Jeff was in inpatient recovery for about two and a half almost three weeks. During this time we hit a really low point, we had no idea what the next day would have in store for us or how we would make it through. Like running, not walking into a deep, dark hole. At this time Jeff was as lifeless and limp as a noodle, no one knew what to expect.
The medical staff gave us a rough overview of what was going to happen within the next few weeks: we were to start him on a steroid called prendisone, which was to bring down the acute inflammation in his spine that was preventing him from moving, then we would proceed with physical and occupational therapy on the recovery wing of the hospital and take it from there.
The prendisone did what it was suppose to, it brought down the inflammation. He was able to move his upper body again, but the lower was still bound to a wheel chair. Jeff's doctor informed us that some symptoms may be permanent and not to get be surprised if he didn't make a full recovery. He stated that, considering where the lesions in Jeff's spine were, he may never regain control of his lower body, and the lesions in the brain could impair eyesight and a few other things in the future. For a moment we thought all hope was lost. But I said "NO, we are getting married in June and you are walking down that aisle!" The doctor went on to persuade us into choosing a "treatment" for MS (multiple sclerosis, although no one had any real idea of what was going on in my husband's body.) We were still in shock and confused about what to do. So the doctor said he would let us think about it and ask again after we see how therapy goes. I realize now how much doctors really scares you into thinking you NEED something, such as drugs or surgery. He made sure we knew that these attacks would keep happening without treatment, and would progressively get worse each time and he would surely be left with some immobility each time until he would eventually lose all function.
What a horrible way to look at your future. We wouldn't settle for it.
Anyway, our next step was therapy, we moved to the recovery wing of ThedaCare, to a much better room with a view. He was still given an IV of prendisone along with a pill cocktail everyday. Jeff said many times that it felt like he had a tight belt wrapped around his chest and below that everything was tingly and heavy to move, the entire area was super sensitive to the touch. The softest touch felt like needles rubbing on his skin.
A few times a day he had therapy. It was very hard on him, physically and emotionally. He cried a lot, from the pain of a warm shower and washcloth on his sensitive skin to the thought of never being able to play with our kids. Jenna, our daughter, gave him hope, we was so ready to start walking at that time! Her and I pretty much lived in that hospital room with Jeff, so I brought many of her toys with us. In about a week and a half Jeff graduated to a walker, (which no one thought we would accomplish) by that time Jenna was in her walker cruising along side him. They were learning to walk together.
The entire stay he was still having to be cathed in order to relieve himself, he absolutely hated it. I think a lot of it had to do with his sense of feel being super sensitive, even a hand on his leg set him off. However, before they would let us take him home he had to be able to perform it on himself.
Finally Jeff was walking with a cane, a little uneasy, but independent and was able to cath himself. There were still things he was not capable of doing such as house chores and solely looking after Jenna so I could go back to work. He had to rest a lot but at least we could take him home! Just in time for Jenna's first birthday!
His recovery from here depended on 2 more sessions of therapy and ME...
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