Spa therapy in Palm Springs

Finally got the call! I’m heading out to Palm Springs tomorrow to start physical therapy after my stroke...

I have absolutely no clue what to expect. Does anyone know anything at all about how the inpatient rehab process works over there? Any info would be amazing...

Looks like I'll be gone for at least 3 weeks.

Is anyone even paying attention here?

Seriously, I have never once in my life worn high heels...😢

I can't give you too many specifics here.
My mom heads out for three weeks of therapy every single year. We actually have a house on that hill overlooking the area, so she doesn't stay at the resort even though she’s entitled to. She much prefers sleeping in her own bed!
As for the treatment, she’s really happy with it. Sure, there’s always room for improvement, but like we say around here, it's pretty solid.
Last year, she had this incredible massage therapist. You can pay extra for massages, and apparently, it was worth every penny.
I know they make a big distinction between the old and new wings of the resort; the accommodations in the newer section are definitely nicer.
Mother Teresa isn't home right now, otherwise I'd ask her for more details.

thanks 🙂

In my experience, Palm Springs is the absolute best—though I know people will have their own opinions on that.
When you arrive, they let you choose your room setup; you can go with one bed or two, though they used to offer four-bed rooms back in the day.
If you’re looking for some actual privacy, they have apartments available in the newer section.
Once you're checked in, a doctor performs an initial assessment and prescribes your specific treatment plan.
They provide everything—hydrotherapy, exercise sessions, massages, electrostimulation, and various other electrical massage therapies.
You’ll have a follow-up exam after one week, and the cycle continues from there. Honestly, staying for three or four weeks is the way to go.
There’s also gymnastics and structured exercise classes.
The food is decent enough if you aren't a picky eater, but it gets repetitive after about fifteen days since they rotate through the same menu...
As for your specific situation, I really can't say which exact therapies would be prescribed for you.

I was there from August 3rd to the 23rd, and honestly? It was a total bust. Thank god my husband was there to bail me out—he actually had his own private room in the new wing, so he was right there when I needed him!
I wasn't even gonna say anything because I know everyone's experience is different. But honestly? With my diagnosis, things are pretty rough. You're basically helpless if you don't have someone right there by your side 24/7.

We tried staying in the new wing—had an apartment with its own bathroom—but honestly? It didn't make a lick of difference. All it did was run up my husband's credit card bill!

Honestly, he was the victim here, and his sisters were just thrilled about it. We’re stuck in these double rooms, which is just brutal when you can't even move. And with my diagnosis? Forget about taking a shower. Who could deal with that?

The absolute worst part? Nobody actually tells you what to expect when you first check in. Since I’m flying solo and dealing with this diagnosis, I had to basically stumble through everything myself until I finally figured out how to ask for help. Take the dining setup, for example. They give you this little side table, sure, but then your nurse just slices up some meat and vanishes! You're just left there trying to eat whenever you can. Most days, I couldn't even touch lunch at 11:45 AM, let alone dinner at 5:45 PM. I’d be starving by the time we realized we could just save those pre-cut slices of meat and bread for later. My husband ended up buying extra stuff and breakfast meats just to cope, because between all the meds, I was up by 5:00 AM and wouldn't get anything to eat until 7:30... and that was just lukewarm tea and some toast. I eventually had to speak up: "Is it really that hard to get me a plain cup of tea by 10:00?" After that, they’d bring it around 10:30 every day—usually practically cold! We actually had to bring a thermos from home just to keep anything warm. Plus, with the weather being so unpredictable, I was constantly swinging between sweating through my sheets or freezing my butt off. Seriously, why is it so difficult?
Honestly, I’d probably be starving and parched if I had to rely on them!

Diet was messing with my digestion too, but honestly? Nobody seems to give a damn anymore. I’m not even gonna get into the messy details.

The worst part? They didn't have my meds, and honestly, they couldn't have cared less about getting them for me. Thank god my husband stepped up—he managed to grab enough supplies to last us through the whole trip. He was basically my only lifeline for my treatment. Plus, their physical therapy and rehab schedule only runs on weekdays. That meant over the holiday weekend—Friday the 5th through Sunday—I was totally stuck without any exercises. Even though Saturday is a non-working day, they’re still supposed to ensure patients have their medication! Seriously, nobody even bothered to ask how much I was spending or what I needed. So yeah, that's the "hospital" experience for you. It felt more like I was just an extra chore for my husband to handle!

