Ginas Morning Rehab

Gina groaned as her alarm went off.

With one hand, she ran her finger through her long brunette hair, grabbing her phone with the other. She shut off her alarm and checked the time. 7:00 AM, sharp.

"

Too fucking early,

" thought Gina.

7 AM was considerably earlier than Gina preferred to wake up, but she was busier than usual these days. Nearly three months had passed since the climbing accident that left Gina with an incomplete spinal cord injury at the T9 level, paralyzing her from the waist down. Immediately following the accident, Gina was in the intensive care unit at Saint Winston's Hospital for about a month. She spent another few weeks recovering in the hospital, and transferred to the Foxe Rehabilitation Institute two weeks ago.

Gina allowed her eyes to focus, and she looked down at the body that still felt somewhat foriegn to her, but considerably more familiar than it was two months ago. Gina pulled back the bedsheets to reveal the adult diaper peeking out from under the long shirt she slept in. Gina's bladder had been fairly predictable in the past week, this was merely a precaution. A precaution that Gina planned on ditching, once she was home from rehab.

Gina grimaced as she looked at her legs. It killed her every time she saw what her legs looked like now. While still long and lean, they had lost a considerable amount of muscle tone. Gina had been an avid cyclist and climber since childhood, but her legs told a much different story. She wasn't used to spending so much time inside, her once-olive complexion had faded to a pale yellow. She looked more jaundiced than Italian.

Gina sighed as she looked to the side of her bed at what was both her despair and salvation, the wheelchair.

Her

wheelchair.

She had to get used to it, it was indeed her sleek, low-backed titanium wheelchair with the aquamarine powder-coating. She really had a love/hate relationship with the thing, but she figured it was normal. After three weeks in bed, a lap around the hospital in one of the loaner chairs was better than getting her first license. However, she began to mourn her previous life by just looking at the chair, sitting in it felt even worse.

Gina sat up, and checked the brakes on her chair, they were locked. She reached her right arm onto her chair and started to pull herself over. Once she had a firm grasp, she used the left arm for stability, and flung her weight into her chair in one motion. Gina smiled, slightly. As much as she hated transferring into her wheelchair, she hated falling while transferring into her wheelchair even more. Gina grabbed her right ankle, and gently lowered her right foot onto her wheelchair's footplate. She grabbed her left ankle, and repeated the process. Gina had spent the better part of twenty years on her feet, she had taken great care of them. But these days, her feet didn't feel like hers. She had always had blisters, calluses and bruises, evidence of an active life. But these feet were soft and supple, they had lost some of their definition. It seemed the only thing remaining the same was the shadow that the size 10's cast.

Gina unlocked the brakes and started rolling into the bathroom. This was her third and hopefully final week at Foxe. She had spent the first two weeks in the general population, but three days ago she had been moved into one of their dorms. The dorms were a very basic 1-bedroom, 1-bath layout made completely accessible, to help simulate homecoming. Gina was content with spending a little time here, her former apartment was completely inaccessible. As a result, she would be moving in with her parents after discharge, at least for a little bit.

Gina wheeled into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed a catheterization kit. While still at St. Winston's, Gina's foley catheter was removed and replaced with an intermittent one. Gina was glad to be rid of the Foley, but being catheterized by a nurse multiple times a day was hardly an upgrade. Fortunately, after about a week, nurses began to instruct her in self-catheterization. Gina rolled to the sink and washed her hands.

Gina wheeled up to the toilet, and locked her brakes. She slid her diaper around her thighs, inspecting it. The diaper was clean, she gently slid it around her ankles, and removed her feet from it individually. Gina looked down at her crotch and realized how out of control her pubes had gotten. She had always been neatly groomed before her injury, but her personal grooming had fallen slightly to the wayside in the hospital. Gina supposed she could just as easily go ahead and take care of it, she had already become quite skilled at shaving her legs. But she currently had more pressing issues than deforesting the brunettewoods.

And besides, it's not like she was expecting company anytime soon.

Gina opened the kit and grabbed gloves and wipes. She donned gloves, spread her labia with one hand, and used the other hand to clean herself. Keeping her lips spread, she lubricated the catheter and inserted it, based on memory.

