Suddenly, I somehow found myself in the hospital, being taken to the operation room, although I couldn’t distinguish one building from the other. What I didn’t know was that my skull was about to be added a bone plate. The familiar steps were repeated, and I woke up with Eric at my side, looking at me. “Did it fail?” I asked, thinking a single operation had been performed in the same place, the hospital – not that I’d been transferred to and from the facility. I noticed that I couldn’t move my left arm and leg, but there was a slight motor improvement comparing to my last stay. I could hear my voice slurring, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been before. Yes, I thought confidently, it had been a single operation.
I was transferred once again. My older brother, a physician, came to keep me company while Eric was going to work, and to help Eric take care of me. I was assigned operational, physical and speech therapists. Whatsapp and my new smart phone were great contributions: I could talk to my mother whenever I needed to, and it was a good help; and two of my friends in Argentina religiously sent me texts or voice messages, which made me feel supported.
This time the blood in my brain reabsorbed quite fast, and my cognitive ability slowly improved. Since the exercises were successful, the therapists decided that I could be discharged after I’d regained some of my abilities. A week later, Eric and I were taught the “dance” to help me to transfer in and out of the bathtub and the car. On the expected morning, my brother and I would wait for Eric to pick us up, and the two of them would take care of the paperwork. Discharge was fast approaching!
I was transferred once again. My older brother, a physician, came to keep me company while Eric was going to work, and to help Eric take care of me. I was assigned operational, physical and speech therapists. Whatsapp and my new smart phone were great contributions: I could talk to my mother whenever I needed to, and it was a good help; and two of my friends in Argentina religiously sent me texts or voice messages, which made me feel supported.
This time the blood in my brain reabsorbed quite fast, and my cognitive ability slowly improved. Since the exercises were successful, the therapists decided that I could be discharged after I’d regained some of my abilities. A week later, Eric and I were taught the “dance” to help me to transfer in and out of the bathtub and the car. On the expected morning, my brother and I would wait for Eric to pick us up, and the two of them would take care of the paperwork. Discharge was fast approaching!
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