Believe it or not, OT is not my entire life...at least not yet. I still make pathetic attempts at pursuing other interests. One of those interests is dog agility, where a dog and handler run around a big obstacle course. The dog actually does the obstacles, but the handler has to direct the dog and tell him where to go, so there is also considerable human hustling involved.
At any rate, I agreed to do an agility demo last weekend at one of these typical Midwestern small-town summer festival weekends with a friend. He and I arrived with a car full of equipment and dogs, set everything up, and ran through a few practice rounds. The actual demo went off without a hitch, and people were appropriately impressed. We then offered to take other people's dogs and try them out on some of the obstacles. It was hot and we only had a few takers.
Just as we were preparing to pack things up and call it a day, a lady in a power chair with a service dog came up to us. The dog was a leggy black lab mix named Diego, very gentle and sweet, and the lady said she was looking for something to do with him to give him more exercise. She easily called him over a jump to her, and he also quickly got the hang of going through the tunnel to her. I told her that people in power chairs can and do compete successfully with their dogs in agility, and that I thought she and Diego would love it.
When I told her I was going to school for OT, she opened up quite a bit. She was a former nurse who had been put in a chair by multiple sclerosis and now struggled with energy management issues. In addition to the usual sorts of things like putting her cell phone in her hands and activating switches for her, Diego could actually do most of the work on her transfers from the chair to her bed or the chair to the tub! He actually drags the transfer board into place for her and then helps her pull herself onto and across the board. I thought that was really amazing.
She got her dog from Assistance Dogs of America, Inc., and unlike many other organizations, she was not required to raise $10,000 or more to have a dog placed with her. ADAI regularly pulls dogs from pounds and shelters to train as service animals, so they save lives in the process, too. They sound like a good group. If I ever hit the lottery, I am definitely going to send them some coin.
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Right Place, Right Time
The traumatic brain injury workshop was, in a word, amazing! There were two speakers, both of whom were terrific. The neuropsychologist went first. I could go on and on and on about what she said, but I'll confine myself to 5 things:
The speaker also showed some amazing before-and-after videos of people who had made tremendous progress with their mobility and movement. Of course, the time between before and after was years in some cases, but there was significant improvement. She also talked about using a baclofen pump for spasticity and tone management.
So, after all that meaty goodness, the VP of the company from which the speakers came spoke at the mic and said his company is opening a new TBI community re-entry residential facility this fall...ten minutes from my house!! I beat feet up to speak to him and ask about shadowing, and he went one better, saying I might even be able to get some paid hours as an assistant who helps patients get to the therapy room and back. In my case, I'd take patients to and from OT and watch the whole session as it was happening. Nifty, eh?
But the faboo networking didn't end there. I also talked to a woman who does home health, home assessments for aging in place, and senior driver assessments, which I also find very interesting. She gave me her brochure and asked me to get in touch with her about shadowing.
Needless to say, both of these lovely people got e-mails from me today.
That clunk you just heard is my life falling into place.
- The brain is full of white matter tracts that create a sort of neuron superhighway. As a matter of fact, if you put all the white matter end to end, it would span the globe three and a half times!
- Traumatic brain injury often tears the axons that connect neurons, throwing up roadblocks on the white matter superhighway and forcing dead-ends and detours (diffuse axonal injury). This results in disrupted communication within the brain. She compared it to heavy snow bringing down phone lines.
- She highly recommended a book on traumatic brain injury called "Where Is the Mango Princess?" It's written by the wife of a successful attorney who suffered a TBI and was never quite the same afterwards.
- Memory symptoms are extremely common after a TBI. TBI tends to mess up memory by making it more difficult for information to "make the leap" from working or short-term memory into long-term memory. However, things that were well known before the TBI will not be forgotten because those memories are stored all over the brain.
- Changes in social competence and executive planning skills are some of the longest-lasting and highest hurdles that make it difficult on family members and hard for patients to successfully re-integrate into their home, work, and school environments.
- Shock Trauma/Neuro Intensive Care Unit: All about survival, prevention of secondary complications such as ICP, decubitus, aspiration pneumonia, etc., and stabilization so the patient can move on to #2.
- Neuro Floor: More stabilization and work on increasing endurance to three hours, which is the minimum required for acute rehab. Patients will get out of bed and work on walking and sitting endurance.
- Long Term Acute Care (LTAC, pronounced EL-tack): Increase endurance, allow for continued cognitive clearing, wound and infection management, and vent weaning if necessary.
