Why I do it....

Yesterday one my patients got to go home. He wasn't there for PT rehab per say - more of the memory/speech/occupational therapy more so than me and what I could do to help him. He was my "uncharacteristic" patient. Didn't walk with a walker or cane. Didn't need to be supervised so closely as he always caught himself whenever his centre of gravity was off kilter. Didn't fall. Didn't need constant reminders of how to transfer safely. Didn't need me to roll beside him on a stool and guide his legs through the process of walking. We played catch and bounced balls while we walked. We stood on foam with our eyes closed. We did exercises on the theraball. We did a lot of balance stuff I don't normally get to do with my patients. And he was game with whatever I suggested. A really sweet man. And yesterday when we were walking one last time together and I asked him if there was anything he wanted to make sure he did before his daughter came to take him home, and secretly hoping he didn't say "swim in the pool", he stopped, took my hand, and said "I really appreciate all that you've done to help me. I enjoyed being here and I couldn't have done it without your support." And as the smile on my heart grew into an enormous grin I thought to myself, "This is why I do it..."
Today I was looking after a patient for another therapist while she was out of town, and walked into a very sticky situation which I had no idea about considering I had never treated this man during his length of stay in the hospital. He had decided he was going home as soon as the doctor would write the orders and refused to come down to the gym for therapy of any kind. After talking with the social worker I went down to his room to suggest some outpatient physical therapy places for him, so he could continue treatment. As I left the room I ran into his wife in the hallway, who was coming in from her car with an empty suitcase to pack. She was noticeably upset so I stopped to talk with her and reassure her, and to verify that she indeed had a support system in bringing her husband home to look after while she tried to hold a full time job. And after talking with her, I hugged her and walked back to the gym with tears in my eyes and thought to myself, "This is why I do it..."
Thank you Lord for all of my patients... May I never consider it a job to serve you in the capacity of being a therapist, but an opportunity to serve others who need help from the skills & knowledge I've acquired, and in turn glorify You...

I am officially offended...

The sport of hockey has been officially desecrated... There were CHEERLEADERS at the Predators game last night. I think there were around seven or eight of them, but I tried not to look directly at them... If they show up in Toronto they could very well be banished from the entire country forever.
i... am... speechless...

Raise Your Hand If You're Surprised

Yesterday was a very special day. Not only was it Groundhog's Day, and apparently "Nicemas" (refer to Nitty.Gritty. for details), but it was my first official payday. I've been working at HeathSouth for the last three weeks, and those hours finally fell into a pay period that I could reap the monetary fruits of my labour from! And man, was I excited! We have a payday social in the hospital cafeteria, and those were the best chocolate cookies I've ever tasted!

Brett and I have a wish list of sorts that we were going to get with this new found fortune. Oh, you know, things like finally buy a new pair of running shoes since my current ones are three years old, get the brakes fixed on the car, get a haircut, buy a couple more pairs of scrubs, etc.

For the past three years all of my time, money, blood, sweat, and tears (oh, the enormous puddle of tears) have been directly invested into Belmont University, specifically their Physical Therapy program. I "retired" from being the Dorm Director of the infamous Johnson Hall at Lipscomb to go back to school full time, and became an academic slave in August 2003. Exit income.

And then to make things more interesting Brett moved to Montgomery, AL to start the new soccer programs at Faulkner University. Exit husband.

And for the remaining four semesters of grad school we drove back and forth between Nashville and Monty as well as straight into debt. Enter school loans at a ridiculously high interest rate.

Then the long awaited day of graduation arrived! Along with it job interviews, the board exam, and upteen-million hurdles to obtain my work permit and SSN to work legally in the States.

And so, this Friday marked the day that I would receive my very first paycheque for being a PT. The monetary reward after all those tests, lab practicals, presentations, research projects and all the other yuck you have to endure to make it through grad school. We would officially become a two-income family after this 41-month hiatus! (Not that I'm anti one-income families, I'm just anti not-having-enough-money-to-eat-something-other-than-hotdogs-and-macaroni-and-cheese-three-times-a-week).

So why the sarcastic tone to this entry you ask? Well, after celebrating my first paycheque with friends and family {thanks so much for arranging last night's get-together just for me Ashley! :)}, I checked my account balance on the internet. And do you know what it said?

Are you ready for this, because even though I know better, I was not....

My balance reads $2.99. Yes, the decimal is in the correct place. Enter jaw on the floor of Brett's office.

I'm stuck somewhere in the middle of "Are you stinkin' kidding me?" and "Well, of course that would happen to me!"

So apparently my hard earned moolah is floating around somewhere in cyperspace, and I am left sitting here with my wish list remaining simply that.

And I say, for what seems the millionth and eighty-fourth time:

"Raise your hand if you're surprised by this happening to me!!"