Ode to NMAs

As of Thursday, Seth was officially an outpatient. That means I am officially his non-medical assistant or NMA. While I don't think I ever took his nurses, LPNs, CNAs or housekeepers for granted, I am appreciating them even more. Even though Seth is getting very independent, he still requires care--everything from monitoring his medications to dressing wounds to making sure he can go up or down a hill in his wheelchair. People with wounds also require clean sheets--every day. So a big shout out to all the people who have been taking care of Seth so well for so long.

NMAs are mostly mothers and wives, but many girlfriends, sisters, brothers, fathers and friends fulfill the role as well. I am moved by their faithfulness to a job they never asked for. Many of these women are not only caring for their wounded warrior but for babies and young children--some pushing strollers and wheelchairs; some are pregnant (remember Seth's friend Griffin whose wife delivered their first baby two months after Griff's injury?). I've seen NMAs of all ages--from the 18-year-old sister/girlfriend/wife to the 60+-year-old  mom.

As I get to know some of them (it's difficult because our schedules rarely allow for more than a "hello" in passing), I am realizing how blessed--and simple--my life is. One mom had to fly home to be with her father before he didn't recognize her any more and before he moved to a nursing home; another had to go home to kick an errant ex out of her home. Others are leaving their other children at home--missing their child's first day of kindergarten or first high school prom, not to mention their spouse.  Others have given up jobs to be here; others have lost jobs (the FMLA does not apply to all employers). NMAs are given a per diem, so what could be a real financial burden for many is eased. I am so blessed that WSU has been so generous in supporting my being here. We are also blessed to have had the support of our family, so we don't have to worry about things at home, and we're grateful for those family members who have made it out here to be with us.

Being an NMA is difficult physically (I have already mentioned some of the difficulties negotiating a wheelchair) but  probably more so emotionally. The wounded warrior is a grown man who has often commanded others and carried out difficult missions who now is, at least for a time, completely dependent on someone else. These are guys who are used to taking charge and now are the charges of someone else. It is rough to negotiate this whole process, and I marvel at what I see around me.

Belated Thanks
Last month, the Foothill, Taylor Canyon and Malan's Peak wards of the LDS church gathered for Seth and Soldiers night. They put together 40 care packages for Seth's platoon who remains in Afghanistan, 80 school kits for children in Afghanistan (through Operation Education) and several quilts for the George E. Wahlen Veteran Nursing Home. Seth has recently received several thank-yous for the care packages from his platoon members through Facebook. We say thank you as well.

No Pain, No Gain

Seth has walked four days now. I am amazed at the progress in that short of time. I am also amazed at how quickly a body can deteriorate and how much work it is to build it back up again. Because of the movement, his right leg is hurting quite a bit--most likely because of the nine pins in it. The muscles are moving around the pins, which they haven't had to do before, and it can't feel good. All nine pins are not visible here, but you get the idea. (The 70 some odd staples used to attach his skin graft are also visible.)

One gnarly acupuncture dude

Speaking of pain, Seth has been given many options for dealing with it, including acupuncture.






Tomorrow (Thursday, Sept 29) is the target date for going outpatient. A whole new adventure awaits us. Seth is looking forward to it--except for giving up his comfy hospital bed.

We don't know Seth's lowest weight since arriving on July 8, but the first time he was weighed, he was all of 110 pounds. As of this week, he is up to 125. (His weight before the injuries was 140-145 pounds.) All that forcing himself to eat is paying off.

Since pictures and videos say more than words, here's one more. Seth walking with no hands:

Bumps and Humps

There were other milestones this week, though difficult to compare with walking on the new prosthetic. On Thursday, Seth got his PICC line out--the "permanent" intravenous lines that allowed him to get his blood taken, and receive antibiotics in hefty doses and anesthesia without having to get poked every time. The next step will be to stop his daily injection of Lovenox, a blood thinner.

Saturday we made another foray into the big world. We went to a movie and dinner in Silver Spring. It felt like going home to me since that's where I lived for almost two months. It was fun to show Seth my old "stomping grounds."

The world from a wheelchair is a whole new place. Every bump and hump in the road or sidewalk takes on new meaning--especially for Seth whose sacral and butt wounds are still a source of pain. Silver Spring has trendily done its sidewalks in paving stones--aesthetically pleasing but hard on Seth. I discovered that the wheelchair is very heavy, and it was a trick for me to lift it into the back of the car. It is also tricky to finagle parking (we don't have a handicapped placard yet). I will never begrudge a handicapped parking spot again as long as I live. But we figured it out and got to the theater just in time.

We went to the movie Contagion, something we don't recommend after spending almost three months in a hospital. (Just this week, a room two doors down from Seth's was completely tented out into the hall to contain some kind of infection.) We also don't recommend seeing this movie in an Imax theater. But we were still able to enjoy our dinner at a Thai restaurant without trouble afterward.

Finally, thanks to Charlie, you get to hear from Seth instead of me: Charlie's most recent column.  I will add my thanks to Seth's. Every card, every package, every phone call--whether we get to answer it or not, means so much.

Gentlemen, We Can Rebuild Him;

 we have the technology.

The big day arrived. Seth got his first prosthetic and took his first steps.

