I was sooo bored being at home during the day by myself. When the doctor had mentioned needing a few years at home to recover, my thought was that I was going to go crazy with boredom. I even thought I would be going to the mall on a regular basis for something to do. I had naively thought I’d be walking within months and I’d be out and about, possibly even driving. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Instead to fill some time in a day, I would wait for Mike to come home and bombarded him with things to do...like go for a walk with my walker, go to the mall for something I thought we had to have or play cards or a board game. He became the pivotal player in my entertainment. What I neglected to realize was that he just wanted to relax after work.
I started to get the hint that he needed some down time and tried to find things that would be entertaining for just me. I didn’t have much luck but did find some comfort to being in front of the computer. At first I would play hearts and solitaire. Then I started to write things down and it felt really good. Prior to the stroke I had a thought of writing a book but I didn’t have a topic. Now I do.
I began documenting things so I wouldn’t forget. Thing is I haven’t forgot much.
In the beginning my vocabulary was limited, my sentence structure nonexistent. I would have several thoughts and try to ram them all into one sentence. Sentences would be run on and on and on. Typing was a slooww activity since I had lost much of my co ordination. In the beginning I made an effort to type as I was taught in typing in high school. My right hand has had to pick up the slack on certain letters. I’ve had to modify the way I type much like I’ve had to modify many activities.
What is interesting is going back and reading what I thought at the time was a work of art. It is a great barometer of how things were. At least that got me started using my brain and thankfully I have progressed since then.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Final Farewell to Parkwood
Finally my time at Parkwood was over. That was 51/2 months of time well spent. I was going home for good! I don’t think I have wanted something so badly in my life. Not only was I going home but in my mind it meant that I was better. I was better but since that time I have progressed so much more. If I were to put a number on it I’d say 2000%. My speech has become more clear, my balance has improved, and I have more hope for the future.
Despite me wanting to go (be permanently discharged) sooo badly it wasn’t a very ceremonial moment. It should have been more momentous than returning from therapy and being wheeled out to the car just like every other day to go for supper. If this were a movie, uplifting and happy music would be playing. We (Mike and I) took my parents and brother out for dinner as a thank you for the countless trips (everyday) into London they made while I was in the hospital.
So I am at home......Prior to the stroke part of my regular routine was to go for a run first thing in the mornings. Running or walking was not in the cards for me. Since I am used to a good workout (good sweat) I longed for that again. I had used the elliptical at the gym and realized that I could hang on to the handles for support and move my legs quickly. I figured that would allow me a good workout and mimic the movement of walking.
I had basically decided that getting an elliptical was the best option, even though the doctors thought it might be too soon. I just wanted it and felt it was in my best interest so I didn’t listen and pushed forward.
The elliptical would provide the therapy of exercise and weight management. Weight management became a serious issue. After 3 months of no food and a modified diet I became obsessed and ate everything in sight. Eventual boredom also contributed to the weight gain. I began eating when I didn’t have anything to do. This was the reason I gained too much weight.
Not only was I upset about the effects of the stroke I needed and wanted to lose some weight but I didn’t know how. In the past I would just workout longer or harder. My eating habits would essentially stay the same. But the fact that my movements, strength and endurance were limited made this strategy obsolete.
I have a real obsession with both food and working out. I have a love hate relationship with food.I love junk food and eat it if it’s available. I hate the extra calories. If it’s wasn’t readily available I would go get it at the store or in a pinch I’d make something to fill that sweet tooth. In order to combat the extra calories I would work out extra. It was and is a vicious cycle.
In my mind the exercise was going to get me walking and make weight loss possible so I was willing to pay whatever it was going to cost—it was an investment in my future. After 6 years I am still not walking without a mobility aid. Most importantly and thankfully I AM NOT in a wheelchair (a prognosis doctors thought would happen)
Where would I be if I just gave up and accepted things as they were without trying to change things? I wasn’t happy with the way things were so I had two choices. Quit and give up or make a change. Since I wasn’t happy with the way things were, so the choice was a no brainer. Try to make a change, the alternative was not an option.
Despite me wanting to go (be permanently discharged) sooo badly it wasn’t a very ceremonial moment. It should have been more momentous than returning from therapy and being wheeled out to the car just like every other day to go for supper. If this were a movie, uplifting and happy music would be playing. We (Mike and I) took my parents and brother out for dinner as a thank you for the countless trips (everyday) into London they made while I was in the hospital.
So I am at home......Prior to the stroke part of my regular routine was to go for a run first thing in the mornings. Running or walking was not in the cards for me. Since I am used to a good workout (good sweat) I longed for that again. I had used the elliptical at the gym and realized that I could hang on to the handles for support and move my legs quickly. I figured that would allow me a good workout and mimic the movement of walking.