- Skilled Nursing Facility (SNF, pronounced "sniff"): Step up prior to acute rehab or down following acute rehab when the intensity of acute rehab is not tolerated/no longer required. More wound and infection management if necessary.
- Acute Rehabilitation: Gain independence in mobility and ADLs (activities of daily living). Address behavior issues. Train family to provide safe care at home.
The speaker also showed some amazing before-and-after videos of people who had made tremendous progress with their mobility and movement. Of course, the time between before and after was years in some cases, but there was significant improvement. She also talked about using a baclofen pump for spasticity and tone management.
So, after all that meaty goodness, the VP of the company from which the speakers came spoke at the mic and said his company is opening a new TBI community re-entry residential facility this fall...ten minutes from my house!! I beat feet up to speak to him and ask about shadowing, and he went one better, saying I might even be able to get some paid hours as an assistant who helps patients get to the therapy room and back. In my case, I'd take patients to and from OT and watch the whole session as it was happening. Nifty, eh?
But the faboo networking didn't end there. I also talked to a woman who does home health, home assessments for aging in place, and senior driver assessments, which I also find very interesting. She gave me her brochure and asked me to get in touch with her about shadowing.
Needless to say, both of these lovely people got e-mails from me today.
That clunk you just heard is my life falling into place.
Friday, May 27, 2011
An Actual OT Moment!
[Note: Identifying details have been changed to protect the patient's privacy. Yup, I know about HIPAA.]
At a moment when I least expected it, I actually got to do something OT-like today. Woot!
My dog and I have been visiting patients at the local children's hospital for about three years now. We were there today and saw a burn unit patient before heading for the elevators to the upper floors to do requests. (Anyone who really wants as many doggie visits as possible can call the office and get themselves put on a special request list. Every team that comes in checks the list and picks up some requests if they can.) I was stopped in the hallway by a nice lady asking if I could visit her son. "Sure!" I said, and borrowed a pen to add the child's name and room number to my list.
I finally made it to the little boy's room at the tail end of my shift. After introducing my dog to him, I noticed was that the boy's left foot and ankle had a brightly colored brace on it. "Wow, you are seriously stylin'!" I said to him. "That is possibly the coolest-looking brace I have ever seen." (And it really was!)
"He got to pick the colors himself," the mom said. "He sure has a good eye!" She brought out a pair of nice-looking kid-sized sneakers. "And he picked these out too, red and blue!"
"Cool!" I said. "Do those come in my size? 'Cause I would totally get a pair."
The boy seemed pleased to be told he had good taste. I asked if he wanted to give my dog some cookies, and he nodded eagerly, feeding my dog using his right hand.
"He had a stroke," the mom said abruptly. [Note: I NEVER ask why the child is in the hospital. People often tell me, but I never ask. It's not important and also none of my business. I don't need to know a child's medical history to cheer him or her up, which is my actual job.] "Eight years old, and he had a stroke. Can you believe it?"
The mom told me the whole story, and I shared that I too have some experience in that area (a TIA four years ago).
Of course, now that I knew the whole story, the brace and the mom's urging her son to speak all made sense. And then I got an idea. I walked my dog around to the boy's other side, the side with the weaker arm and leg. "Would you like to feed my dog some more cookies?"
"Yes," the boy said happily, and stuck out his unaffected hand.
"Let's try the other hand," I suggested. "You can do it."
He wasn't thrilled, but agreed to let me put a cookie in his weaker hand. He worked to open his hand a little so my dog could take the cookie. Success! We repeated this four or five more times, the boy happily making the effort and smiling every time my dog's tongue lapped across his hand to take the treat.
It was a very cool moment.
At a moment when I least expected it, I actually got to do something OT-like today. Woot!
My dog and I have been visiting patients at the local children's hospital for about three years now. We were there today and saw a burn unit patient before heading for the elevators to the upper floors to do requests. (Anyone who really wants as many doggie visits as possible can call the office and get themselves put on a special request list. Every team that comes in checks the list and picks up some requests if they can.) I was stopped in the hallway by a nice lady asking if I could visit her son. "Sure!" I said, and borrowed a pen to add the child's name and room number to my list.
I finally made it to the little boy's room at the tail end of my shift. After introducing my dog to him, I noticed was that the boy's left foot and ankle had a brightly colored brace on it. "Wow, you are seriously stylin'!" I said to him. "That is possibly the coolest-looking brace I have ever seen." (And it really was!)
