The Accidental House of Rehab

Those of you who know me or follow this site know that I am a “serial remodeler.” I have dedicated several posts to the projects, both large and small, that I have undertaken at home. You can rest assured that those projects will continue in the months and years ahead, because that is simply who I am.

But the past seven months have given whole new meaning to the idea of “rehab” in our home. It started the day before Thanksgiving, when my sweet husband Allan suffered a minor stroke. It was a harrowing experience, but having spent his entire career in a physical rehab hospital in White Plains, NY, he followed doctor’s orders and was rehabbing beautifully.

That was the order of the day until late one rainy evening when he came in from walking the dog, Emma, and decided to remove his sneakers without sitting down or holding on to anything for support. A quick fall to the hardwood floors resulted in a broken hip. After three nights in the hospital and a hip repair — fortunately, not a total replacement — Allan was back in the rehab game.

Once again, he knows how to follow orders. In-house PT and OT were the order of the day and his progress was great. To his credit and perseverance, nine weeks after his surgery, we flew to Porto, Portugal and enjoyed a wonderful AMA Waterways river cruise through the Douro River Valley followed by three nights in Madrid.

To complicate matters, one week after Allan’s hip surgery, we launched a long-planned demolition and reconfiguration of our master bath and closet. So we were each working out of different bathrooms and our “closet” was a double hanging rod in the home office. Prior to construction, every item in the closet and bathroom had to be moved, down to the last sock and q-tip. The vast majority of our clothing was packed away in suitcases and plastic boxes, stashed all over the house.

So that brings us to late spring and a safe return from Portugal and Spain. Rehab to the house and person in full bloom; a recovery tour under our belt. Enough is enough, you say? Not quite.

One Saturday night, I noticed that Emma, our sweet beagle, was walking lamely on her rear left leg. I assumed she had bumped into something or strained a muscle, and all would be well Sunday morning.

Come Sunday morning, she was paralyzed.

The diagnosis? A ruptured disc, which was far better news than a tumor on her spine. Her surgery also resulted in a three-night hospital stay and a five-digit bill, but hats off to the staff at Charleston Veterinary Referral Center. We could not have asked for better care for her or better communication with us. (In my experience over the decades with my pets, I have often said that vets have much better “beside manner” than our own doctors.)

The financial pain of that experience was eased somewhat by our pet insurance, Petplan, which I have had as long as I have had Emma. Thanks to the detailed records supplied by Charleston Veterinary Referral Center and historic records by our own vet, West Ashley Veterinary Clinic, our claim was paid at 80 per cent.

So Emma and Allan continue to rehab. Emma’s legs are at about 50 per cent of their capacity, but she is able to walk again and can carefully navigate stairs. Allan has laid stair treads on the outdoor and indoor stairs, and we have placed runners all over the hardwood floors.

True to herself, her appetite has remained healthy throughout this ordeal!

So our house lives up to its name as a House of Rehab. In seven months, three surgeries and one major construction project. Is that enough stress for one year, which is only seven months old?

Perhaps this is the age of rehab, our new “normal” that comes with late middle-age. The age of the house. Our own age, as I stare 70 in the face and Allan tops me by a few years. Emma, at 11, is the equivalent of 77 in dog years.

All we can do is support and love each other through these stages and look forward to the good times ahead. But enough is enough for this year, even for this serial remodeler.