Hip, Hip, Hooray!!!

It was back to basics. He had occupational therapy, learning to put his socks and pants on. And he was getting physical therapy. All the while Marty was thinking about what more he could do.

“I have 60 exercises I can do in bed. I used as many as I could.”

Mary Ellen stayed by Marty’s side. She had overnighted in a recliner in his room the week he was at the trauma center, and then, for two-and-a-half weeks, she spent nights in a recliner in his room at the acute rehab facility. Sleep was scarce for Marty too, given post-surgical pain, calf wounds, and a heel pressure wound. His hip was painful but improving, but these wounds were stubborn and slow to heal. (Marty’s still getting wound treatment.)

Marty attacked rehab like he attacks a tennis match—full throttle—and the rehab facility became a lively place.

“It was like a party. I was like a celebrity there. I showed them my website, my principles, and my book.”

He sold books, coached nurses on his principles, and, in his words, “became a preacher.”

Marty spent a lot of time getting PT and OT in a big room with others who were getting worked on too. He loved pushing other people just as when he was a platoon sergeant in the Army. He was entertaining them as much as anything.

“Here comes Marty,” he heard, as he walked in and began working the room.

One of the patients he became friendly with was a man who had many medical issues and was working on gaining strength in his legs.

As Marty put it, “I was busting his chops,” telling him to “get your a—  moving.”

Marty was aghast when he found out who this man was—a Catholic priest.

“I wanted to die—I thought I was going to hell!” Marty recounted.

As they became friendly, he told the priest, who was originally from Romania, the whole story of his divorce and being “thrown out of the church” when he was 45.

For Marty, this felt like going to confession. Then, in the big rehab room, right in front of therapists and patients doing their work, the priest absolved Marty from sin and blessed him.

“The whole group was in on it,” said Marty.

The priest and Marty became “good buddies” while he was at that facility. They shared stories about their lives, and Marty gave him a copy of his book.

One day, another Catholic priest walked into Marty’s room to give him communion. Marty told him he wasn’t allowed to receive it because of his divorce—but the priest gave it to him anyway. Quite an eventful few weeks!

A wonderful event occurred around the same time: Martin Patrick Devlin VI, Marty and Mary Ellen’s first great-grandchild, was born at Jefferson Abington Hospital to grandson Patrick and his wife Mellissa. Meeting the new baby would have to come later.

After his time at the acute rehab center was up, Marty was transferred to another facility, a sub-acute facility. Through all this some of Marty’s routines didn’t change. He kept his appetite and enjoyed taking his meals in his room. He watched tennis—the French Open was on. Visitors were mainly family, including Tara and the grandkids.

Marty shifted from a wheelchair to a walker.

“The best day was when I began standing up by myself and felt the strength improving in my leg.”

Not one to let a recovery program slow him down, Marty kept adding in his own exercises. He took solo laps with his walker around his triangle of a room. Even though he was “huffin’ and puffin’” from amyloidosis, he single-mindedly implemented a game plan to rebuild his strength.

Marty spent three weeks at the sub-acute facility. During those three weeks Mary Ellen was with Marty every day. (The only reason Mary Ellen didn’t spend the night was because overnights were not allowed there.) After six weeks, weak but determined, Marty finally made it home. This took its own adjustment for both Marty and Mary Ellen, as he had to learn to navigate the house with a walker.

Over the course of weeks in the hospital and rehab, Marty had met an ever-rotating cast of doctors, patients, physical therapists, wound care specialists, nurses, and aides. Naturally, he treated it as a chance to teach—dispensing wisdom, positive thinking, and a few of his signature sayings.

He admits the path wasn’t easy—some nights tested even him. While he greeted his caregivers with his trademark “high-positive” attitude, often he felt “low-positive,” and sometimes even a little of the “low-negative” would creep in. “And I don’t like it!”

The nights were the longest. “Sometimes I’d lay there thinking I was going to die,” that “I was about to see the Great Coach in the Sky.”

Thankfully, not yet

Soon after returning home, Marty built his strength enough to walk up the incline to his tennis court. Soon after that it was, again, game on. His first day back on the court was June 30, two months after his spill. Marty didn’t want to “cheat” anyone, so this was his way to test out whether he could go back to teaching. Maureen Myers arranged to have the usual number of players (six, including Maureen) come to Marty’s court for drills. Carl, a longtime friend, had replaced Marty’s ball cart with a sturdy new one. On his first day back, Marty got up on his teaching stool, walker to the side, and started his drills. After the inactivity of the past weeks, he reported that his arm “was about to fall off.” But he got through all two hours and has been back teaching six days a week. Marty holds two-hour sessions each day he teaches and an additional 1 1/2- hour session on Tuesday. His only day off is Saturday.