Nobody tells you anything about bathing or washing up! I asked around, but it wasn't until they actually did the assessment that I found out bathing only happens once a week, and even then, it's handled by specialized hospital staff. On my very first wash day, they told me straight up: "No baths here, just showers." And get this—we had to bring our own sponges and shampoo. If we hadn't brought our own stuff, who knows what would've happened? Seriously!

Look, it wasn’t all bad! They actually did a decent job washing my hair, though obviously, I made sure to use my own shampoo. Thank God we asked them to bring my hairdryer from home, too. Honestly? I was low-key terrified after the shower because it was freezing in there. Having to dry off and get dressed on the bed in the room was sketchy. They kept wheeling me back and forth to the bathroom in my princess wheelchair and then wrapping me up in a sheet... I didn't see a single one of their towels. Luckily, I had my own stash that my son kept bringing me fresh.

There was this church right nearby that rang its bells like clockwork—morning, noon, and night. Honestly, some of the nurses would even drive patients back and forth to Mass. Was that just them being extra sweet, or was it actually a paid service? Who knows!

My husband used to run out to grab the paper every single day. Honestly, the staff at the shop practically lined up just to wait for us to sit down and read it together!

I mean, I could’ve had my own TV in my room, but honestly? It wouldn't have done much for me. Why bother? Watching TV just leaves me totally wiped out!

Man, this is such a drag... especially when you're stuck in one spot. And if you actually have the nerve to call your sister twice in a single hour? Seriously? It’s all because of those two, even though there's a hundred of us!

So my husband went to see the director and accidentally let slip that they actually go way back... he didn't even realize until a week later while he was out on vacation! Anyway, long story short... their finances are a total mess right now. They're barely breaking even, so there’s zero chance of them hiring anyone else.

And yeah... they use a ton of support staff and volunteers. I had this one physical therapist helping out, plus some guys doing community service—they were basically filling in whenever people took their vacation time. And of course, they were doing it all for free!

Total chaos at my place today! First, a little kid knocked a glass off the table—classic. I was bugging my sister to fix it before lunch because I seriously didn't want soup flying all over the bed. Then, out of nowhere, this guy in a Hawaiian shirt shows up with his parrots. My husband was just like, "Yeah, the birds are enough help," and told him he could just handle the setup himself. Can you believe that?

The handyman didn't even show up until 3 PM! Apparently, they wrap things up by 3, so why bother? My husband was pretty annoyed that I was bothering my sisters, but honestly, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have even had soup for lunch.

The food wasn't terrible... except for the dinner situation. They’ll serve you soup and a main dish for lunch, which is fine, but serving stew or fruit juice for dinner? No thanks. I didn't see any juice there, but they did give us an apple, I guess.

Bottom line: it's pretty bad if you're semi-mobile or can't move much at all....

Some diagnoses get a lot of hype in the news, and everyone praises them. There was actually an article in the Sunday evening paper about a woman whose mother was staying there, and she basically had to haul her back home to Germany...

If anyone wants to read it, here's the link

HEALTHCARE SERVICES: Nada Nosković complains about the rehab conditions at Palm Springs. You could literally die in room 168. By Duško Tadić

I ended up with a double room, mostly because my husband paid cash upfront for the second bed.

I actually checked out a day early. There was this whole mess with how the ambulance would transport both me and my husband as my escort since nobody could pick me up at home. The ambulance was totally fine with driving us both there, but for the trip back? Not happening.

So we had to scramble and book private transport a day ahead. The discharge papers say the 24th—that's when insurance coverage ends. If I had waited until the 24th, we would've only been entitled to breakfast, and we would've had to check out by 11 AM like we were at a hotel.

A lot of people were quietly grumbling, and anyone who could afford to leave early, did.
Luckily, my neurologist at the big city hospital warned me not to expect much and told me I could just leave if I wasn't happy. The catch is, some treatments you can *only* get there... like the electrical therapy. That stuff is great in the hall for people with different diagnoses, like bone fractures or whatever. But the worst part is that patients don't even know what specific treatment they're supposed to be getting. And get this: they don't tell you Saturdays aren't workdays, but they still charge insurance for them! As if you can cram a whole week of therapy into five days...