I had basically decided that getting an elliptical was the best option, even though the doctors thought it might be too soon. I just wanted it and felt it was in my best interest so I didn’t listen and pushed forward.
The elliptical would provide the therapy of exercise and weight management. Weight management became a serious issue. After 3 months of no food and a modified diet I became obsessed and ate everything in sight. Eventual boredom also contributed to the weight gain. I began eating when I didn’t have anything to do. This was the reason I gained too much weight.
Not only was I upset about the effects of the stroke I needed and wanted to lose some weight but I didn’t know how. In the past I would just workout longer or harder. My eating habits would essentially stay the same. But the fact that my movements, strength and endurance were limited made this strategy obsolete.
I have a real obsession with both food and working out. I have a love hate relationship with food.I love junk food and eat it if it’s available. I hate the extra calories. If it’s wasn’t readily available I would go get it at the store or in a pinch I’d make something to fill that sweet tooth. In order to combat the extra calories I would work out extra. It was and is a vicious cycle.
In my mind the exercise was going to get me walking and make weight loss possible so I was willing to pay whatever it was going to cost—it was an investment in my future. After 6 years I am still not walking without a mobility aid. Most importantly and thankfully I AM NOT in a wheelchair (a prognosis doctors thought would happen)
Where would I be if I just gave up and accepted things as they were without trying to change things? I wasn’t happy with the way things were so I had two choices. Quit and give up or make a change. Since I wasn’t happy with the way things were, so the choice was a no brainer. Try to make a change, the alternative was not an option.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
I’m back after my hiatus
Just a quick note about the fundraiser and then I’ll get back to my story.
To know you have made a positive impact on someone’s life is indescribable. I’m hooked.
I had the privilege to meet someone in a very similar situation than me. On first sight I saw he was cautiously walking with a walker his speech was at times difficult to undertand. (just like me at the same point in my recovery) After talking with him I found we shared even the same type of stroke and some of the same effects. He didn’t know me when I was at that point in my recovery so he won’t see the comparison.
From that meeting(we wouldn't have if it weren't for that talk) and discussions I took two things away from that encounter. First I have the ability to reassure others because I know it will get better. Of a stroke and other challengiing times in life. Secondly I was beginning to lose sight of the progress that I have made. I have a much greater appreciation for where I am now from where I've been. It isn’t 100% but it is a 100% improvement over where I was. So as much help that I was ....I gained so much more. Thanks Rich. I hope you will always believe and have hope that it will get better because it did for me and it will for you!
Just a quick note about the fundraiser and then I’ll get back to my story.
To know you have made a positive impact on someone’s life is indescribable. I’m hooked.
I had the privilege to meet someone in a very similar situation than me. On first sight I saw he was cautiously walking with a walker his speech was at times difficult to undertand. (just like me at the same point in my recovery) After talking with him I found we shared even the same type of stroke and some of the same effects. He didn’t know me when I was at that point in my recovery so he won’t see the comparison.
From that meeting(we wouldn't have if it weren't for that talk) and discussions I took two things away from that encounter. First I have the ability to reassure others because I know it will get better. Of a stroke and other challengiing times in life. Secondly I was beginning to lose sight of the progress that I have made. I have a much greater appreciation for where I am now from where I've been. It isn’t 100% but it is a 100% improvement over where I was. So as much help that I was ....I gained so much more. Thanks Rich. I hope you will always believe and have hope that it will get better because it did for me and it will for you!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
My time at Parkwood
Was Work.....Work....Work (get better work) I am very appreciative at my length of stay. Doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to pack it in and go home. The reason a lengthier stay was in my favour...a longer stay meant more intense therapy and better recovery. I was in bad shape and things were NOT progressing as fast as I wanted them to. I have never been a very patient person.
I will never forget the day when I hoisted myself up to standing position from the wheel chair and I could feel that my balance was better than the day before. It wasn’t a huge improvement but considering I didn’t have any the day before a little was better than none at all. This meant I was going to get better...how much is yet to be seen.
It was soon after that I decided I should transfer myself from the bed to the wheelchair to go to the washroom. My first attempt was a complete flop. More like crash. It was evening and when I was watching TV, I had to go pee. Instead of calling the nurse I decided to do it myself. When Mike had dropped me off that night he had reluctantly left the wheelchair beside the bed within reach so I could attempt this myself. I used the bedrails to help but they weren’t enough support. I fell face first and hit my eye on the corner of the dresser. I still have a small scar. I was a little shook up and I laid on the floor for a second but my initial reaction was and is if you fall you get right back up. My left leg was shaking but I still managed to pull myself up and onto the wheelchair. I wheeled myself to the washroom. After all that was the objective. That is when I saw all the blood running down my face onto my PJ top. I washed the blood off my face went pee and got myself back into bed. I then called the nurse to tell her what happened. There was talk of stitches but they never materialized. If it weren’t for the blood I probably would have continued to ‘transfer myself’
Parkwood was my home away from home since I spent so much time there but it wasn’t one I REALLY wanted to be at but many milestones in my recovery happened there. I was able to eat again. My balance started to return. I was able to do things that I couldn’t before. I did a lot of thinking and self discovery.