Look, ma! No hands!

Getting it the right length

Seth took naturally to walking--what a funny thing to say, right? It's a process to reteach the brain to know where the foot is in space, but it can be done. The remaining leg feels the vibrations move up the prosthetic and the brain learns to interpret them.

When Seth was done walking, Greg took the prosthetic to the leg room [there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'll be darned if I can find it] where it will be kept for a week or so for use only at PT. Seth will have to complete certain tests before he can be sent off with his leg on his own.

The excitement of the day was tempered by tedium--I mean, I was ready to walk right out of there and come home, but it takes several months for the leg to shrink to a somewhat stable size, so this prosthetic and its socket are temporary. Seth will go through several sockets and legs before he's ready to leave. It also takes several months to master different skills of using a prosthetic--skills from walking on deep shag carpet to running, from climbing stairs to hiking mountains. There are also different legs for different activities. According to Greg, most guys leave with five or six legs (or pairs of legs, as the case may be).

Greg marveled once again at how quickly Seth is up and walking, indicating he has many guys who don't walk for four to six months. We marveled as well, remembering the surgeons' bleak assessment that first week in the ICU.

A bit of bad news came from the urology folks. The soft tissue damage in Seth's insides was extensive, and the bladder and its accompanying parts will take months to heal and for nerves to regenerate and reawaken. But the urologists also reminded us that there is no reason why things won't heal and function again.

I am grateful for the prayers of those who love us and the perspiration of the experts we work with every day.

One Small Step . . .

Monday was a big day. Seth was cleared to put weight on his right leg, so he got to sort of walk for the first time. Here he is with his physical therapist Greg. I love this photo because it looks like Greg is up in Seth's face, when all he is doing is providing some extra support.

getting his liner

The prothetist gave him his liner--a silicone cover for his left leg--to replace his shrinker. It is what molds and prepares his leg for a socket for the prosthesis.

getting cast

Today he was cast for his prosthesis and should have it on Thursday. (I will refrain from mentioning that if we were at the old Walter Reed, he would have had it this afternoon or tomorrow . . .)  It seems when the changes come, they come quickly. He also got a wicked-looking pair of shoes. For some reason, this was an especially exciting development for me.

I love it when Seth's physical therapist uses the word "Remarkable," and he's used it a lot lately. It is remarkable that Seth got his pelvic ex-fix off at 10 or 11 week rather than 12 to 20. It is remarkable that he was cleared to put weight on his leg two weeks earlier than anticipated, and it is remarkable that, so far, he has not felt pain in his shin or pelvis.

Seth's spirits continue to ebb and flow, but the trend is definitely forward and upward.

More Seth Humor
A few weeks ago, one of the nurses referred to Seth's leg as a chicken leg. When he balked, she said she meant it as a compliment. Seth responded, "Before my injury, my legs were like sequoias."
Yesterday when the prosthetist asked Greg what size liner to get for Seth, Greg replied, "Something between a chicken leg and a sequoia . . . ."

Wild Weekend

Well, it's all relative, isn't it? Our wild weekend meant we spent Saturday night at our apartment--the place we'll move into when Seth becomes an outpatient. Our outpatient apartment is in Building 62 (the military is so creative with its building titles . . .), which is a new facility built exclusively for wounded warriors. It is new, beautiful and bigger than it should be--meaning, I wish we didn't need to house so many of these guys.

Seth missed his hospital bed, but he did OK getting himself in and out of bed and around the place in his wheelchair. We took an exploratory walk across the installation and saw several white-tailed deer. We watched the BYU-Utah game (using "game" generously). Today we mostly lounged around and headed back to the hospital this evening. Seth couldn't wait to get back to his comfy bed; I dreaded returning.

Seth's plethora of prescriptions

The most intimidating thing about our foray into our future outpatient life was all the medications, including his blood thinner, which is given by injection. Three syringes were in our bag of prescriptions--no one showed us how to give an injection and neither of us was about to try, so he missed today's injection.

eating our first meal in our new place

We both had quite a bit of anxiety about being on our own, but it went well and made me look forward to next weekend. There is a chance Seth will be fully outpatient by then.

the view from our window

The Swing of the Pendulum

Seth in Bill and Sally's "Blue Moon"

I'm not going to lie. Yesterday was a terrible, rotten, no-good day--until it wasn't. Let's just say that a bunch of emotionally stressed and fragile people, by late afternoon, pulled their wits about them and went out for dinner at a fancy restaurant--Seth's first trip in a car and off the hospital grounds.

Seth, Brett, Grandpa and Grandma Newman

We went to Morton's Steakhouse in the Bethesda Hyatt Regency Hotel, which was as upscale a restaurant as I've ever been in. I joked with Seth about the irony that he'd been a bit self-conscious about venturing forth with all his "oddities" (namely, the Taylor spatial frame, the still-beef jerky looking skin graft and the fact he has no clothes to wear other than gym shorts and T-shirts), and here he brought us to a restaurant where we would probably feel self-conscious without any additional oddities!

We were joined by Grandma and Grandpa Newman, their last evening before they head home, and, not pictured, my cousin Rick and his wife, Anne (heretofore known as the bringers of fresh peaches).

I guess all's well that ends well?