I wish to write about two subjects—rehabilitation facilities and poststroke rehabilitation therapy. My experience in these two areas comes from that fact that my wife, Pia, suffered a stroke in October of 2000, and she has been in rehabilitation ever since. I am a hotel architect, and I have never designed a hospital. Accordingly, any comments I advance regarding the design of rehabilitation facilities are personal and have been germinating in my mind during the hundreds of hours I have spent in these facilities. Also, I have had discussions with more learned colleagues from whom I gathered how complicated hospital design is and how costly it can be. Therefore, I shall be treading very lightly when proposing any modifications. It would be idle to relate the circumstances of Pia’s stroke, in October 2000, or the emotions one is subjected to when a dear one suffers adversity. There are excellent examples of literature on these matters, none better than a book written by a French author, Jean Dominique Bauby, who was editor-in-chief of Elle magazine. At the age of 43, he suffered a massive stroke that completely and permanently paralyzed him. A victim of locked-in syndrome, he was able to communicate only by blinking his left eyelid. And yet he managed to compose this stunning book by memorizing each sentence, which he was able to communicate to a young assistant holding a pointer and an alphabet chart hung on a wall opposite his hospital bed. Every time a pointer touched the desired letter, Mr. Bauby blinked. Letter by letter he formed the words and the sentences of this book, which one reviewer described as a celebration of the liberating power of consciousness. The book, entitled The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, was published 2 days before Mr. Bauby’s death and has become one of the most read books in Europe. This interjection allows me to skip the first 6 months following Pia’s stroke to a day when she was being discharged from a clinic in Switzerland in which she had been undergoing treatment. At 57, vivacious and witty and very athletic, she had been reduced to a stone-faced, aphasic, hemiplegic, invalid, confined to a wheelchair. The discharging doctor advised me, not unkindly, to consider adjusting our life in light of the prognosis of improbable improvement. Not to digress, the wheelchair was locked away and never used. By trial and mostly error and mule-headed stubbornness, she started taking one step at a time until one day, 12 months later, she completed her first mile. That was the time we requested to visit the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago, which turned out to be one of our best decisions. We have been coming back every 6 months. This more or less tells our story. I would call ours a succeeding story while reserving the past tense, a success story, for a future date. Now I come to the essentials. Please allow me to start with the rehabilitation facilities and the impressions that one gets upon visiting them. Every rehabilitation facility we had visited consisted mainly of an open space, housing the material utilized during therapy, large storage spaces, and a few professional offices. Some facilities were bet-
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