Overall, most patients just stay quiet because they feel like they have to play by the facility's rules.

Toward the end, they started asking me every single day what I needed, but nobody ever actually told me what I was allowed to ask for! For example, I could have asked for a plastic water pitcher to use for washing up over the toilet in the bathroom, but I couldn't even do that myself. When I finally asked, they acted like they'd already covered it! They even claimed they'd asked me what I needed and that I had a basin, which was true, but... I wasn't stable. I tried to do something on my own once, slipped, fell, and messed up my tailbone, and then they actually yelled at me...

Man, I am so sorry. Honestly, I believe every single word you're saying.

Did you at least get a chance to try out one of those balance platforms they have for equilibrium training?

I really do feel for her 😢

Casey Palmer5 said:Man, I really feel for you. I believe every single word you're saying.

Did you even get to try that balance platform they have for stability training?

Nope. All I did was practice walking in my room. In the rehab hall... electrotherapy, stretching my left arm on the pulleys, some hand exercises with those textured balls, and leg exercises on the stationary bike.

The important thing was the doctor's rounds. She didn't show up for a week until I started bugging them! They told me she comes every day, but back then I was stuck in the hall where they wheel you in and out.

Only when I started getting annoyed did she finally show up—usually after 10 AM while I was still in my room. The drivers were always in such a rush to get me there right after breakfast so I wouldn't hit the morning rush at the machines.

During the last week, both the doctor and the nurses were showing up pretty often. It felt like the hospital director had just gotten back from vacation and talked to my husband—turns out they actually know each other from back in Chicago.

Just to be clear... we didn't complain about anything. Well, maybe I asked too many questions? Honestly, nobody bothered to explain what their capabilities were or what my actual rights were. I guess asking for that would have been asking too much.

The worst part was being left alone in my room while everything was just being done robotically. You have no clue what’s happening, how, or why, and everyone kept warning me not to "bother" the nurses. I wasn't bothering the nurses, I was bothering my husband! I'd only call them when he stepped out for air, mostly just to ask about using the bathroom or to reach the lady in the next bed over—since I could kind of manage that, but getting up and getting dressed? No way.

Next time I'll write something positive too. And I'll explain why I never filed an official complaint. I didn't have any support, and my husband was losing his mind because I was terrified of being left alone in that room. I was having full-on panic attacks.
I wrote everything down in my planner straight from the list, and that's how I realized they even scheduled exercises for Saturday....

Casey Palmer5 said:Man, I feel for you. I believe every single word you're saying.

Honestly, the one bright spot in this whole health battle is my physical therapist coming to the house.
But now they're trying to cut that back too... they dropped me from 5 sessions a week down to just 3, even though the doctor specifically ordered 5! So, I went ahead and set up private pay for those extra 2 sessions a week for the next two months.

I was actually starting to feel a little better, but then the insurance board told my husband he'd have to learn how to do the exercises himself. Oh my god... seriously? We can't let that happen. Even if he wanted to help, he just can't. He’s way too heavy-handed—he just doesn't have that "touch." Like, the guy once crushed a lightbulb just trying to unscrew it! He's just built that way.

If you ask me, you were prescribed the wrong treatment. You don't need things like galvanization—which I think is basically obsolete unless we're talking about old-school car parts—or electrical stimulation. What you actually need is personalized kinesitherapy. Basically, a physical therapist who spends at least an hour working with you on functional movement and coordination rather than just basic strength training.

The issue isn't your muscle strength; it's how your nervous system is communicating with them. And honestly, forcing those aggressive stretches won't do much if the actual problem is high muscle tone in your arm...

Casey Palmer5 said:If you ask me, you got stuck with some pretty lousy therapy. You don't need those old-school electrical stimulations—which feel like they belong in a museum—or random little shocks. What you actually need is personalized kinesiology. I'm talking about a therapist who spends at least an hour working one-on-one with you, focusing on functional movement and coordination rather than just mindless strength training.