Gina had struggled with self-catheterization early on in her recovery. Her initial trouble was maintaining sterility, but her greatest issue was finding her urethra. At St. Winston's nurses had her practice with a leg spreader and mirror device. This helped, but it was still far from perfect. As an unintended consequence, Gina had spent quite a bit of time looking at her own vagina in the mirror. One day while using her spreader, Gina looked in the mirror between her legs. She gently stroked her index finger over her clitoris, but there wasn't anything. If she closed her eyes, she felt a light sensation somewhere around her vagina, but nothing comparable to what she would've experienced prior to her injury.

Once her bladder was empty, Gina withdrew the catheter and threw it away. She reached for the baby wipes on the toilet tank, and cleaned herself off. With the brakes still locked, Gina grabbed the grab bars around the toilet, pulled herself up, and transferred her paralyzed lower half onto the raised commode chair. Gina was working hard to rebuild her strength from before the accident, but hauling around dead weight was a great workout in itself. Gina rolled slightly to the right, and used her left hand to gently part her buttocks. She sat up and reached into the plastic caddy on the floor in front of her, putting one hand on the grab bar for stability. After she had grabbed her supplies, Gina leaned back onto the commode's backrest. She gloved up and used a small bit of surgical lubricant on her left index finger. Slowly, she reached between the commode and the toilet, through the round hole, and gently inserted her finger into her anus. She made a full rotation with the digit, just enough to fully dispense the lubricant. Removing the finger, she used her right hand to drop the suppository into her left. Slowly, she exhaled and inserted the suppository into her rectum. Once it was in there, she snapped her gloves off and grabbed her phone off the seat of her wheelchair. She opened her News app, and started perusing that morning's issue of The Times.

As much as Gina despised her bowel program, being independent with it was so much better than the alternative. Being bathed and catheterized by another adult at age 26 was already embarrassing, but having her bowels evacuated was humiliation of an entirely different level. The only other experience that came close in that department was her first week at Foxe. Gina's bowels had begun to follow a routine, but then decided to rebel in the middle of art therapy. Gina couldn't remember if she smelled the revolting stench or heard the unmistakable boom first, but she remembered sobbing as one of the nurses aides wheeled her out of the classroom. The staff at Foxe decided she was going to be wearing diapers until she could go an entire week without an accident. The vision of herself in a diaper was a huge blow to Gina's self-esteem, for the first few days she cried whenever the nurses changed her diaper.

Sometimes she still cried when she'd have an accident, but at least there wasn't anyone around.

Almost exactly twelve minutes after inserting the suppository, Gina's bowels began to move. As the loud flatulence echoed through the quiet bathroom, Gina remained composed and continued to read her newspaper. The offensive odor currently assaulting her olfactory nerves was however a tad more difficult to ignore. After about seven minutes, the noises coming out of Gina's unfeeling lower half had ceased. She put her phone down and reached for a baby wipe. Reaching under the commode, Gina wiped her anus from front to back, she pulled the wipe out from under the commode and visually inspected it. She repeated the process until she could see she was clean. Gina wasn't particularly fond of this, but without adequate sensation where she needed it, this was the only way Gina could tell she was clean. Gina put on another pair of gloves, re-lubricated her index finger, and bit her lip. She

really

fucking hated this part.

Begrudgingly, Gina inserted her index finger back into her anus and began to rub the walls in a circular motion. Her bowels moved again. She repeated this process twice, until she was completely emptied. Gina grabbed the baby wipes and cleaned herself yet again. Once clean, Gina transferred back into her wheelchair and returned to her bedroom. She rolled in a second later with an oversized bath towel on her lap. Gina backed out and wheeled over to the shower. She pulled back the curtain and locked the brakes on her wheelchair. Using her right arm, Gina grabbed the garb bar in the shower and pulled herself up, using her left arm to guide her weight and she lowered into the seat of the chair, leaving the towel resting in her wheelchair. Gina hated the transfer into the shower, she decided that if she ever bought a home, she'd have a roll-in shower installed. Before she had moved into Foxe's dorms, Gina had been using a shower commode chair to empty her bowels over the toilet, and then immediately roll into a barrier-free shower stall. This convenient layout eliminated the need for transfers, but the layout of the dorm was identical to her bathroom at home.

Or rather, the bathroom in her parents home.

