When I walk into a clinic or SNF unit, I look around at the walls. Kind of strange? Not really. I have seen the standard skeleton pictures, the muscles of the body and those other joint pictures that have graced departments for years. (Some have gracefully colored with age).
Then I see the pictures of flowers and mountains that create such a serene environment, until I see the tattered remnants of the rehab companies that had been affiliated with that department long ago. Some of those companies no longer exist except in the departed corner of a lonely rehab unit hanging onto the paint peels, flapping gently when the air conditioner kicks on. A solemn song sings in my heart as I see this. I would like to say a few words but none come out.
I have been to other places that look like my bedroom walls did when I was 16 years old. Every square inch has a poster, picture or some other moniker that announces who they are. Overkill or simply proud of who they are, you all can decide. I am not sure if the patients are aware of the images they are exposed to; maybe they are subliminal and can only be seen by those who work in therapy like the messages from the movie "They Live." I could pretend I am Rowdy Roddy Piper and barge through the rehab doors, look around and announce, "I am here to do therapy and chew bubble gum, and I'm all out of bubble gum." While tearing down the most over elaborate rehab posters that announce a company's name, I could save the world - or at least my sanity.