Here's a new chapter of 'It's a Wrap!'. Enjoy!
Cathy has promised me a new chapter of 'Every Breath I Take' very soon and I'm working on my stories as well. Just wish my muse was more cooperative.
Well, it's late here and I just wanted to get this up before I went to bed.
-Mille
WEEK
SEVEN
My
rehab is progressing. Some things are going well. Some things are not. I’m
still stuck with wearing the back brace when I’m not laying flat. It’s
uncomfortable, both because limits my range of motion so much and because it’s
hot and clammy. But it’s better than being on bed rest. I’m enjoying the
physical therapy and the strength building exercises. It’s almost like being
back at the gym.
I’m
struggling more with the occupational therapy and some of the more practical
tasks. Who knew pulling on pants could be so difficult. I’ve given up on
jeans. Sweatpants are manageable, but it still takes me about half an hour to
get them on. My occupational therapist says it’ll get easier once I get
rid of the back brace. I’m not getting my hopes up.
Another
thing that’s not going great is my bladder routine. I’ve been doing
intermittent catheterizing for more than three weeks now and no matter how
carefully I watch my fluid intake I seem to leak between. It’s incredibly
frustrating and I’m worried about having to spend the rest of my life wearing
either an indwelling catheter or a condom catheter with a leg bag. I can’t say
the thought of going through the rest of my life with a bag collecting my piss
strapped to my calf is appealing. The thought of wearing diapers for the
rest of my life is even less appealing, but fortunately my bowel routine is
giving me less trouble and the diapers are gone, but they’ve been replaced by
incontinence briefs. Hopefully I can get rid of those soon too. Fingers crossed
and all that.
My
arms are aching when I wheel out of the physical therapy gym Friday afternoon,
after my last therapy session for the week. I can’t believe it has been six
weeks since the accident already. In some ways it feels like an eternity, but
in other ways it feels like the accident happened yesterday.
I’m
still undecided on what to do regarding my part on ‘Dean & Dad’. Frank has been to see me a couple of times,
he’s trying to persuade me to come back. They’ve got a couple of ideas on how
to write my character becoming a paraplegic. I like one of them, but I’m not
sure how I’d make it work from a practical point of view.
For
the past four years I’ve spent the majority of eight months a year in Toronto,
Canada where the set is located. It’s much cheaper to produce the show there
than it would be to do somewhere in the US, ‘Dean & Dad’ is far from the
only American TV-series that’s produced in Canada.
I
have a condo in Toronto. It’s a nice place, in a modern building with a great
view of the lake from the living room. I think it’s pretty accessible,
with a few minor adjustments I should be able to get around it just fine.
Accessibility on set is a concern, it’s not exactly wheelchair friendly,
but I think that’s something we can work around. At least I hope it is.
My
main concern is actually the travel back and forth to Toronto; during the
months the show is in production I try to fly back home every weekend, to spend
time with my family. It’s not like I’ll be able to just rush from the set
and to the airport like I used to; air travel is more complicated when there’s
a wheelchair involved.
For
me it would be ideal to move the set to LA, because it would be within driving
distance from my house. I mentioned it to Frank when he visited me a few weeks
ago. He just chuckled at my optimism. I know it’s not going to happen –
the costs involved in moving everything would be astronomical and the
production cost of the show would skyrocket. So much for that idea.
I
really want to stay on; I love my job. We’re a great group, the cast and crew
that really enjoy working together. After five years of working together we’re
a close-knit group. I hate the thought of leaving my job. And I really
don’t know what I’d do if I quit. Acting is the only job I’ve known. I’ve been
in the entertainment business since high school. I guess I could try to get
into writing or producing. Something behind the scenes. A desk job. It’s really
not all that appealing, but I have a family to feed, so I’ve got to figure this
out. Maybe I should accept the offer to talk to a therapist?
After
a shower, change of clothes and a nap it’s time for dinner. I feel a pang of
satisfaction when I’m settled into the wheelchair after transferring on my own.
I still can’t manage without the aid of a transfer board, but I’m getting
there. I’m happy I’ve gotten to a point where I’m pretty independent and
don’t need much assistance from the staff. It’s a good feeling, but I know I
still have lots of hard work ahead.
