apparently) with a ‘man-size’ orange syringe (a blood thinner and also the most painful injection I’ve ever had by a long stretch), then scrub me down to within an inch of my life, ask permission to wash my ‘private parts’, wash my private parts, dry me vigorously, and finally they would dress me. This whole process took less that 1 hour so by quarter to six in the morning I was lying in bed bathed, clothed, medicated, and ready for the day. It was astoundingly odd to me that this all HAD to happen before six in the morning, every morning. Eight o’clock was Exercises time for the whole wing (I was put in the ‘spinal injuries’ wing at first). Exercises was very basic stuff, VERY basic. Basic as in lift your foot off the ground and put it down 10 times, or roll your head from side to side. Or raise your arms and put them down 10 times. Everyone did what they could do, according to what their injury or disability allowed them to do.

After exercises it was time for breakfast. Usually there was at least pap (porridge made from maize meal) or some cereal, plus toast, coffee, tea, juice, and usually some other hot dish like mince or a strange ham type thing. It was pretty horrid. Depending on the schedule I would either have speech therapy, physiotherapy, or occupational therapy at various times during the day. In addition, a doctor would sometimes see me. Although I was to see a psychologist everyday, I saw her twice in total (once when I arrived and once when I left). Blood was also drawn daily by the Vampire. She called herself that, and I wasn’t arguing. The fact that the Vampire drew blood from about a 100 people per day did not seem to do anything for her needle-inserting skills and a visit from her usually left me looking like an addict that couldn’t find a vein. Anyone who knows me or has seen me knows that I am a very ‘veiny’ person –there is no shortage of veins to choose from. So there.

I was given an old wheelchair to get around in. I would put the left leg up on the plates, remove the right-hand plate and use my right leg to propel me along. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but better than lying in bed all day.

Phillip Avraam was my physio, and a really good guy with a massive passion for his work. Other patients there told me how when they arrived they could not walk or do much of anything, and how Phillip had helped them to progress to where they didn’t think was possible. So I was hopeful about working with Phillip. We started out very easy, just trying to stand. We then progressed to trying to walk with a staff (a long walking stick).

Eventually I was onto crutches, still not very steady at all though. In between all this we did special exercises to strengthen and ‘reconnect’ my brain to my left side. Eventually I could tense certain muscles in my legs, but others remained motionless no matter what. The best way to describe the feeling of not being able to move your arm or leg despite your brain telling them to is the idea of trying to make a phone call from a phone once its wire has been cut; it’s a feeling of impossibility. Nevertheless, we persisted on and on, not giving up. Eventually I was able to walk around relatively well with just one crutch, albeit not rock-solidly. We did a lot of work on my core to get things stable and assist the weakened left side. Eventually I was walking (limping) by myself, but I was far from steady and would always go slow, nervous of falling over. Being able to move around by myself was great though – at least I could go to the bathroom by myself without needing to ask for help. Once before I was that mobile I had asked for a bottle to pee in and had forgotten about it and spilled it on myself –sound familiar?