Something that is very memorable happened along the way but I finally realized it since a kind aunt put it in words on paper. She wrote something like you’ll do it because you are determined. I had never thought of myself of determined but when it comes to something we want are we all not. Apparently not, but people give up on themselves all the time. Prior to the stroke I was a quitter. That was certainly the easiest way of dealing with the unpleasant. This time it has never occurred to me to stop. Why stop? Let me tell you the alternative was/is not something I wanted to experience ever! The task was daunting but taking it one day at a time with mini goals that would lead to the final goal was the only way to do it and stay sane. After all it was and is a lofty goal.
The people at Parkwood taught me to celebrate even the smallest goal (I didn’t through myself a party or have cake (I would be 400 pounds at least) --just being proud of an accomplishment.
I will never forget the day when I hoisted myself up to standing position from the wheel chair and I could feel that my balance was better than the day before. It wasn’t a huge improvement but considering I didn’t have any the day before a little was better than none at all. This meant I was going to get better...how much is yet to be seen.
It was soon after that I decided I should transfer myself from the bed to the wheelchair to go to the washroom. My first attempt was a complete flop. More like crash. It was evening and when I was watching TV, I had to go pee. Instead of calling the nurse I decided to do it myself. When Mike had dropped me off that night he had reluctantly left the wheelchair beside the bed within reach so I could attempt this myself. I used the bedrails to help but they weren’t enough support. I fell face first and hit my eye on the corner of the dresser. I still have a small scar. I was a little shook up and I laid on the floor for a second but my initial reaction was and is if you fall you get right back up. My left leg was shaking but I still managed to pull myself up and onto the wheelchair. I wheeled myself to the washroom. After all that was the objective. That is when I saw all the blood running down my face onto my PJ top. I washed the blood off my face went pee and got myself back into bed. I then called the nurse to tell her what happened. There was talk of stitches but they never materialized. If it weren’t for the blood I probably would have continued to ‘transfer myself’
Parkwood was my home away from home since I spent so much time there but it wasn’t one I REALLY wanted to be at but many milestones in my recovery happened there. I was able to eat again. My balance started to return. I was able to do things that I couldn’t before. I did a lot of thinking and self discovery.
Something that is very memorable happened along the way but I finally realized it since a kind aunt put it in words on paper. She wrote something like you’ll do it because you are determined. I had never thought of myself of determined but when it comes to something we want are we all not. Apparently not, but people give up on themselves all the time. Prior to the stroke I was a quitter. That was certainly the easiest way of dealing with the unpleasant. This time it has never occurred to me to stop. Why stop? Let me tell you the alternative was/is not something I wanted to experience ever! The task was daunting but taking it one day at a time with mini goals that would lead to the final goal was the only way to do it and stay sane. After all it was and is a lofty goal.
The people at Parkwood taught me to celebrate even the smallest goal (I didn’t through myself a party or have cake (I would be 400 pounds at least) --just being proud of an accomplishment.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The People of Parkwood
Parkwood had all kinds of people/characters. There was Agnes, the little woman who wanted to help no matter, if she was REALLY helping. Gladys the busybody wanting to s to compare her progress. She was alsovery demanding and kept the nurses busy. A woman I love to this day for a comment she made to me. We were in the dining room when she said to me. Such a shame..... you’ re such a pretty girl. Who wouldn’t love that kind of compliment? However my favourite is the ‘crazy’ guy. Also known as the guy with scrambled eggs. (A highly technical term for a head injury)
His stay started out with a lot of commotion. He was causing a disturbance with his yelling and creaming.I was returning from supper at home when I saw the police on the unit. Which had never happened before. Gladys ( she seemed to have her thumb on the pulse of things) informed us that the new guy was being sent to the psych hospital in St. Thomas. Things were calm for a few days until he returned.
Apparently he wasn’t ‘crazy’ just had a head injury (aka scrambled eggs) and when he was readmitted his room was at the end of the hall next to mine. One mornig I had woken up to some loud Def Leppard. He had brought his stereo with him this time and decided to rock out that morning. The stereo was promptly taken away. In the mornings I would see him wandering, more like staggering to and fro, the halls to take care of his personal hhygiene and shower. He would have messy hair and mismatching PJ’s that just didn’t look right. Even though he had the opportunity to shave and change he would stay in his PJ’s and not shave. As he got better his appearance began to change. It became more clean cut. The staggering reverted back to just walking. He exchanged his askew PJ’s for clothes.