«Hi
Joel,» I greet him when I arrive at what has become ‘our’ table in the
cafeterua. «How are you today?»
«Hi,»
he says with a smile. «I’m okay. Same old. You?»
«I’m
good. Tired, but good. It’s been a long week, but I’ve made some good progress.
According to my PT I’m ahead of where they expected me to be at this point.»
Joel’s
face falls at the end and there’s a beat of silence as he waits for the vent to
fill his lungs with air before he speaks. I know these forced pauses frustrates
him. «So you might be getting out of here earlier than planned?»
«He
didn’t say anything about that, so I’m not getting my hopes up about that. I
still have to get rid of this brace and when that happens I have a lot of work
to do to rebuild my core muscles.»
«Any
idea when you’ll be getting rid of the brace?»
«I’m
scheduled to have my back x-rayed next Wednesday. My doctor will base his
decision on the x-rays. I really hope I can get rid of it.»
Further
conversation is interrupted when the nurse in charge of Joel comes over to our
table. She gives Joel a quick rundown of today’s menu and he tells her he wants
the pasta and meatballs in tomato sauce. She heads to the counter to get his
food and I join her to get my own meal. Balancing a tray of food in my lap is
somewhat precarious, but I manage to get back to the table without spilling
chicken casserole all over myself. I count it as a win when I place the tray on
the table in front of me and settle in next to Joel.
After
almost four weeks of feeding Joel at least one meal, sometimes two, a day most
days of the week we’ve developed a pretty good routine. It took some trial and
error and the first few meals were awkward. For both of us. Now it’s
routine and I offer Joel forkfuls of food between chewing bites of my own food.
…
After
dinner Joel and I head to his room. Meg isn’t coming tonight; she and the kids
are spending the weekend at her parents’ house in Santa Barbara. It’s her dad’s
60th birthday and her parents are throwing a huge party. They’ve
actually tried to persuade me to come, but I declined. I’m not ready for
that. Watching a movie with Joel sounds
like a much more pleasant way to spend the evening.
Two
nurses gets Joel settled in bed; he’s more comfortable in bed than in his
wheelchair and when they’re done I accept some assistance to get settled into
the recliner next to his bed. It’s still early, so we chat a little and I ask
Joel if it’s okay that I tweet about our evening plans. He grins. “Sure.” When
I followed him on Twitter a few weeks ago I think I made his week. I’ve helped
him get caught up on his timeline and email and I’ve typed numerous emails and
tweets for him lately.
I
post a pic of the two of us with the message; “Watching movies with my buddy
@JoelAbrams tonight. Have a great Friday everyone. :)”
It
doesn’t take long for the responses to come in and Joel’s iPad starts beeping
with several notifications as well. I hold it up and scroll through his
notifications so he can see them. He asks me to re-tweet my tweet to his
timeline, which I’m happy to do.
“So,
what’s gonna happen with ‘Dean & Dad’?” Joel asks me after he notices that
several responses to my tweet are about just that.
I
lean back in the recliner and rake a hand through my hair, sighing heavily. “I
guess that’s up to me and I have no idea what to do.”
“What
do you mean?”
“I
wish I could tell you the details, but the gist of it is that they want me to
stay on.”
“Really?
That’s awesome!”
“I
guess it is, but I don’t see how I could make it work.”
“What
do you mean?”
“Since
you’re a long-time fan of the show you know we shoot in Toronto, right?”
“Yeah,
I know.”
“Well,
working in Toronto and living in LA is a challenge. Especially since I have a
wife and two kids here in LA I want to be there for. I have more air miles than
most people because I fly back and forth so much during the eight months we’re
in production.”
“I
didn’t think about that. Can’t be easy.”
“It
has tough to make it work from day one. And adding a wheelchair to the equation
will make it harder to travel back and forth. I’ve done some research on air
travel with a wheelchair and it’s a lot of hassle. One thing is dealing with it
occasionally, but the thought of going through it on a regular basis isn’t
appealing.”
“What
about shooting in LA, is that an option?”
“No.
Moving the set would be expensive and shooting here is much more expensive.
It’s just too expensive.”
“Could
the whole family move to Toronto?”
