Progress

I had a physical therapy appointment today to evaluate my knee, which has resisted getting better since I fell on it in June. I had had two weeks' worth of physical therapy immediately after the accident, which resolved quite a bit of the pain, but the knee still feels very unstable to me, like it's going to go out on me at any moment. A very nice (and very chirpy - are all physical therapists chirpy?) lady took a look at the leg, asked me a few questions, then gave me two sheets of exercises to do at home, and said she wanted to see me three times a week for the next month. Quite a trick, since I live an hour away from the VA, but doable. Better that than what I've been doing, which is sitting home watching my husband vegetate in front of the TV. He's been complaining bitterly about having to inject insulin for his type II diabetes, which is a very new development - his doctor put him on insulin at his last visit, about two weeks ago. I've been researching diabetic menus on the Internet and preparing low fat, low calorie, no salt, no sugar recipes for him, peeling his oranges, cutting celery and carrots into sticks for him to munch on, making his salads, all while he reclines in glory in his La-Z-Boy. He refuses to exercise. We've been coming to this point since I married him five years ago. Three years ago I told him I'd quit smoking if he started checking his blood sugar twice daily like he's supposed to do; I've been smoke-free for three years, but he didn't start checking his blood sugar until two weeks ago when his doctor put him on insulin. At least he's making an effort to eat healthy meals... as long as I'm fixing them, of course. Today I ate at the VA and didn't get home until late, at which time he announced he was hungry. I told him there were lots of leftovers in the fridge. While I was in the bathroom he fixed himself a big greasy hamburger. I guess my lesson of the day is, he'll only care for his health if I do it for him. I wanted him to come with me today, purely for the exercise - just getting him out of the house involves his moving around more than he's accustomed to doing - but he refused. So there it is.

The VA is a huge complex of 8 buildings, all connected by enclosed walkways. There are numerous signs posted along the walkways referring to a "fitness route". I found out today that one circuit of all the buildings equals almost one mile, which means I've been walking about a quarter mile every time I go there. It seems like an abysmally small amount of walking when I think of it in those terms, but when I'm actually walking it, it seems far longer. Maybe in the next month I could try to go a little further each time.

Today when I was navigating my walker past the smoking room (which abuts from one of the walkways, with self-contained ventilation) I saw a young man in a wheelchair with one leg missing below the knee and the other missing the foot. He sat in his wheelchair smoking and gazing at the dreary gray day outside. I have been in the VA system since I was medically retired from the Navy nine years ago, but I still can't become accustomed to seeing all the younger people that are now flooding the VA. Before this disastrous war began in Iraq, almost all of the patients in the VA were Vietnam or WWII era vets. I try to smile and be welcoming when I see them, but the pain - both physical and emotional - in their faces is all too familiar. My war - the Persian Gulf War - had its share of casualties, but the number was far fewer than in this war. I have always thought of myself as a patriot; my father was a World War II disabled veteran, and he and my mother instilled a deep love of country in me. When Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, I was proud to go over there and do my part is restoring their liberty. This war, though, has me baffled. I don't understand why we're there, why so many young people - not to mention Iraqis - are dying. I don't understand why I saw a young man in his twenties in the VA today, missing parts of both lower limbs - and probably missing a significant portion of his patriotism as well. The look on his face will be etched in my memory for a long time.

I won't be going there three times a week forever, but I go there often enough - at least every two weeks, to have blood drawn - that I've begun to consider becoming a volunteer. I see lots of volunteers in the hallways in power chairs or with walkers, so my limited mobility shouldn't be a problem. In my travels today I saw a sign for the Music Therapy clinic. I don't know what that entails, but it sounds intriguing. I'd like to see what they do there. Something tells me there are a lot more sad-faced young men and women lurking in the hidden recesses of the VA.