Day 13

With all the little twitches and movements that have signified the return of functions, today felt like the first concrete step down a new road. Eight a.m. the phone rang, it was a call from Burt. His transfer had come through and he was off on his way to rehab, pillow in tow. This was the end of a long and unsure wait for the Sterns. The doctors had been aggravatingly cryptic and non-committal all week on the possibility of the move - getting into rehab started to seem as difficult as getting into college.

The move was set for mid-afternoon and the Stern clan was excited. Connie, still recovering from her rib injury, had to be almost physically restrained from going to the hospital. However, David's presence seemed to be enough of a deterrent. Gregory, who had woken up with a sore throat, decided to stay home too - fever had kept Burt from transferring earlier and no one was taking any chances. The Brothers had been wearing face masks all week to make sure an errant germ didn't get in the way of the program.

About two hours later the call came in from the nurses station, the timetable had shifted and the move was scheduled for 10:30 a.m. David set off for the hospital solo, suddenly late. There wasn't even time buy the opening donut salvo - as there are now a whole new team of nurses and therapists to win over.

While others were enjoying labor day barbecues, Burt was engaged in his all-time favorite activity - waiting. As a general rule, when you deal with doctors, expect a wait, in a hospital it goes up by an order of magnitude. David arrived at the hospital at 11:15, to find Burt was unhooked, packed, and so sick of the delay that he was ready to pull himself across the building one handed. By 12:30, all the papers signed and requisitions approved, the rehab train pulled out of the station. Everyone said their farewells and promises were made to come back and visit. And so the journey began... and end 4 minutes later down the hall to the left at the Berkshire Medical Center House of Pain.

The Center for Rehabilitation is a cheery enough place for a hospital. Patient rooms have the same understated banality across the globe - there is no flair in healthcare. The showpiece is the workout room - it is a big room full of mats, inflatable balls and parallel bars. It looks like a gymnasium in slow motion and no one in it looks like they should be working out. This where the patients learn to regain what they have lost. There are mock bedrooms, bathrooms and kitchens. It may not look like much but every one seems to be sweating it out. This is where the road starts to incline more steeply. This is where the gains are made and hopefully life begins to return to normal. As Burt said, this is where you first see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Burt got situated in the new room. There's more space but he lost the window. His new roommate John is 87 years and in rehab to recover from a fall. He welcomed Burt with a friendly wink that Burt didn't see from his bed. It turns out that both he and Burt are also hard of hearing, so their conversations are not the most scintillating but they'll soon be shouting at each other, much to the nurses' dismay. The only downside to John is that he is on solid food. At this point, even the aromas of hospital cooking are getting overpowering for Burt. 

The festival of bureaucracy began, fresh nurses, new admission forms, more computer questionnaires, evaluations, and thorough if redundant exams. Meanwhile, like a corner man making sure his fighter has everything he needs before the big bout, David surveyed the new facilities, finding the washcloth supplies, ice machines, and the all important mouth swabs. Burt took the nurses poking and prodding with a somewhat sleepy cheer - it isn't easy to get a good night's rest in a hospital. The upside is no one gets offended if you fall asleep mid-interview. With all the preliminaries out of the way, it was time to meet Randy.

Randy is his new occupational therapist and the official greeting committee. He has the no nonsense demeanor of a benevolent Marine Corps drill sergeant. In his late forties, standing at least six foot three, broad shouldered and solid, he cuts quite an imposing figure amongst a group of people who all worked better a few weeks or months ago. But when he towers above them, with his arms crossed and tells them that he's going to get them walking, standing or moving again, its hard not to swell a bit with optimism. If there is someone who can get you across that line, it isn't to believe that Randy might be that man. Randy looked down at Burt and told him the vacation was over. 

Burt looked back up at him and said, "some vacation... but I'm ready to get to work."