From Christina:
The big thing I'd like to report is that Scotty's physical recovery is definitely progressing. He's very focussed and working hard in physical therapy, and it's starting to show. He is building up his upper-body strength, but even better--he seems to be regaining balance and some control over the muscles around his ribcage, abdomen and lower back. At least something's going on--I don't know what this adds up to in physiological terms, but he can now bend forward and back at the waist while sitting in the chair. He says he hasn't really regained feeling in those regions, but the muscles are definitely responding to impulses to move. This looks like a huge leap forward to me, if you remember that two months ago when we arrived at Beth Abraham, he couldn't even sit upright in the chair without a brace.Scotty spends a large part of his day in the gym--working on his own part of the time, and with his therapist Jamie for the rest. He likes Jamie a lot; says he's very creative, varying the exercises as they go along. Keeping it interesting. He uses a range of equipment including standard Nautilus-type machines as well as specialized gear like parallel bars and a standing machine.On Tuesday, we went out and explored the neighborhood. There we were on Allerton Avenue, faced with the reality of dealing with a wheelchair in the streets of New York City: keeping an eye out for ramps, wide-enough doorways, etc. It was a big step, a shift in thinking. We found a Mexican restaurant on White Plains Avenue and decided to give it shot. How does a wheelchair fit at a table in a restaurant? Not such a big deal after all--we took two chairs away from a table for four and pulled right in. And at the end of the meal Scotty grabbed the check, anxious to pick up the tab--to take part in the American economy again, after his five-month hiatus.
Christina
From Leif:
I visited Scott yesterday at Beth Abraham. It had been awhile, and I have been getting used to the idea of my friend being there, content for the time being that he's safe and working on getting better. Life has a way of continuing, no matter what. In any case, it was time to visit. The lady at the front desk recognized me, and we chatted briefly. I heard the all too familiar "oh he gets a lot of visitors" once again. Naturally. I passed the bingo hall downstairs, and peered in to check out the scene: 15 or 20 wheelchair bound patients hanging out, not doing too much, with Rick James funkin' up the place..."She's super freakeeaaahh...". It was a little surreal. I made my way up to Scott's room.
He's changed so much from that fateful day in February, yet he's the same man, grown in ways unimagined, and rarin'-to-go sharp. He bends back and forth in his wheelchair with no seatbelt to stretch his muscles, with no hint of imbalance, almost...light. We checked out the last bit of the Mets game (they won their sixth in a row, how bad could things be?), and caught up with stuff. My eyes popped when Scott lifted his entire weight off the chair from the rails. Then Scott wheeled himself next to the bed, locked the wheels, and disconnected some chair parts. He took a short board, about 3 ft long, a foot wide, 2 inches thick, slipped it under one haunch, flipped his legs over one way, and jockeyed his body from the chair to the bed in about 3 minutes. "That's called the 3 point slip weight transfer" (or some technical term like that...) he says proudly. I was impressed, and he knew it, so it was a good moment. It was awesome to watch. What a change from not being able to reach for a lousy paper cup without risk of a major tumble.
Many obstacles remain, but they're in sight, and it's clear Scott is maximizing his days well, and improving steadily.
So, dear Scotty friends the days march on, each day a little closer to another day when the man goes home. We'll keep in touch.
Leif.
Lester B.:
I visited Scott yesterday at Beth Abraham. It had been awhile, and I have been getting used to the idea of my friend being there, content for the time being that he's safe and working on getting better. Life has a way of continuing, no matter what. In any case, it was time to visit. The lady at the front desk recognized me, and we chatted briefly. I heard the all too familiar "oh he gets a lot of visitors" once again. Naturally. I passed the bingo hall downstairs, and peered in to check out the scene: 15 or 20 wheelchair bound patients hanging out, not doing too much, with Rick James funkin' up the place..."She's super freakeeaaahh...". It was a little surreal. I made my way up to Scott's room.
He's changed so much from that fateful day in February, yet he's the same man, grown in ways unimagined, and rarin'-to-go sharp. He bends back and forth in his wheelchair with no seatbelt to stretch his muscles, with no hint of imbalance, almost...light. We checked out the last bit of the Mets game (they won their sixth in a row, how bad could things be?), and caught up with stuff. My eyes popped when Scott lifted his entire weight off the chair from the rails. Then Scott wheeled himself next to the bed, locked the wheels, and disconnected some chair parts. He took a short board, about 3 ft long, a foot wide, 2 inches thick, slipped it under one haunch, flipped his legs over one way, and jockeyed his body from the chair to the bed in about 3 minutes. "That's called the 3 point slip weight transfer" (or some technical term like that...) he says proudly. I was impressed, and he knew it, so it was a good moment. It was awesome to watch. What a change from not being able to reach for a lousy paper cup without risk of a major tumble.
Many obstacles remain, but they're in sight, and it's clear Scott is maximizing his days well, and improving steadily.
So, dear Scotty friends the days march on, each day a little closer to another day when the man goes home. We'll keep in touch.
Leif.
Lester B.:
The sky is blue and the pool is full of screaming 15 year old girls. Max, my oldest dog, is off to the vets for the third removal of a tumor on his leg in the past 3 years. A year ago, I was home recovering from my heart attack. Walking a block in the hot sun would do me in. Today, I could mow the lawn. Could. Won't. From heart attack to an errant bone fragment in my mouth, to depression, sleep apnea, and most recently, a hydrocele operation, my life has become Grey's Anatomy without the booty calls; it's House, without the cranky vicodin popping Brit. It is also many great times with friends, family, including two magnificient shows in Vancouver, Hardstock and Holy Hardstock!!!, which raised well over $30,000 with all the inspired private donations. It's back at work FU**TIME, and many calls to one Scotty Hard, who continues to inspire with his good spirits and realistic view of the cards he has been dealt.
So I'm please to hear that Scotty picked up the tab, and I'm pleased to hear that Scotty picked himself up (literally) and pulled himself up (literally), and I'm pleased to hear that life goes on.
This life is not exactly what Scotty planned, nor was it what I planned. But life like shit happens, and we deal with it. Step by Step, one day at the time, one 3 point slip weight transfer at a time, one cardiogram at the time, one pill cutter at the time, one pushup at a time, one scotch, one bourbon, one beer. At a time. It's the glorious thing we call life. And like they say....it sure beats the alternative.
Love,Les- the Dense one
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