Occupational Therapy

Wanna know how much you use your hands in the course of a day? Wanna learn how many life-altering skills have changed for the TBI afflicted? I had no clue. But thanks to the majic of that street sweeper...I do now! So can you!

As I mentioned before my hands were in a perpetual death grip. I'm sure there is a sexy Occupational Therapy (OT) term for it. I could barely get them open. Once I did after months of stretching and casting...I couldnt close back up the right one.

Finger splints and massaging were the first tactics in nursing home #1. It hurt. The kind of pain that is sharp and biting. Little daggers of pain shooting in every joint of my hands.

After that short ambulance trip being trailed by then-girlfriend I landed in rehab hospital number one on my tour of hospitals. It is there I experienced my first (and only) drug-induced high. Surrounded by three therapists (one who was a PT and I think was just there for the comedy routine I put on) the serial casting began. They would manipulate my hand into a position and quickly cast it. It was left on for a week or so and then rinse and repeat. Then they started with the other hand.

A new position was formed with my hand. My pain (i'm sure) was low on my OT's list of worries. But pain for me is distinctive. The dull, thumping pain of a broken bone is not nearly as bad as dental pain. That icy, nerve pain. Thats what this was. The sunburn kind. Oh, and did I get angry. The happy attitude they had as they went to work like a bunch of Santas elves made me even angrier.

Then with the 'sock-aid'. I refused it and tried for days until I could pull on my own socks and tie my shoes. They mentioned velcro sneakers. The thought of 1983 made me work even harder. I could see how to do everything in my mind. I just couldnt get that thought to my extremities. I heard the term 'locked in syndrome' and once I wrapped my mind around the term, began rationalizing to myself that is what I had. In laymans terms it is when everything is being processed in your mind at the same speed (or near) the same speed it always had. But (heres the fun part) there is a "blockage" preventing those thoughts from getting to your body parts in a normal speed (if at all).

The skills of living. My Occupational Therapist (OT) taught me to shave again. Helped me brush my teeth and all the other grooming skills a boy should have. Then the fun part. Eating. My utensils were fashioned with large grips on the handles as I had no gripping strength. I had to re-learn how to cook too. Oh, I somewhat remembered how, but with my newly purchased disabilities I had to learn how to modify everything.

The Ohio hospital reinforced similar skills as did the Ohio nursing home. But the real test (and fun) happened in the next city. Charlotte, North Carolina is where in after a little over two years I sat behing the wheel of a car again. No one should have to go through drivers training twice in their life. But here I was. Death grip on a steering wheel now with an amazingly peaceful driving instructor next to me. Pleasant enough lady who did this as her job. Every day she would venture out onto roads with people with head injuries and other physical limitations. Every day.

After assessing her calm demeanor I came to the conclusion that A. She already knew her date with death and this was not it. So why wouldnt she be happy? Or B. She was on Prozac.

Either way we pulled into the parking lot. After I felt comfortable enough negotiating the car I was told to pull out into the street. I did and the death grip became tighter as I started remembering my last driving experience. Noticing my death grip and clenched jaw she told me to relax. Throughout the drive, which felt like forever, I was told in that soothing voice to 'put on blinker and move into the left lane, keep two car lengths behind the car in front of me' and all the same drivers-ed speak you heard in high school.

After it was over, I peeled my sweaty back from the seat and would return the following day. This eventually became easy enough where I was purchasing a car in Florida not a year later. I still had problems with directions and I got lost quite a bit. Being a man of course I refuse to ask directions. So I purchased a Global Positioning System (GPS) for my car.

My GPS is a life saver and I belive they will become commonplace in every car in ten years. The sweet, female voice knows exactly where I am at all times and tells me where to turn and how far it is going to take us to get there. I'm in love and regardless of the physical differences, i'm going to make it work between us.