I found out why he was hollering and yelling. Calling out for people help him. Not just a few times but for hours. The problem.....he was secured to the bed. He couldn’t be trusted with his own safety (and likely others) As he started to settle down he wasn’t secured any longer but had a nurse at the door guarding him. Eventually I would see him in the lounge area playing pool with a recreational therapist. He always had a staff member with him.
One day during his fuzzy times, he appeared at my door while I was watching TV and wanted to know if I wanted to go to a dance. (I wonder where he got that idea?) I replied that I didn’t dance since I was in a wheelchair. ‘That’s OK’ he said ‘I’ll push you around’ Why would anyone want me to go to a dance???? I likely was the best prospact since everyone else on the unit was almost 30 years older. Well at leasr someone asked.
He may have been there a few weeks. Time wasn’t that all important to me. Each day was much like the one before. I heard him talking to doctors trying to convince them he was fine since he knew the date and where he was. A few days later I heard him begging to go home. I’m sure time was standing still for him. I was happy for him at least he got to go home. I would stay for a few more months.....
His stay started out with a lot of commotion. He was causing a disturbance with his yelling and creaming.I was returning from supper at home when I saw the police on the unit. Which had never happened before. Gladys ( she seemed to have her thumb on the pulse of things) informed us that the new guy was being sent to the psych hospital in St. Thomas. Things were calm for a few days until he returned.
Apparently he wasn’t ‘crazy’ just had a head injury (aka scrambled eggs) and when he was readmitted his room was at the end of the hall next to mine. One mornig I had woken up to some loud Def Leppard. He had brought his stereo with him this time and decided to rock out that morning. The stereo was promptly taken away. In the mornings I would see him wandering, more like staggering to and fro, the halls to take care of his personal hhygiene and shower. He would have messy hair and mismatching PJ’s that just didn’t look right. Even though he had the opportunity to shave and change he would stay in his PJ’s and not shave. As he got better his appearance began to change. It became more clean cut. The staggering reverted back to just walking. He exchanged his askew PJ’s for clothes.
I found out why he was hollering and yelling. Calling out for people help him. Not just a few times but for hours. The problem.....he was secured to the bed. He couldn’t be trusted with his own safety (and likely others) As he started to settle down he wasn’t secured any longer but had a nurse at the door guarding him. Eventually I would see him in the lounge area playing pool with a recreational therapist. He always had a staff member with him.
One day during his fuzzy times, he appeared at my door while I was watching TV and wanted to know if I wanted to go to a dance. (I wonder where he got that idea?) I replied that I didn’t dance since I was in a wheelchair. ‘That’s OK’ he said ‘I’ll push you around’ Why would anyone want me to go to a dance???? I likely was the best prospact since everyone else on the unit was almost 30 years older. Well at leasr someone asked.
He may have been there a few weeks. Time wasn’t that all important to me. Each day was much like the one before. I heard him talking to doctors trying to convince them he was fine since he knew the date and where he was. A few days later I heard him begging to go home. I’m sure time was standing still for him. I was happy for him at least he got to go home. I would stay for a few more months.....
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Rec therapy
Recreation Therapy is intended to modify your old activities or find you new ones to enjoy. My first meeting with the recreation therapist did not go well. I feel so sorry for the woman who tried to do her job. I was a nightmare. She wanted to know what I enjoyed for recreational activities and at the thought of the answer I just started bawling. All of my answers involved walking, running and/or jumping. My interests at the time were running, walking my dog, volleyball, swimming and golf. The poor girl even suggested that there was a wheelchair golf course in London. Oh the tears. My first thought was how do you swing a club sitting down and my next thought was I won’t be in a wheelchair long enough to warrant looking into it, much less going. There was a bowling alley that was modified right in Parkwood Hospital. Noooo thank you. She mentioned gardening in the raised beds in the back of the hospital but again I was naive thinking I wouldn’t be there at the hospital long enough to take advantage. Boy was I wrong!
She wanted to know other interests. Which were computers, reading, movies or TV. I had a portable DVD player in my room and a TV so that filled much of the time. She informed me of the library where you could get books as well as movies. I definitely took advantage of the movies. The books weren’t a priority since reading wasn’t as easy on my eyes as before and I did have trouble comprehending storylines if they weren’t blatantly obvious.
So she showed me where the computer room was and we would go during our scheduled time. How boring for her. I would play solitaire and she would watch. My first encounter with typing was painful to watch as it was soooo slow. To make matters worse I wouldn’t remove my finger fast enough which would cause the letter to repeattttttttt. I would have to back space just the right amount of times or I would have to type the letter again and the whole process would have to start again.
A good friend was with me when I was trying to check my email. Oh the patience she had since it took me just about the entire 45 minutes just to get my password correct. I almost asked her to do it since I was feeling so self conscious. Luckily things have improved!
