Stroking Out (Literally) (Pt 4)

 I'll tell you the truth, folks: The soul is willing, but the body is weak. That's for sure and for certain. Those therapists were there to fix that. I'll start off with ST or Speech Therapy. Michelle did tongue exercises with me 'till I got rid of my proverbial third cheek that sometimes develops after a stroke. She also helped me with enunciation, speaking louder, and slowing down.     Then there was Christy. She reminded me of two friends in one. She worked in OT or Occupational Therapy. You'd a thunk she'd be enforcing life skills, but noooo. She had me do stretches most of the time, throw a ball around, and play games, but mostly painful stretches. The bonus was she was pleasing in appearance and demeanor, but she tried to keep her distance from the patients for that very reason.     Not so with my PT or Physical Therapy. No. It got so bad I tried to knock her off while I was practicing walking with a walker. Her name was  Marie. She was the terror of the Louisiana swamps with red hair to match. See, anything Christy could put me through, she could put me through more. Stretches were the name of the game with her too, and visiting the care dogs on Thursdays. Pit temper on temper, and that's how we got along so well. Yeah, right. See, I'm part Scotch-Irish and have a temper that I consider to be the most dangerous in the world, and I gave as good as I got. I'm was pretty sure Marie from was up North somewhere, and yet she loved crawdads. Go figure. A red-head from Louisiana. Still, a sort of weird respect grew between us. There's a reason why the "T" following "O" (Occupational), and "P" (Physical) stood for terrorist. I spent 58 days there, day in, and day out, working on the same things over and over, focusing on different body parts, like the arms, legs, etc.. I was getting things straightened out so my body could function once more when almighty insurance decided to kick me out two days early. I was furious. Who wouldn't be if you were uprooted the next afternoon? I was all settled in and I knew I had two days to pack up my stuff. The point is, I knew I had a definite departure date and somebody ripped the rug right out from under me. I want to meet the guy that made the decision to let me go early. We should meet and switch positions. See how he likes it. A bunch of $ signs and not people are being dealt with. So we packed up, picked up, and I bid a loud goodbye to floor 3W (3rd floor West). Next stop: TIRR Outpatient rehab!