"He got to pick the colors himself," the mom said. "He sure has a good eye!" She brought out a pair of nice-looking kid-sized sneakers. "And he picked these out too, red and blue!"
"Cool!" I said. "Do those come in my size? 'Cause I would totally get a pair."
The boy seemed pleased to be told he had good taste. I asked if he wanted to give my dog some cookies, and he nodded eagerly, feeding my dog using his right hand.
"He had a stroke," the mom said abruptly. [Note: I NEVER ask why the child is in the hospital. People often tell me, but I never ask. It's not important and also none of my business. I don't need to know a child's medical history to cheer him or her up, which is my actual job.] "Eight years old, and he had a stroke. Can you believe it?"
The mom told me the whole story, and I shared that I too have some experience in that area (a TIA four years ago).
Of course, now that I knew the whole story, the brace and the mom's urging her son to speak all made sense. And then I got an idea. I walked my dog around to the boy's other side, the side with the weaker arm and leg. "Would you like to feed my dog some more cookies?"
"Yes," the boy said happily, and stuck out his unaffected hand.
"Let's try the other hand," I suggested. "You can do it."
He wasn't thrilled, but agreed to let me put a cookie in his weaker hand. He worked to open his hand a little so my dog could take the cookie. Success! We repeated this four or five more times, the boy happily making the effort and smiling every time my dog's tongue lapped across his hand to take the treat.
It was a very cool moment.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
MOT Pre-Advising at BCU, and Whatever It Takes
I went to Big City U (BCU) recently for what they call "pre-advising" for the MOT program.
Despite obsessive planning re: how to get there, which one-way streets to avoid, and where to park, things go badly. It is raining insanely hard as I pull into the parking garage, where I get to pay $6.00 for the privilege of winding my car through narrow aisles with no free parking spaces. I hit the top level (above ground) and realize I am going to have to back all the way back down to the next turn so I can turn around, 'cause this sucker is FULL, when a woman darts out of the stairwell at the very top of the top level and hurries through the downpour to her car. Yay! I take her spot, gather my things, including a handy map of BCU's campus, and dart through the rain to the stairwell. I have fifteen minutes until my appointment. That ought to be enough time.
BCU has skywalks between many of its buildings. It's not far to the Health Sciences building from the garage, according to the map, but the skywalks wind this way and that, and soon I am completely lost. I get an impromptu tour of the Rec Center (the indoor track is ludicrously small), the engineering building, and some other building before I give up and ask a Rec Center worker how to get to the Health Sciences building from here. "It's really easiest if you go outside," she says uncertainly, gesturing to the rain sheeting down.
So I plunge outside into the rain and follow her directions, which seem straightforward enough, but I end up in the Nursing building. Hmm. I run back outside and accost a student with a backpack, getting wetter every second despite my raincoat.
"Excuse me," I call, trying not to sound frantic and pretty much failing, "Where is the Health Sciences building? I know it's right here somewhere!"
He points at a butt-ugly building across the way. "Thanks!" I say, and charge up the steps and into the front doors. It's time for my appointment. I should be introducing myself RIGHT NOW! I am supposed to be making a good impression!
I'm standing in an anonymous lobby. No signs anywhere. The closest doors claim they are for physics classes. What the heck?
There is a couple smooching against the wall. No time for that now! "Sorry to bother you," I intrude breathlessly, not really sorry at all, "but is this the Health Sciences building? I'm supposed to be there two minutes ago!"
The couple looks annoyed, then confused. "This is the science building," the guy finally offers.
A passing faculty/staff-looking woman overhears the exchange and takes pity. "Honey, you see that little gazebo thing?" She points across a concrete quad back across the street, and sure enough, there's something that looks like a small square greenhouse sticking up in the middle. "That stairwell will take you down into the Health Sciences building."
I thank her effusively and take off running. The couple goes back to their smooching. All is right with the world.
At last, I skid into the reception area for the Health Sciences Department, my dripping, bedraggled campus map still dangling limply from one hand. "I'm here for pre-advising?" I say uncertainly, hoping they won't pitch me out on my ear for being five minutes late.
A secretary nods. "Right this way," she says, and shows me into a small conference room. There is an older man at the head of the table, speaking earnestly about the curriculum, and five women spaced around the table listening intently and taking notes. I hurry to the last open spot with a folder in front of it and sit down.