My biggest regret is not exploring other activities. Near the end of my stay my recreational therapist was on holidays and I had someone new filling in for her. She took me down to the ‘craft’ room and I tried painting a platter and found it most enjoyable. I likely wasn’t ready to try that in the beginning and my dexterity was quite impaired in the beginning. Trying something new is not a bad thing I just needed to have an open mind. Of which I did not. But I am making an effort to try new things. For example I am sewing now. I like it since it keeps my hands and mind busy. I still have some difficulty with understanding the patterns but quilts allow me to be creative and make up what I would like to do.
She wanted to know other interests. Which were computers, reading, movies or TV. I had a portable DVD player in my room and a TV so that filled much of the time. She informed me of the library where you could get books as well as movies. I definitely took advantage of the movies. The books weren’t a priority since reading wasn’t as easy on my eyes as before and I did have trouble comprehending storylines if they weren’t blatantly obvious.
So she showed me where the computer room was and we would go during our scheduled time. How boring for her. I would play solitaire and she would watch. My first encounter with typing was painful to watch as it was soooo slow. To make matters worse I wouldn’t remove my finger fast enough which would cause the letter to repeattttttttt. I would have to back space just the right amount of times or I would have to type the letter again and the whole process would have to start again.
A good friend was with me when I was trying to check my email. Oh the patience she had since it took me just about the entire 45 minutes just to get my password correct. I almost asked her to do it since I was feeling so self conscious. Luckily things have improved!
My biggest regret is not exploring other activities. Near the end of my stay my recreational therapist was on holidays and I had someone new filling in for her. She took me down to the ‘craft’ room and I tried painting a platter and found it most enjoyable. I likely wasn’t ready to try that in the beginning and my dexterity was quite impaired in the beginning. Trying something new is not a bad thing I just needed to have an open mind. Of which I did not. But I am making an effort to try new things. For example I am sewing now. I like it since it keeps my hands and mind busy. I still have some difficulty with understanding the patterns but quilts allow me to be creative and make up what I would like to do.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Speech Therapy
Speech Therapy was far less exciting, mainly it was because it was a one on one activity, with few distractions. However I was the distraction since I cried A LOT. Why in speech therapy? It was because I no longer was able to do something so simple. It also had something to do with the fact I was in a wheelchair. This wheelchair had all the accessories that would be needed to support someone that was very disabled. It had a head rest to support my noggin and a tray in the front so I wouldn’t fall out. Remembering that low point makes me so grateful for the walker and can I use as a step forward. I shouldn’t view them as a disgrace to my appearance but something I should be proud of.
I would be wheeled in to an office with just enough room to close the door. It would be me, the speech therapist his desk and for a month or so a student learning to be a speech pathologist. The lessons would be breathing techniques and a repetition of words and then later entire sentences. Trouble with the sentences is that I may forget what was said. Luckily I could still read and would be able to jog my memory by looking at the book.
My speech has improved greatly. In the beginning it was very flat and monotone. It was not smooth or fluid more jerky The ups and downs (inflection) were missing. The doctor would refer to my speech being affected due to the damage in the part of the brain called the Pons. Someone referred to my speech as once having an accent. At times it was broken; I may have needed to take a breath in the middle of a sentence. I would also find myself a little self conscious of that, so I wouldn’t speak as much. Or in the very least say I would say shorter sentences.
I never really gave much thought to how much my speech has improved but thinking back....I’m a little impressed about how far it has come. Not being able to speak at all to smooth speech with no breaks and my singing has improved as well. I won’t be singing a solo anytime soon but I will sing to the radio or a favourite song and not feel like I am speaking like a robot.
When I wasn’t speaking at all, I would have one sided conversations with the people that came to visit. These conversations were always in a voice that was crystal clear. Was that a sign of things to come?
I would be wheeled in to an office with just enough room to close the door. It would be me, the speech therapist his desk and for a month or so a student learning to be a speech pathologist. The lessons would be breathing techniques and a repetition of words and then later entire sentences. Trouble with the sentences is that I may forget what was said. Luckily I could still read and would be able to jog my memory by looking at the book.
My speech has improved greatly. In the beginning it was very flat and monotone. It was not smooth or fluid more jerky The ups and downs (inflection) were missing. The doctor would refer to my speech being affected due to the damage in the part of the brain called the Pons. Someone referred to my speech as once having an accent. At times it was broken; I may have needed to take a breath in the middle of a sentence. I would also find myself a little self conscious of that, so I wouldn’t speak as much. Or in the very least say I would say shorter sentences.
I never really gave much thought to how much my speech has improved but thinking back....I’m a little impressed about how far it has come. Not being able to speak at all to smooth speech with no breaks and my singing has improved as well. I won’t be singing a solo anytime soon but I will sing to the radio or a favourite song and not feel like I am speaking like a robot.
