Continued from the bulk of the story.
I begin to wonder, out loud, how I will manage in Rome. Karen insists “Don't worry,” she says, “it's a
boutique hotel in an old building, but it has an elevator.” There it is, up a flight of seventeen worn
marble stairs. Another twelve up from where the elevator stops. The author gratefully
acknowledges the straight-legged stair-climbing instruction of Lisa, Emerson physical
therapist. You hold onto the hand rail and rock from side to side. It does take some
upper-body strength.
Then, there are the
cobble stones in Rome. My trekking poles work, but only if I keep my eyes glued to the
ground, to be sure the tips don't land in cracks, seeing nothing where there is much to
be seen. No worries. Karen insisted I take along a Nitro, by Drive.
I cursed and I swore about that too, but now, I think of the Nitro as the Ferrari of walkers, from the design perspective. There is also a touch of Range Rover, from the durability perspective.
After a few days in
Rome, we are scheduled to board a cruise ship bound for Lisbon via various Italian,
French, Spanish, and Portuguese ports.
“Oh,” Karen says, “of course the ship has elevators.”
Here is how you get on. Karen says, “You can't do that,” and starts some sort of discussion with the security people at the bottom.
Then, remembering a phrase from early childhood, I say, “Watch what I can do,” and up I go. It is actually rather easy with handrails on both sides. Of course, you go backwards when you go down.
My surgeon told me not to
run around the Colosseum in Rome. He didn't say anything about the Theater in Cartagena.
No, I didn't go down the steps. No handrails.
Cartagena, like many ports that
cruise ships tend to go to, features a nice, flat, car-free pedestrian zone.
Of course, there
are occasional challenges that I can handle, like this one in Barcelona. Not too bad
because I could back down, holding onto the stone railing.
When we get to Lisbon, we have dinner at a Michelin 2 star, Belcanto, said to be the best restaurant in Portugal, scheduled for 8:30 PM. We invite Jose Duarte, a former student, and his spouse, Rita. Jose's a senior professor now, recently Dean of the School of Architecture at the Technical University of Lisbon, now Director of the Stuckeman Center for Design Computing at Penn State.
Jose and Rita are late.
We wonder why: Jose is Portuguese, knows the area, and is sure to be punctual.
He shows up on crutches. My first thought is to think it a crude joke. Then, he explains he sprained his ankle, that morning, jogging. We all—including restaurant staff—laugh uncontrollably at the spectacle of two very fit men at the table, one hobbling in on trekking poles, the other on crutches.
The day before we leave for home I walk six miles up and down Lisbon, a very up and down city. About a mile was on safe ground with lock flexion open to 20o, which enables a near-normal walk with trekking poles deployed. I have to admit, walking around places like these sure beats doing laps around the driveway:
Back home. Knees flex to 120o during passive bending, so I start dreaming about getting rid of the braces, driving, stair climbing. My surgeon indicates a gradual weaning from the braces, over the coming month.
News: now keeping braces open to 60o all the time.
Wait, still more news: I just went jogging! Well, sort of. Jogging on a treadmill in a PT pool. Great fun!
I'm now walking around, carefully, sans poles, sans walker, sans braces, multiple km. I like to think of it as walking freestyle.
Starting stair work; I go up now more or less naturally, with death grip on the handrail; I go down backwards, like up in reverse.
I'm working hard to get back to normal gait and endurance. I keep remembering a Johnson quote: “When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.”
In my case, the thought of lecturing to 400 MIT undergraduates in 10-250
in a bit more than a fortnight concentrates my mind wonderfully.
He walks into the examination room as I'm pacing back and forth, like a caged lion. “Well,” he says, “Around about the end of October or the beginning of November you can come back if you like, but you don't have to. Just let us know.” And that was the extent of my last visit.
Ok, here is the program as of today at the end of 16 weeks: walk 5 minutes, jog 1 minute, repeat 5 times for 30 minutes total every other day. Plan is to subtract 1 and add 1 as the spirit moves me.
Spirit moves me. Walk 4, jog 2.
Walk 3; jog 3. Way out of shape.
Training continues but PT sessions are over. Ryan took me from disabled to generally functional in the past eight weeks. He always answered my questions with “The latest research shows....” I like that.
It just felt like the day had
come, a week before my on-or-about October 1 projection.
The speed wasn't anything to brag about, but I did five kilometers, jogging, nonstop.
So, I consider the rehabilitation enterprise over. I owe many thanks to a lot of people.