The issue is coming from your central nervous system, not muscle strength. And honestly? Aggressive stretching doesn't do much if your arm muscles are just constantly hyper-tense.

Maybe "stretching" isn't even the right word, since it's more about lifting my arm to work on my shoulder. But muscle strength matters too, because I used to be nothing but skin and bones! I had the exact same individual sessions back then as I do now—both at home and in the clinic—so the difference is that I didn't have to deal with those outdated machines.

I'd give you the specific medical codes to make it clearer, but I don't have them handy right now.

I've been working on my left arm by lifting it overhead so my left shoulder doesn't lose its function, because that's starting to happen slowly. Meanwhile, my right arm gets exhausted way too fast; I'm even losing the strength to write. My head hurts less, but I'm dealing with other issues because I can't move enough. At the same time, I'm terrified that if I move too much, I'll fall and break something. That would just be the icing on the cake, right?

Best,

Hey, Dunia!

I am honestly just so happy you decided to come back to us...

So, I actually spent this past week over in Palm Springs—and look, I know they aren't the exact same places you're talking about—but I totally get what you mean. Based on everything I saw there personally, I just can't wrap my head around how anyone is supposed to actually get better (or even see a tiny bit of improvement!) at those spas...

We usually find that patients come back from Palm Springs feeling even worse than when they first left...

This isn't strictly on-topic, I know—but I have this memory from when I was a kid. After undergoing surgery on both Achilles tendons, I was sent off to Palm Springs for what they called "rehabilitation."
Essentially, being only about ten years old, I was placed in a room with six other kids who all had various psychological disorders (I was the only one in the room who wasn't still in diapers). Naturally, being in that kind of environment meant I was a constant target for bullying.
The food situation was a disaster; after just a few days, I ended up with a nasty case of diarrhea. Once the nurses realized what was happening, they put me on a "diet." In other words, for the next several days, my entire sustenance consisted of nothing but dry toast and tea. Luckily, my grandmother came to visit on the second day, saw how gaunt I looked, and started smuggling extra food in for me.
As for the actual physical therapy—despite being diagnosed with muscle atrophy in my legs—only one person ever actually showed up to work on my legs specifically. Most of the time, they just threw me into a group setting and made us grind through standard exercises like sit-ups, push-ups, and some back movements... It's actually quite ironic, because I eventually learned to walk again just by using the little park area behind the ward, thanks to some elderly relatives who came to visit me. I also only saw the pool about once; they would always find some excuse as to why it was closed, or nobody would bother coming to pick me up.

All in all, I came back from that experience both physically and mentally exhausted—shriveled up and thin, but with a rock-solid determination that the only way they'd ever get me back into a place like that was if I were in a casket. 🙄

Casey Palmer5 said:Usually, patients come back from places like Palm Springs feeling way worse than when they left.

Exactly! And honestly, things just kept going downhill for me after the hospital. I was losing mobility fast, and my head wouldn't stop throbbing.

On top of all those physical issues, I kept telling my neurologist and my primary care doctor that I was getting worse... but nobody listened. Seriously, zero attention. My follow-up angiogram showed everything looked "normal," so nobody even bothered to explain what was actually happening. It made me look like a liar to my son and husband—like I was just ignoring medical advice—when really, I was just trying to tell them that "normal" scans don't mean I'm not suffering.
The worst part? I became totally dependent on my husband for basically everything, including basic hygiene. Of course, he thinks it’s terrible that I don't seem "ashamed." Some guy he knows told him he should just be happy I can at least stand up and still have control over my sphincters—meaning I'm not in diapers yet. Then his neurologist told him that people with this kind of illness undergo personality changes. Well, yeah! When you lose all your independence, how are you supposed to feel shame?

The only bright spot is my physical therapist. But my husband won't even talk to her because he thinks she isn't supporting me enough. In reality, she’s the only one who gets it—she knows when I'm exhausted and helpless, but she doesn't let me slack on the exercises.

She claims everything is coming from the brain's central command, but it feels like at my age, it's either impossible to fix or just really hard to recover.

Supposedly, the pressure from the aneurysm was neutralized after the embolization, so why does my head still ache? Sure, it's not as intense as before, but the pain is there. Doesn't that mean there's still pressure on certain centers? It might not show up on an angiogram anymore, but they've never even given me an MRI.

