Strip Therapy

And then I thought about the infusion yesterday. I was getting ready to scoot up to 102nd street where they have things called infusion towers (don’t even ask, they aren’t towers) and I scoot in and have trouble tranfering from the scooter chair (it was freezing and though nobody came when I was trying to make the transfer to the scooter tho I rang the pendant for 1/2 hour.so I knew it was old out but left in a tee shirt, gave the pendant back to the head nurse saying it didn’t work, was warned it was cold out, and to get a jacket, which all I have is heavy ones from pre-stroke and can’t wear any more, and zipped out to 102nd.

I was freezing, and people were shouting at me on the scooter: You need a jacket!

No kidding.

But I got there on time and as I started to say was so cold I had trouble getting up out of the scooter. Or maybe just sitting in it too long.

I could just about get to my feet and I said if one of you ladies could giive me a hitch from behind…

Oh no, sir. We’re not alowed to left patients.

Arguments back and forth.Is there a man on the floor who couldjust lift me under the arms…

No,sir. No men on the floor.

So they put on blue rubber gloves, and grab me under the arms.

I tell them that’s not going to work. Believe me. And I hear the same thing I’ve heard a thousand times: push. You’re not pushing.

It’s like telling a block of cement to push. Next, I fall to my knees. There’s only so long they can hold me up.

At that point they find a strongish guy who says he’ll be glad to lift me, and one to three I’m standing on my own. They I sit back in the scooter and say, you’d better do it in this.

I had forgotten my ear phones, and the tv wasn’t working.

But I got a nice breakfast, coffee, yolait, graham crackers. They gave me a sheet to cover myself. I put it over my head and road back in relative comfort saying “boo” once in a while.

And after all of that, I woke up this morning after the following dream:

I don’t offer much in the way of apologetic excuses for this next piece because, well dreams are dreams.

In the dream I began to see began to see the beautiful 27 year old PT woman who dresses (in my mind kind of sexy in tight pants and a loose fitting shirt, and is pretty on top of all that) and I came up with a game called Strip OT.

The idea is that every time I walk across the room with the rollater she would have to show another part of her body. It could be shoulders. Or feet. Or calves. Her choice. She could even undo her long brown hair and flip it like Put the Blame on Mame – with Rita Hayworth. But she wouldn’t take her clothes off in case a blue shirt walked in.

I was struggling in the dream, and it was a great incentive. And at some point I caught a glimpse of her shoulder and collapsed on the floor and was taken via EMS to the hospital.

While I was looking up at the ceiling of the ambulance I was trying to come up with a cover story that wouldn’t get the OT into any trouble.

All I could come up with is that a white rabbit went running by, and pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket and was mumbling about the duchess, the duchess…

and I had fallen sleep listening to Alice in Wonderland, and it had started from the beginning again. Quite a lot of the writing in the diary, is influenced by Lewis Carrol. When I have a chance I mean to read a biography of that guy. It must be fascinating.