Most of the man's initial comments are things I already know from the website, so I use the time to catch my breath. When he gets to the admissions requirements, I start taking notes. The news is a little jarring. Although only a 3.0 GPA is required for admission, the average GPA of the entering 2011 class, who will graduate in 2013, is a 3.8. After giving 8 spots to BSHS majors in a guaranteed reservation program, there were 22 spots left for everyone else. There were 145 applications for those 22 spots. That's 7 applications for every person admitted. Can you say COMPETITIVE? They have a 100-point scale for ranking applicants. 75 of those points have to do with your grades, and the other 25 points revolve around your essay. He also warns us that the GRE will probably be required within the next 2-3 years, meaning I will have to take it. On the bright side, however, if you can score above the fiftieth percentile in all three areas (writing, verbal, quantitative), they give you a 4.0 GPA for the 15 points that revolve around your "overall academic career" GPA. I am a good test-taker, so I make a note to take the GRE next summer.
He gets to the end of his presentation and says he will now take us one by one to his office to answer any additional questions we have. This is good, because I have a list of 9 questions I printed out and brought with me.
While Woman #1 is with the professor, the rest of us talk. "It's nice to see someone else from the over-25 crowd here," I say with a nod and smile to the one other woman who is clearly not a current undergrad. The woman looks up in surprise. "Oh, no," she says, patting the shoulder of the blonde girl next to her, "I'm just her mother. Here to provide moral support and take notes."
"Oh," I manage politely. "What a wonderful supportive mother you have!" I say to the blonde girl. I don't get to say much more because the professor comes back, and the mom and daughter head out together.
The other two women are both undergrads. One is a PT major and the other is a psych major. I feel a bit out of place with my esoteric background, but we chat pleasantly with each other. They are both freaked out by the high GPA cited ("I don't have that!" "Me either!"). I try to reassure them that their excellent backgrounds will carry them through.
When my turn with the professor finally rolls around, it is already 2:40. I ask my questions, am generally happy with the answers I receive, and manage to make him laugh within the first five minutes. He assures me I get bonus points for that.
I leave with my mind made up: whatever it takes, baby. I am going to do whatever it takes to get into this program. I will take the prerequisites and get them all done (and get As in all of them), even if that means enrolling simultaneously at four or five different schools. (BCU's classes tend to fill up quickly, making it difficult for people to get into them.) I will spend every frickin' dime I have on tuition. I will commute through two feet of snow. I will get a dogsitter to take care of my dogs. I will buy those ridiculous GRE prep books I haven't even looked at or thought about in 20 years. I will ace the GRE. I will pursue shadowing opportunities until every facility in Ohio knows who I am. I will write the most beautiful essay EVAH. And they will let me in because they will see that I am smart and brilliant and hard-working and I WANT THIS MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE APPLYING.
I really, truly want this. OT is what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I am not going to let lists of courses or closed sections or GREs or any other little thing stand in my way. I will do whatever it takes to get this. Period.
Once you've made that decision, everything else is easy.
Despite obsessive planning re: how to get there, which one-way streets to avoid, and where to park, things go badly. It is raining insanely hard as I pull into the parking garage, where I get to pay $6.00 for the privilege of winding my car through narrow aisles with no free parking spaces. I hit the top level (above ground) and realize I am going to have to back all the way back down to the next turn so I can turn around, 'cause this sucker is FULL, when a woman darts out of the stairwell at the very top of the top level and hurries through the downpour to her car. Yay! I take her spot, gather my things, including a handy map of BCU's campus, and dart through the rain to the stairwell. I have fifteen minutes until my appointment. That ought to be enough time.
BCU has skywalks between many of its buildings. It's not far to the Health Sciences building from the garage, according to the map, but the skywalks wind this way and that, and soon I am completely lost. I get an impromptu tour of the Rec Center (the indoor track is ludicrously small), the engineering building, and some other building before I give up and ask a Rec Center worker how to get to the Health Sciences building from here. "It's really easiest if you go outside," she says uncertainly, gesturing to the rain sheeting down.
So I plunge outside into the rain and follow her directions, which seem straightforward enough, but I end up in the Nursing building. Hmm. I run back outside and accost a student with a backpack, getting wetter every second despite my raincoat.
"Excuse me," I call, trying not to sound frantic and pretty much failing, "Where is the Health Sciences building? I know it's right here somewhere!"