I knew one patient who had an MRI first, but then she had to get an angiogram while still in the hospital because an MRI isn't always the final word. So where does that leave you?

My next check-up isn't for another six months, so sometime in early 2006. That'll be about a year after the first procedure.

slyviper47 said:Next time I’ll actually share some good stuff too. And why didn't I file an official complaint? Honestly, nobody backed me up, and my husband just lost his cool because I was terrified of being stuck in that room alone. I was having a full-on panic attack.

Right. So, I had this phone that I could barely even figure out. I only had the basic instructions printed out. My husband couldn't stand dealing with phones and refused to learn a thing. Anyway, we had a charger at home, but I wasn't sure if we'd brought it, and then my battery dies right when my husband heads out for a walk. That usually lasts about 2 hours, and suddenly I'm panicking and remembering everything. I call my sister and beg her to help me sort out the charger situation. Since I don't have a working phone and don't know how to handle it, I ask her to call a friend of mine—the only one I knew would be home at that hour. I told her I'd pay her back and even offered $33.

My sister suggests another way: she'll call the front desk, give them my friend's number and my room number, and have them call me on the hotel phone. My husband would just pay the exact amount at the front desk, plus maybe a few extra bucks. So, that’s what happened.

I called my friend just so she could let my son know what was going on and tell him not to call me.

When my husband got back, he absolutely lost it because of what I did—turns out, he *had* brought the charger after all! He finally found where he stashed it, so the problem was solved.
He was even angrier that I offered $33 for a service that cost less than two bucks.

We could never see eye to eye on stuff like that. To me, $33 meant nothing compared to getting the help I needed immediately. You can't put a price on that!

Seriously, my sister did me an incredible favor, and I never even got to thank her properly. In fact, I don't even know her name! None of them introduced themselves, and I felt too awkward asking at the end.

I only figured out her name by accident, and I actually found out her title from the thank-you letter.

slyviper47 said:When my husband got back, he absolutely lost it because I did that—since he obviously brought his own charger, of course.

Look, sorry if I'm poking around in your personal business (I guess we all kind of meddle in each other's lives here, whether it's being helpful or just plain nosy), but it feels to me like the real issue—the root of everything—is actually the friction with your husband and how little he seems to get about what you're going through with your health. That’s probably why things feel so shaky elsewhere, too.

Man, I could go on and on about how hard it is for a healthy person to adjust to living with someone who's sick, or how tough it is to find that perfect balance where both people feel supported without losing themselves... but I won't. That would be a bit much, even for me...

Rachel Brooks63 said:But honestly? I feel like your issues with your husband and him not getting what you're going through with your illness are actually at the heart of everything—including why you're unhappy at Palm Springs.

I wouldn't say that! If anything, he actually made my stay at Palm Springs a lot easier.
He actually only paid for two weeks for himself, but I just didn't want to be stuck in my room alone for that third week.

As for the stuff with my sister, I knew it was coming and told her, but there was no stopping her from finding out since he eventually had to settle the bill. The truth is, he had zero problem paying for an extra week for himself just so I wouldn't have to stay by myself. He clearly saw how bad things were, especially after chatting with the other mobile patients while eating in the common lounge. Honestly, everyone was basically sprinting home over the weekend if they had anywhere to go.

I’ve been handling the marriage stuff logically from day one. Like, he’s always had total freedom. My illness was really the only thing that was tough on him.
Now things are feeling a bit easier again because he’s back to his daily runs along the riverbank... since I'm not quite as dependent on him as I was.

My real struggle is that I've spent my whole life being totally independent, and now I'm suddenly needing help with everything. It’s a little easier knowing I can at least make it to the bathroom with my cane. That was the biggest hurdle for me, and for him too. Even then, I'm still using a bedside commode at night.
I'm waking up at least four times a night just to pee. And no matter what, I can't sleep through it, even with Ambien—which I'm only taking half of, which is 7.5mg. So I end up taking two pills a night. I'm basically drugging myself, and I have no clue how I'm gonna kick the habit.

Oh, one more thing... I’m actually getting married this year! And I'll be hitting 41 at the end of November.

There you go.