I’ve swept them all under the title of therapists, but in the aftermarket of home health, I am dealing with a program supervisor, a nurse supervisor, a nurse, an occupational therapist and a physical therapist. The people who used to show up in the gym, make assessments and leave now make appointments, ring doorbells (right and wrong doorbells), spend time assessing, make a new appointment and leave. Complex!
The head nurse will sign me off today. She called to say she would be here at nine. As in nine in the morning. I laughed. Generally I am up to cleaning the cat box at nine in the A M. Before breakfast. I don’t function until after breakfast. She picked ten, with authority. But ten is Linda and physical therapy. The nurse settled on noon.
In addition to putting me through the routine, these therapists are tasked with charting, which interests me. How much faster I can walk one hundred feet, for example. The therapy on my left shoulder is most fascinating. More muscles than I realized were repositioned.
My shoulder still does not move to the left, and the therapist will not address that until I see the surgeon next week. She says “too soon”, and that’s it, until the doctor gives his OK. Given all the months I spent with my upper arm firmly against my side, I count myself lucky to throw my shuttle with my forearm.
Laura has a three day holiday. Tomorrow she’s going to her mother’s table via a lift from Bekka. Hamilton is expected.
Between therapists, Laura trimmed her tree. It has an ornament free, cat proof barrier at the bottom. It’s an annual contest between the cat and the tree trimmer. Currently Toby is asleep on my weaving bench, so this year’s stand-off has not commenced.
And, we left the sparrow feeders intact.