When I wasn’t speaking at all, I would have one sided conversations with the people that came to visit. These conversations were always in a voice that was crystal clear. Was that a sign of things to come?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I was recounting events of the ‘Parkwood’ months with a friend of mine who shared some moments at the hospital with me. She has since told me that at the time she wasn’t sure how I would endure my time in my new surroundings. After some thought I can say it was the belief that I would improve, taking it day by day, and some serious laughter along the way.
It was encouraged that friends or family accompany me as support during different therapies. One such time a good friend of mine was with me, she knew my preoccupation with looking your best. As we were sitting facing the communal gym I saw something that was incredibly funny. She knew exactly why I was staring and laughing. I know it was completely inappropriate but I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a man about 80 (who wasn’t) It appeared that he had just come from church. He had on black dress socks pulled up to mid calf with black lace up dress shoes. He was wearing brown polyester plaid shorts that came to an awkward length just above mid thigh and a white short sleeve dress shirt. It was a though he had taken his pants and jacket off and replaced them with shorts. The laughter was a nice change from my earlier cry fest earlier in the day. The laughter pulled me out of my own personal depression with the situation.
It is obvious that I was depressed about the change. (wouldn’t anyone??) I always thought I was positive and upbeat given the situation but what I am realizing is that what I was positive about was that things were going to get better. I would someday trade in the wheelchair for a cane and turn around trade the cane for nothing.
I am now a firm believer in a few things. I’ve lived it and experienced that laughter is the best medicine. I may have been sad about what was happening but I always was able to laugh. Laughter allows you to shed negativity and be positive. No matter what is in front of you. Being positive brings about positive change. I feel very strongly that you need to surround yourself with positive people that have a positive message. Since I had people coming to me with such strong positive messages, it was only natural to continue that positive vibe.
It was encouraged that friends or family accompany me as support during different therapies. One such time a good friend of mine was with me, she knew my preoccupation with looking your best. As we were sitting facing the communal gym I saw something that was incredibly funny. She knew exactly why I was staring and laughing. I know it was completely inappropriate but I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a man about 80 (who wasn’t) It appeared that he had just come from church. He had on black dress socks pulled up to mid calf with black lace up dress shoes. He was wearing brown polyester plaid shorts that came to an awkward length just above mid thigh and a white short sleeve dress shirt. It was a though he had taken his pants and jacket off and replaced them with shorts. The laughter was a nice change from my earlier cry fest earlier in the day. The laughter pulled me out of my own personal depression with the situation.
It is obvious that I was depressed about the change. (wouldn’t anyone??) I always thought I was positive and upbeat given the situation but what I am realizing is that what I was positive about was that things were going to get better. I would someday trade in the wheelchair for a cane and turn around trade the cane for nothing.
I am now a firm believer in a few things. I’ve lived it and experienced that laughter is the best medicine. I may have been sad about what was happening but I always was able to laugh. Laughter allows you to shed negativity and be positive. No matter what is in front of you. Being positive brings about positive change. I feel very strongly that you need to surround yourself with positive people that have a positive message. Since I had people coming to me with such strong positive messages, it was only natural to continue that positive vibe.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The funny side of Parkwood
Parkwood was very structured. Therapies were scheduled and tracked on a wipe board near the nurses’ station. It was all very much regimented. My therapies took up much of the day beginning at 10 until noon and again from noon until mid afternoon then it were time for a 4:30 supper. After about a month had passed I was able to go home for supper when Mike was able to pick me up until about 7:00-8:00. With the scheduled therapies and the regular trips home the 5 ½ month stay went fairly fast. It was almost like it was my job to go to therapy. Monetarily the pay was bad but the regular therapies meant I was getting better all the time. That was the trade off.
After a shower and breakfast, mornings begun with Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, Speech Therapy and a weekly Recreational Therapy. Each therapy targeted a deficiency I was experiencing. Physical Therapy dealt with teaching me balance and walking again (which I am still working on). Occupational therapy was arm including finger (writing) movement as well as any mental deficiencies. Speech Therapy is obvious. It also dealt with the correct breathing while talking. Recreational therapy introduced new ways of enjoying old activities as well as new activities and hobbies.
Physical Therapy was a priority. Gym time was available in the afternoons. This was part of Physical therapy that increased cardio and strength. I have always been one to work out so this was a welcomed activity and I would spend extra time on the bike, improving my cardio. I would increase the time and level each week.
I looked forward to occupational therapy since it had a great deal of interaction with both patients and therapists. It was basically a room full of patients and therapists working one on one on each individuals needs. I would sometimes overhear what else was going on in the room. One particular time a patient and therapist was working across the table and I couldn’t help but overhear. (However I was a bit of an eavesdropper) but in this case it was purely accidental but funny nonetheless. The therapist was asking the patient the cost of some popular grocery items.
