The Rehab Doctor at Mayo

Before my appointment I took some pictures. A woman sitting on a bench observed me placing Puppy and snapping pictures of him. I had to walk by her to get to the building. She smirked as I walked closer and I figured I'd better say something. I shook Puppy and said, "I'm sending pictures to my five year old nephew. He loves it." The woman smiled a little. Then I said as I passed her "I wonder if I'm at the right kind of hospital." I didn't expect it, but she let out a full belly laugh. It was so loud that a few people turned their faces toward us from across the fountain.

I write children's books and that is why I have added Puppy, Flower and Orange to my story. I'm bored. Not crazy. Think Mr. Rogers.

The rehab doctor was smart and very caring. He did the exam and was very honest about his opinion. "I want you to see a certified manual therapist. Either it will help or it won't. Surgeons don't like to go in surgically to fix scar tissue because it can come back and be worse. Are you on disability?" I said "No." He looked me in the eyes, sincerely, and said, "I hope things work out for you." He gave me a prescription for the therapy, it is on a form that has check points. One of them reads: potential for achievement of Rehab Goals. Excellent, good or fair. He checked good and fair.

That word----disability----what does it mean. It can be different for everybody. When I'm sick for over two months at a time I feel disabled. When I can't keep up with life at all and I know that I wouldn't be able to provide for myself. I think about where I'd be without my husband taking care of me. It scares me.