She was back in the hospital yesterday afternoon to see the lady doctor.
And she was d*** hungry, having had no breakfast because of some stupid blood test she was taking. After drawing her blood, she had one small cup of hot Milo, and then she went out with her caregivers to the nearby mall for lunch.
She remembers this mall.
They used to come here for meals in between her morning and afternoon therapy sessions. There was some Chinese cafe on the third floor. Today they went for porridge and dough fritters and soya bean drink. They used to eat salmon and rice back then during the early post-stroke days. A lot of salmon and rice- and she always felt guilty eating such good and expensive meals.
The funny thing is, if anyone had told her that three years had passed since her very first session, Miss Brown would not have believed it. It felt just like yesterday when she was pushed into her first session seated on a wheelchair.
The first few weeks she was in her wheelchair, a very cranky one that was stiff and made a lot of noise. Subsequently, she slowly made her way in, using the technique that her rehab therapist had taught her on the very first lesson.
They were fast; these therapists. Second lesson only, and he had her out on the escalator going up and down and up and down, practicing until she got it right. Every time she came, he revised with her how she ought to walk. He made her practice walking along the long corridor. He showed her how to climb stairs and then made her do it step by step by step.
But he wasn't here today.
The other therapist who'd played the computer game with her wasn't here either. He used to teach her how to play this game in the room where she'd move her arm with this machine and pick up apples and put them in the basket. She wondered if they still had the game.
Only the lead therapist was there. She recognized him when he came over, but she didn't want to tell him how she was and she worried that he would ask more questions, so she didn't say anything in response to his greeting, merely nodding her head a little.
Miss Brown wondered if he'd noticed her gesture.
He probably didn't.
She didn't make those big, dramatic gestures that she used to. She didn't speak as much as she used to. And where there was once she cried here and told everyone here that she wanted to die because of all the family stresses and family problems, today she wasn't able to shed a tear at all.
Everything had changed.
The place was really, really busy now. There were people everywhere. They didn't rehab one by one anymore. They were in groups now, and it was all very noisy and lively. So different from when she got the fullest attention from the therapists.
And then there were so many people on the other side of the room now. It used to be so quiet!
And then, how she looked... what she wore... all different now.
No more the blue backpack she used to carry. No more the blouse over her t-shirt. No more her water bottle and her hat. No more her big white comb or all her tissue papers or her biscuit. Then she used to have her bus pass on a lanyard over her neck or stuffed inside her bag. Then she used to have her phone in her pocket or in her bag's pocket. Then she used to walk her way in.
Now her hair was cropped short and neat, she didn't know where her dentures were, she didn't wear her spectacles, she had no more phone, she had no more bag, she had no more tissues with her, she didn't have any belongings with her, she was dressed in the pale green uniform of the nursing home she lived in, and she was sitting on another wheelchair with little wheels by the side.
No, it wasn't the same anymore.
Nothing was the same anymore.
And she was d*** hungry, having had no breakfast because of some stupid blood test she was taking. After drawing her blood, she had one small cup of hot Milo, and then she went out with her caregivers to the nearby mall for lunch.
She remembers this mall.
They used to come here for meals in between her morning and afternoon therapy sessions. There was some Chinese cafe on the third floor. Today they went for porridge and dough fritters and soya bean drink. They used to eat salmon and rice back then during the early post-stroke days. A lot of salmon and rice- and she always felt guilty eating such good and expensive meals.
The funny thing is, if anyone had told her that three years had passed since her very first session, Miss Brown would not have believed it. It felt just like yesterday when she was pushed into her first session seated on a wheelchair.
The first few weeks she was in her wheelchair, a very cranky one that was stiff and made a lot of noise. Subsequently, she slowly made her way in, using the technique that her rehab therapist had taught her on the very first lesson.
They were fast; these therapists. Second lesson only, and he had her out on the escalator going up and down and up and down, practicing until she got it right. Every time she came, he revised with her how she ought to walk. He made her practice walking along the long corridor. He showed her how to climb stairs and then made her do it step by step by step.
The other therapist who'd played the computer game with her wasn't here either. He used to teach her how to play this game in the room where she'd move her arm with this machine and pick up apples and put them in the basket. She wondered if they still had the game.
Only the lead therapist was there. She recognized him when he came over, but she didn't want to tell him how she was and she worried that he would ask more questions, so she didn't say anything in response to his greeting, merely nodding her head a little.
Miss Brown wondered if he'd noticed her gesture.
He probably didn't.
She didn't make those big, dramatic gestures that she used to. She didn't speak as much as she used to. And where there was once she cried here and told everyone here that she wanted to die because of all the family stresses and family problems, today she wasn't able to shed a tear at all.
Everything had changed.
The place was really, really busy now. There were people everywhere. They didn't rehab one by one anymore. They were in groups now, and it was all very noisy and lively. So different from when she got the fullest attention from the therapists.
And then there were so many people on the other side of the room now. It used to be so quiet!
And then, how she looked... what she wore... all different now.
No more the blue backpack she used to carry. No more the blouse over her t-shirt. No more her water bottle and her hat. No more her big white comb or all her tissue papers or her biscuit. Then she used to have her bus pass on a lanyard over her neck or stuffed inside her bag. Then she used to have her phone in her pocket or in her bag's pocket. Then she used to walk her way in.
Now her hair was cropped short and neat, she didn't know where her dentures were, she didn't wear her spectacles, she had no more phone, she had no more bag, she had no more tissues with her, she didn't have any belongings with her, she was dressed in the pale green uniform of the nursing home she lived in, and she was sitting on another wheelchair with little wheels by the side.
No, it wasn't the same anymore.
Nothing was the same anymore.