The young therapist asked an older Polish ‘grandma’ what would be the cost of a loaf of bread and a then a can of Coke. Her response was $10.00 for the loaf of bread and $10.00 for the can of coke she said in her thick polish accent. I started giggling and said laughing under my breath to my therapist ‘I wonder where she shops’?
Karma slapped me in the face as she got up and walked away at the end of her session as I sat waiting in my wheelchair for a porter to come and wheel me to my next appointment.
At the end of working out in the gym this same short polish grandma, Agnes, decided to be helpful and push my wheelchair upstairs to my room. It was myself, Benj a physio therapist and this tiny woman with a very can do attitude. When Benj turned around to speak with someone, this woman began pushing the wheelchair for him while he spoke to someone that he knew.
Benj joined us just as the elevator doors were opening. Agnes was so short she couldn’t see over my head even as I sat in the wheelchair but that didn’t stop her from wanting to help. The doors opened with a ping the occupants got off and Agnes proceeded forward pushing my feet into the side and then she hit my feet into the back wall of the elevator as she tried to get the wheelchair and herself before the doors closed. From my perspective it was bang bang. Her reaction was as though nothing wrong was happening.
It was an accident waiting to happen since the combination of myself being tall and Agnes being short she couldn’t see over my head. So one couldn’t expect her to see my feet or any object they might hit. When we reached the 3rd floor Agnes proceeded to her next appointment in the opposite direction and Benj and I laughed as we proceeded to my room.
I am fairly sure I would have been bored stiff and even more depressed with the situation each day if I wasn’t able to laugh at the laughable moments. I may cry a lot more now but thankfully I laugh just as much. I guess that is my lesson ‘don’t take life too seriously’. Find the things that are funny and laugh at them... discreetly
After a shower and breakfast, mornings begun with Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, Speech Therapy and a weekly Recreational Therapy. Each therapy targeted a deficiency I was experiencing. Physical Therapy dealt with teaching me balance and walking again (which I am still working on). Occupational therapy was arm including finger (writing) movement as well as any mental deficiencies. Speech Therapy is obvious. It also dealt with the correct breathing while talking. Recreational therapy introduced new ways of enjoying old activities as well as new activities and hobbies.
Physical Therapy was a priority. Gym time was available in the afternoons. This was part of Physical therapy that increased cardio and strength. I have always been one to work out so this was a welcomed activity and I would spend extra time on the bike, improving my cardio. I would increase the time and level each week.
I looked forward to occupational therapy since it had a great deal of interaction with both patients and therapists. It was basically a room full of patients and therapists working one on one on each individuals needs. I would sometimes overhear what else was going on in the room. One particular time a patient and therapist was working across the table and I couldn’t help but overhear. (However I was a bit of an eavesdropper) but in this case it was purely accidental but funny nonetheless. The therapist was asking the patient the cost of some popular grocery items.
The young therapist asked an older Polish ‘grandma’ what would be the cost of a loaf of bread and a then a can of Coke. Her response was $10.00 for the loaf of bread and $10.00 for the can of coke she said in her thick polish accent. I started giggling and said laughing under my breath to my therapist ‘I wonder where she shops’?
Karma slapped me in the face as she got up and walked away at the end of her session as I sat waiting in my wheelchair for a porter to come and wheel me to my next appointment.
At the end of working out in the gym this same short polish grandma, Agnes, decided to be helpful and push my wheelchair upstairs to my room. It was myself, Benj a physio therapist and this tiny woman with a very can do attitude. When Benj turned around to speak with someone, this woman began pushing the wheelchair for him while he spoke to someone that he knew.
Benj joined us just as the elevator doors were opening. Agnes was so short she couldn’t see over my head even as I sat in the wheelchair but that didn’t stop her from wanting to help. The doors opened with a ping the occupants got off and Agnes proceeded forward pushing my feet into the side and then she hit my feet into the back wall of the elevator as she tried to get the wheelchair and herself before the doors closed. From my perspective it was bang bang. Her reaction was as though nothing wrong was happening.
It was an accident waiting to happen since the combination of myself being tall and Agnes being short she couldn’t see over my head. So one couldn’t expect her to see my feet or any object they might hit. When we reached the 3rd floor Agnes proceeded to her next appointment in the opposite direction and Benj and I laughed as we proceeded to my room.
I am fairly sure I would have been bored stiff and even more depressed with the situation each day if I wasn’t able to laugh at the laughable moments. I may cry a lot more now but thankfully I laugh just as much. I guess that is my lesson ‘don’t take life too seriously’. Find the things that are funny and laugh at them... discreetly
Monday, September 27, 2010
The Dining Room
It was my first day at Parkwood and my first supper. Lunch and supper was eaten in a common dining room. It was a room that had windows facing the elevators. My dinner was a ‘modified diet’, aka baby food consistency.