He points at a butt-ugly building across the way. "Thanks!" I say, and charge up the steps and into the front doors. It's time for my appointment. I should be introducing myself RIGHT NOW! I am supposed to be making a good impression!
I'm standing in an anonymous lobby. No signs anywhere. The closest doors claim they are for physics classes. What the heck?
There is a couple smooching against the wall. No time for that now! "Sorry to bother you," I intrude breathlessly, not really sorry at all, "but is this the Health Sciences building? I'm supposed to be there two minutes ago!"
The couple looks annoyed, then confused. "This is the science building," the guy finally offers.
A passing faculty/staff-looking woman overhears the exchange and takes pity. "Honey, you see that little gazebo thing?" She points across a concrete quad back across the street, and sure enough, there's something that looks like a small square greenhouse sticking up in the middle. "That stairwell will take you down into the Health Sciences building."
I thank her effusively and take off running. The couple goes back to their smooching. All is right with the world.
At last, I skid into the reception area for the Health Sciences Department, my dripping, bedraggled campus map still dangling limply from one hand. "I'm here for pre-advising?" I say uncertainly, hoping they won't pitch me out on my ear for being five minutes late.
A secretary nods. "Right this way," she says, and shows me into a small conference room. There is an older man at the head of the table, speaking earnestly about the curriculum, and five women spaced around the table listening intently and taking notes. I hurry to the last open spot with a folder in front of it and sit down.
Most of the man's initial comments are things I already know from the website, so I use the time to catch my breath. When he gets to the admissions requirements, I start taking notes. The news is a little jarring. Although only a 3.0 GPA is required for admission, the average GPA of the entering 2011 class, who will graduate in 2013, is a 3.8. After giving 8 spots to BSHS majors in a guaranteed reservation program, there were 22 spots left for everyone else. There were 145 applications for those 22 spots. That's 7 applications for every person admitted. Can you say COMPETITIVE? They have a 100-point scale for ranking applicants. 75 of those points have to do with your grades, and the other 25 points revolve around your essay. He also warns us that the GRE will probably be required within the next 2-3 years, meaning I will have to take it. On the bright side, however, if you can score above the fiftieth percentile in all three areas (writing, verbal, quantitative), they give you a 4.0 GPA for the 15 points that revolve around your "overall academic career" GPA. I am a good test-taker, so I make a note to take the GRE next summer.
He gets to the end of his presentation and says he will now take us one by one to his office to answer any additional questions we have. This is good, because I have a list of 9 questions I printed out and brought with me.
While Woman #1 is with the professor, the rest of us talk. "It's nice to see someone else from the over-25 crowd here," I say with a nod and smile to the one other woman who is clearly not a current undergrad. The woman looks up in surprise. "Oh, no," she says, patting the shoulder of the blonde girl next to her, "I'm just her mother. Here to provide moral support and take notes."
"Oh," I manage politely. "What a wonderful supportive mother you have!" I say to the blonde girl. I don't get to say much more because the professor comes back, and the mom and daughter head out together.
The other two women are both undergrads. One is a PT major and the other is a psych major. I feel a bit out of place with my esoteric background, but we chat pleasantly with each other. They are both freaked out by the high GPA cited ("I don't have that!" "Me either!"). I try to reassure them that their excellent backgrounds will carry them through.
When my turn with the professor finally rolls around, it is already 2:40. I ask my questions, am generally happy with the answers I receive, and manage to make him laugh within the first five minutes. He assures me I get bonus points for that.
I leave with my mind made up: whatever it takes, baby. I am going to do whatever it takes to get into this program. I will take the prerequisites and get them all done (and get As in all of them), even if that means enrolling simultaneously at four or five different schools. (BCU's classes tend to fill up quickly, making it difficult for people to get into them.) I will spend every frickin' dime I have on tuition. I will commute through two feet of snow. I will get a dogsitter to take care of my dogs. I will buy those ridiculous GRE prep books I haven't even looked at or thought about in 20 years. I will ace the GRE. I will pursue shadowing opportunities until every facility in Ohio knows who I am. I will write the most beautiful essay EVAH. And they will let me in because they will see that I am smart and brilliant and hard-working and I WANT THIS MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE APPLYING.
I really, truly want this. OT is what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I am not going to let lists of courses or closed sections or GREs or any other little thing stand in my way. I will do whatever it takes to get this. Period.
Once you've made that decision, everything else is easy.
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