My Recreational Therapist

One of the purposes of this blog is to share memories I have from my recovery experience, so here's the first of those:

I remember Jeff, my recreational therapist.  Initially, I found his job title slightly absurd - a therapist to teach me how to play? - but as my mind began to come together, I remember feeling close to him.

We were both fans of Phish and the Grateful Dead - he was more of a Grateful Dead fan and me more Phish, but we connected with that.  I don’t remember sharing many stories - he was a far more experienced concert goer that I - but I do remember feeling relieved that he understood where I was coming from.

The first time I walked outside was a huge step for me.  It was with Jeff and his beautiful assistant Gena, in downtown Philadelphia.  The broken, grey concrete sidewalk guiding my first steps away from the hospital.  The smoggy city air felt amazing - this was the first exposure to sunlight in more than a month, and the warm rays touched my skin as a crisp fall breeze bit my cheeks.  I looked to the tops off the buildings - the sky was a perfect baby blue, and the shadows blanketed the sidewalk.  We turned a corner, stepping out of the shadows and sun beat down with a joyous blaze.  I had a to squint and laughed at nothing and everything.

Beginning with slow, heavily monitored steppes, my excitement soon pushed me to walk at a quicker, if slightly choppy, pace.  My feet still dragged and landed with flat steps, but I was stepping without assistance and away from constraints of the hospital.  The urge to run welled inside me - not to run away but run in celebration - but this wouldn’t be helpful to the situation, so I quelled that desire.  Don’t do more than what is allowed, simply take each step as it arrives.  Take your time.

Remembering sensations in my body, a nostalgic smile covered my face and I had to be brought back to the present by Jeff’s hand on my arm - don’t go too fast - wait for the walk sign to cross the street.

And I remember seeing the Franklin Institute - it is only a few blocks away from the hospital, so we would walk there and return - and I remember seeing the lawns, yellowed by the season, and the trees almost barren but with the remaining red and gold leaves clinging to the branches, refusing to be a victim of the wind.  I want to say that I felt a kinship with those leaves, but that’s too metaphorical and I’m sure I didn’t recognize that at the time - but the colors not lit by the sterile hospital lights were amazing.