“I
don’t wanna uproot the kids. I have no idea how long ‘Dean & Dad’ will
last. Maybe we get more seasons, maybe we don’t. It’s an unpredictable industry
to work in. I might end up working on something that shoots somewhere else. It’s
not fair to make the kids move around all the time. We have a base here in LA;
the kids have friends and a network.”
“Do
you want to go back to work? And don’t think about all the practical issues.”
“Definitely,”
I reply. “I love my job and the cast and crew are my second family.”
“Then
you’ll find a way to make it work,” Joel says.
“I
hope so,” I say. Then I decide to turn the attention to Joel. “What about you?
What’s your plan when you’re done with your rehab?”
“I
have no idea. My situation is more complicated, since I’m completely dependent
on other people and need 24/7 nursing care. Right now it looks like they’ll
transfer me to a room in the assisted living facility next door when I’m done
with my rehab.”
“You
won’t be able to move home?”
“Probably
not. My house isn’t suitable for me now; it would take a lot of work to make it
accessible. Widening the doorways, expanding and refitting the bathroom,
installing ramps… It will cost a lot of money I don’t have. And then there’s
the cost of hiring a full-time staff to do my care. My insurance will probably pay
for all the necessary equipment and staff, but not re-modeling my house.”
“Man,
that sucks,” I say emphatically. I really mean it. I’m grateful that our house
is a single level house and won’t need much work done to make it accessible and
that I don’t have to worry about finding the money to get it done. I’m going
over there with my occupational therapist sometime next week to assess things
and get the ball rolling on the preparations we need to do before I go home.
“Yeah.
I may be a cripple now, but I’m only 32 and the thought of spending the rest of
my life in what’s basically a nursing home is pretty depressing.”
“Yeah,
I totally get that,” I say. “What about your family? Or friends? Anything they
can do to help you?”
Joel
looks defeated. “I moved to LA only six months ago. I don’t have any real
friends here. As for family; don’t have much of that either.”
“I’m
sorry to hear that.”
“Spare
me from the pity-party. I’m an only child. My grandparents all passed away
before I was born. I told you my mom passed away when I was a kid, right?”
“Yeah,”
I confirm with a nod.
“Dad
died a couple of years ago, he had a massive heart attack. He was an only
child. I have an uncle on Mom’s side of
the family, the last time I saw him was in her funeral.”
“That’s
rough, Joel. And please don’t take it as pity. I just know how much the support
from my family has meant to me lately.”
“Well,
I don’t mean to sound sappy, but I’m glad I’ve at least got one friend; you.”
“Well,
we might have gotten off to a rocky start, but I’m glad Lydia asked me to be
your ‘buddy’ and that you convinced you to give you a second chance.” I mean
it. I’m confident our friendship will last beyond rehab.
“Well,
before we turn into sappy women I think you should hit ‘play’,” Joel says.
I
laugh and agree, so I grab the remote and push the ‘play’ button like he
suggested.
…
Monday
afternoon Meg brings the kids over to visit me. Jayden has brought his math
homework with him, he’s struggling and math has never been Meg’s strong suit.
To be honest it’s not mine either. I was always better at the more creative
subjects.
We’re
all sitting by a table in the cafeteria when Joel appears in the door. I’ve
introduced him to Meg and the kids and as soon as Jacklyn spots him she runs
over and asks him to join us. He follows her and Meg removes the chair between
her and Jayden so he can drive his wheelchair up to the table.
“Hi,
Joel,” she greets him as he parks his chair. “How are you?”
“I’m
okay. How about you? Have a nice weekend?”
“I’m
good. The weekend was great. It’s always nice to spend time with my family.”
We
chat for a few minutes before Jayden’s homework catches Joel’s eye.
“What’s
that, Jay?” he asks.
“Stupid
math homework,” he says. “I just don’t understand equations.”
“Hold
it up so I can see it properly,” Joel tells him. He complies. Joel studies the
workbook in Jayden holds up intently, then he dives into an explanation. It’s a
bit more difficult since Joel can’t point to the things he’s explaining, but
after a while Jay is working through his math homework with more enthusiasm than
I’ve ever seen him. An idea starts coming together in my mind as I watch Joel
patiently explain things to Jay.
i love this story :)
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