SATURDAY IN THE PARK WITH SUZIE

As Kevin reported, Suzie's got new digs at Park Terrace. And the change is definitely for the better.

Once again, Suzie has the window side of a shared room, which affords her a more open living space and a larger area for hanging out with guests. And even better: this time, the bathroom is on Suzie's side of the room. Yes, it's a small bathroom with just a toilet, and it appears to be shared with the adjoining room, but it's on Suzie's side, close enough for her to get to easily. There's also a sink and a mirror on her side of the room.

All of this, I think, could really help to slowly ease Suzie into some degree of self sufficiency.

When I got to Suzie's room on Saturday at about 3:30 PM, she was sitting on her chair with her legs up on the bed. Her dad was napping under his ever-present Korean newspaper.

"Hi," Suzie said with a big smile, when I walked in past the curtain that separates her bed from her roommate's.

"Hey Suzie," I said. "What's my name."

She paused and looked at me inquisitively for about 30 seconds. "Oliver?" she asked.

"Good guess, but no. It starts with W," I said, pulling out a pad and a pen and writing my name in caps. "W then I then L then L."

And then we sounded it out.

"Will!" she said, remembering ( I hope.)

This is something that I wonder about all the time. Does Suzie remember me? I don't mean from visit to visit. I mean, I wonder what -- if anything -- she remembers from her old life. When she was in her early stages of recovery she said certain things to me that made me feel like she remembered her life before. One of the first things she asked me when they took out her breathing tube was, "Are you gambling?" Suzie had witnessed me develop an unhealthy gambling habit on a corporate job in Vegas, and I assumed that she remembered.

But now I'm not sure she does. To some degree, I feel like it's a new relationship with a new person. Looking at it that way helps me to focus on the future, on what she has the potential to be, rather than on the past, on what she has lost.

To that point, I've tried to stop saying sentences that begin with, "Do you remember when..." Yes, it's good to remind her of her life and of people who care about her, but that kind of conversation feels regressive - like what you do with someone whose life is over, someone who has nothing left to look forward to.

Suzie is not what she once was, nor is she likely to ever be. She is what she is now and, with our help, she will be as much as she can be.

That's, in part, why I'm very happy with the room change. Suzie is right in the thick of things now, opposite the nurse's station and in full earshot of the very active elevator bank. Just in the first few minutes of my visit I noticed a general sense of cacophony in that area, and I think that's good for her. It keeps her thinking, wondering, stimulated. It's not passive stimulation, like the TV (which was, once again, tuned to the Spanish channel when I arrived yesterday). It's challenging for her, I think.

Suzie is very easily distracted. She fixates on things and often needs to be "called back" from her distraction, or turned so she can't see what is/was distracting her.

A good example: yesterday we went to the common room on the first floor to work with the Matisse sticker art book. The room was crowded, and very loud. A young resident was yelling at his visitors (parents, I think) to "get me out of here." The conversation grew louder and more desperate, and Suzie completely lost all focus on what we were trying to do.

We moved back up to the group room on the second floor, where things were crowded, but a bit quieter. Suzie did good work on the picture, but not anywhere near the flawlessless of her efforts last weekend. I think she was a bit overwhelmed by everything, and by her routine being mixed up by the room change. I think that's good, though.

After a little while we went back to the room and Suzie's father told me that a Korean doctor had been by to examine Suzie, give her a massage, and to assist with therapy. Mr. Moon seemed very optimistic and asked Suzie to "Count."

"One two!" Suzie said, as she stood up from her chair with her father's assistance.

"Count," Mr. Moon said again.

Suzie then counted from one to ten, while standing with her left arm on her dad's shoulder. Then she sat down. She repeated this 5 times, and seeing her get up and down each time was very encouraging.

At that point, Suzie's new roommate came back into the room. She was wheeled in by a nurse, who pulled the curtain and transferred her from her chair to the bed. Just like before, this process was accompanied by loud crying. While the woman is far better off that the previous roommate, it seems that Suzie will still have to deal with the emotional ramifications of listening to someone weep from the other side of the curtain.

Suzie's dad brought in her dinner tray. Suzie started eating and I said my goodbyes.

"After you leave last time, Suzie talk more," her father said, shaking my hand. "Thank you very much."

A friendly reminder: Park Terrace is located at 59-20 Van Doren St. and can be reached via the R/E/F/G trains to 71st St. Forest Hills, and then a quick Q23 bus ride to Van Doren. For more information call (718) 592-9200