Gina turned the water on, and gave it a second to warm up. She grabbed the handheld showerhead, and tested it on her right arm. Just perfect. She held the showerhead over herself and began to soak her brunette hair. When her hair was good and wet, she grabbed the shampoo bottle, and squeezed a little bit into her left hand. She used her left to apply the shampoo, but rubbed it in with both hands. After the shampoo was thoroughly massaged into her scalp, Gina used the showerhead to rinse her hair. Once all of the shampoo was rinsed out, Gina mounted the showerhead back onto the wall and grabbed a bar of soap. She started with her right arm, then moved onto her chest, making sure to wash over, under, and in between her firm, warm breasts. She swapped hands and washed her left arm from fingertip to armpit. After she was clean, Gina grabbed her razor and methodically shaved under each arm. Once again she grabbed the showerhead, and rinsed off. Gina began to wash her midsection in small circles, it felt odd. Suddenly going from full feeling to none, or quite limited. She knew exactly where her T9 vertebrae was, from experiences like this. Gina moved the bar down to her left thigh, she began to wash it, bending over to wash under her knee, and then her foot, getting in between her toes. She paid her right leg and foot the same attention. Gina spread her legs, and gently washed her numb vagina. She sat up and grabbed the shower head to rinse off, starting with her crotch and working down to her toes. She felt her legs with the back of her hand, and decided another day without a shave wouldn't kill her. She looked down once again at her pubes, considering just treating herself to a spa day and getting waxed. She smiled, realizing it probably wouldn't even hurt.

Once the soap was completely rinsed off of her body, Gina turned off the water and hung the showerhead up for the final time. She pulled back the shower curtain and grabbed her towel off of the chair. She dried herself off, starting with her hair and face, then her upper body. She brought her left foot into her lap, dried it, and then dried up her left leg, doing the same with her right. Finally, she began to dry the front of her crotch. Glancing downward at her pubic area, Gina giggled as she read the faint outline of her tattoo. Gina covered her wheelchair the best she could with the towel, and transferred back into the chair. Gina unlocked her brakes and made her way to the bedroom, rolling over to the dresser at the far end of the room. She pulled out the day's outfit, a t-shirt and cotton sweats, with boyshorts and socks. She laid her outfit on the side of the bed, and transferred over it.

Gina reached into the nightstand and pulled the small bottle of moisturizer out of the drawer. She tenderly rubbed the lotion into her skin, starting with where she could feel, and then slowly moving downward. Once she was sufficiently moisturized, she reached for her panties.

Gina fed her right foot through the hole of the blue cotton shorts, and the left. She pulled the panties up as high as she could, then rolled onto her right hip, to pull the panties over her left hip with her hand. She rolled onto her left hip and did the same. Gina sat up and put her socks on, realizing how desperately she needed a pedicure. Her toenails had been painted white when she was admitted to St. Winston's ER, but there was nary a hint of polish nor pigment on Gina's toenails. She had kept them trimmed and clean, but that was the nicest she could expect, given the circumstances. For her entire life, Gina's feet had been larger than average, and she had been self-conscious about this for nearly as long. Her family had always told her she had been blessed with big feet.

She felt something, but wasn't sure if "blessed" was the best word to describe it.

Gina grabbed the sweatpants, and repeated the process with her shorts. She was used to nylon sweats, leggings and skinny jeans, these grey cotton sweats were definitely not from her usual wardrobe. But they were easy to get on and off, so they'd be just fine. Gina started to pull the t-shirt over her head when she realized she had forgotten to grab a bra.

"Fuck it," she decided. No bra today. It was chilly out, so she wouldn't be leaving the house without a hoodie, and possibly her vest. Besides, it's not like anyone would notice. Gina had already unfortunately discovered that, at least in her early experience with disability, people didn't like to see people in wheelchairs. She tried to be friendly, but people tended to avoid eye contact. People didn't say hello on the street unless she addressed them specifically. It was like she was invisible. Sometimes she thought about rolling out in public completely nude, just to see how invisible she had truly become. Sometimes she thought about that, or robbing a bank.

After Gina was dressed, she mentally ran through the day's schedule in her head. Breakfast was first, followed by Physical Therapy, then gym time. She had a few hours free in the afternoon, there was a coffee shop three blocks west that she had grown to like. Later in the afternoon there was Driver's Ed and Occupational Therapy. Gina usually tried to sneak a few extra hours of gym time in before bed, but tonight was movie night, so she'd have to be quick.

Gina transferred into her chair, pulled her shoes out from under the bed, and individually inserted each foot into the corresponding shoe, before moving it gently back onto the footplate. She made a mental checklist of everything she'd need before leaving the dorm; phone, wallet, keys, catheters.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever really get used to that last addition to her supply list.

Gina wheeled to the front door and did a full 180, looking back to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything. She hadn't.

Gina undid the deadbolt, she was ready to face the day.