Live Free or Die: Cycling, iPadding, and the House of the Seven Gables

Leave your heart in San Francisco. Sayonara, San Anselmo. Miss ya, Boston. Hellloooo, New Hampshire.

Greenfield to be exact. Crotched Mountain Rehabilitation Center to get specific. Gabe discharged from that hospital by the Charles and of well-written repute, Spaulding Rehab, this past Monday. His ambulance and the Mother Hen Mobile (a.k.a. Donna’s minivan) crept up Route 3 toward the border of a state who’s motto sounds more imminent than the landscape and inhabitants have turned out, so far, to be.

Crotched Mountain certainly is less hospital-esque. It lacks the sterile feeling of his previous accommodations. As his aunt put it upon hearing about the facilities, “Cheese-Is-Sliced, it’s a resort!” Semi-private bedroom fully-furnished, communal dining room, living room, mood lighting…even a bathtub with jacuzzi jets. And surprisingly, his 6’5 frame fits in it less pretzel-like than we anticipated. Tomorrow he and I have a date baking brownies–with a real oven–in the OT kitchen (dates are an important part of therapy, you know). There’s a library to boot, primarily serving the CM School membership, but a school nonetheless. And a basketball gym. Tonight we played air hockey.

This stop on the circuit lasts 30 days and is a “finishing school” of sorts, focusing more on “achievable” functional goals (i.e. showering, toileting, self-feeding, independence, etc.) while preparing him (er, ah, and us) for discharge home. A more notable event is Gabe’s bout of cycling last week with the Therapeutic Recreation team. The machine in question was an adaptive tricycle fabricated by Rifton, a disability equipment company. Just after dinner as a last-minute thought, the Recreation Therapist (TR) dropped in and said, “It’s late, but how bout a ride?” As soon as Gabe saw it, he wanted on it. Considering he hasn’t ridden a bike (trike, whatever) since ye ole fateful day exactly eight months ago, he rode fabulously that night:

So it seems to us that a trike is an essential piece of equipment for home. And you can be sure that the proceeds from the Red Hook Criterium, thrown by Dave August Trimble and now in its 3rd year, will be put toward this. Well, not necessarily this model–the aim is engineered and handbuilt. Thanks Dave and the racers that contributed to Gabe’s future set of wheels. This is going to refuel his passions. Expect us on Kissena Velodrome this fall.

Another highlight: the iPad. He’s wanted one since he heard about it, and the Assistive Technology Center here at CM loaned theirs to him over the weekend. He’s even more resolute on acquiring one–specifically the 3G/wifi/64 Gig model. The laptop lay stashed the last four days as he tinkered, fiddled, and downloaded with occasional assistance. There isn’t a lot of babysitting when it comes to the computer or this iPad: just put it in front of him and let him go, get used to the contraption with his current physical disability. No photos of this, but G, his fam, and I want to extend a heartfelt thank-you to Brantley Archer, Joshua Robot, Mila Poplova, Artum Poplov, and G’s cousins Al and Gail for their donations with this specific purchase in mind. It’s extremely thoughtful of you guys to kick in monies to something that will also refuel a passion, and also be a critical tool toward independence.

Hmm, what else? Behind the scenes, Mike and Summer are preparing the house at home, painting G’s room with the swatch he picked out, building the fanfare. Donna and I are hanging in there. We are the Ever-Present. Actually, NH is more relaxed and has an easier pace than Boston or Cali. You know, mountains and all. When we were in California, each Thursday was met with frantic antici                               pation about whether insurance would shuttle G–and we–on to the acute rehab leg of this affair; after three and a half months of that and we landed in Beantown. Three months later, here we are in New England paradiso. Three seasons, three months, three steps away from the thin line that marked his file medically acute since August. So yeah, Donna and I are finally loosening up some and we’ve been going out, and dining white-table in Nashua, and sauntering down Main in Peterborough. I’m also weirdly into doing math problems in my spare time. Donna’s coolly been reading Willa Cather’s The Professor’s House.

Conveniently, Crotched Mountain offers family housing and we’re a 60-second hike to his room. The place we live is right on campus: a house: rustic, quaint, and utterly solitary. We are usually the only ones in it. The rooms are so spacious they seem empty, the floorboards creak, and the wallpaper floral. I have a particularly affectionate–albeit sinister name–for it. Donna suggests the House of the Seven Gables, as it catches the same drift. Truly, it’s as good as our last nine abodes (‘cept we’re missing Swans and Marmalades).

Enjoy the above, more tomorrow as the last few days have been kick-ass.