A few things happened on that first day and a few weeks later that has stuck with me this entire time.
The first was the unexpected arrival of my mom. She had mentioned the day before she couldn’t make into London. Therefore I wasn’t expecting her, to see her familiar silhouette walk off the elevator was so overwhelming. The sun was shining through the windows behind her and was casting a halo like glow around her. It was the stuff you see in movies. Music should have accompanied that moment. I was so happy I couldn’t stop crying long enough to eat. Eventually they took me to my room since I was more than likely disturbing others.
The second thing I think of often happened a few weeks later, just as I was getting in the swing of things and making some progress. I was eating in the dining room and could hear a woman crying. It was a gut wrenching cry. It was all too familiar cry to me, since I made that noise on a regular basis. The word in the dining room was a type of hushed buzzing. I finally heard that the patient was being transferred to a nursing home the next day.
Was that her destiny? The miracle maker of a hospital didn’t work for her. I never met her and am completely unaware of her condition. I can say that my condition was limited and the overall prognosis was not positive. I can say that I had huge support and many people telling me things would get better. I had the advantage of people telling me stories of people achieving things that doctor’s didn’t feel very optimistic about. I’ll bet she didn’t believe nor had the support I did. Telling me it was going to get better. I think of that day when I am feeling sorry for myself and need to be reminded that things could be so much worse. Sharing that right now is making me appreciate today for what it is and not what it could have been had I not hd the stroke
I often referred to dinner time as the Swiss Chalet club. Which would make my mom furious since she likes Swiss Chalet Dinner was at a strikingly early 4:30. I made the comparison to Swiss Chalet because whenever I ate at the restaurant there was a room full of older people. The dining room was full of older people except for 3 of us being the youngest by 30 years. Sadly the other two other younger patients left soon after I was admitted. So it was me with the older people. The food was nowhere near Swiss Chalet
The meeting of everyone in the dining room allowed for discussions. This didn’t happen on a regular basis but one patient ‘Gladys’ was very vocal and initiated conversations while she was a patient. (I would see many patients come and go because my stay was so long. 51/2 months) Gladys would ask how everyone was doing in their therapies. I suspect she was trying to compare notes and seeing where everyone was and how they were doing up until that point as a way to measure her own success. Initially I was hesitant to share since my recovery was said to be out of the ordinary, likely since I was so young compared to everyone else but soon I realized it was giving her hope. Hope and then she would start to believe it could be done. So I thought if it’s giving hope then age difference be dammed. Believing in herself was half the battle. Mind over matter.
Two good friends of mine were getting married a week after I was admitted. It wasn’t unusual to be allowed to attend different events or be allowed to go home for the weekends. It was unusual I was allowed to go to the ceremony so early on in my stay.
Another friend of mine made sure I looked good. She outfitted me from head to toe. She did the shopping, made a few selections and let me pick which I liked the best. I know she does not want to be mentioned by name. As trivial as it may seem it was a big deal. I went to the wedding self conscious of the wheel chair (and necessary head rest) but not by my outfit. So thank you.
A few things happened on that first day and a few weeks later that has stuck with me this entire time.
The first was the unexpected arrival of my mom. She had mentioned the day before she couldn’t make into London. Therefore I wasn’t expecting her, to see her familiar silhouette walk off the elevator was so overwhelming. The sun was shining through the windows behind her and was casting a halo like glow around her. It was the stuff you see in movies. Music should have accompanied that moment. I was so happy I couldn’t stop crying long enough to eat. Eventually they took me to my room since I was more than likely disturbing others.
The second thing I think of often happened a few weeks later, just as I was getting in the swing of things and making some progress. I was eating in the dining room and could hear a woman crying. It was a gut wrenching cry. It was all too familiar cry to me, since I made that noise on a regular basis. The word in the dining room was a type of hushed buzzing. I finally heard that the patient was being transferred to a nursing home the next day.
Was that her destiny? The miracle maker of a hospital didn’t work for her. I never met her and am completely unaware of her condition. I can say that my condition was limited and the overall prognosis was not positive. I can say that I had huge support and many people telling me things would get better. I had the advantage of people telling me stories of people achieving things that doctor’s didn’t feel very optimistic about. I’ll bet she didn’t believe nor had the support I did. Telling me it was going to get better. I think of that day when I am feeling sorry for myself and need to be reminded that things could be so much worse. Sharing that right now is making me appreciate today for what it is and not what it could have been had I not hd the stroke
I often referred to dinner time as the Swiss Chalet club. Which would make my mom furious since she likes Swiss Chalet Dinner was at a strikingly early 4:30. I made the comparison to Swiss Chalet because whenever I ate at the restaurant there was a room full of older people. The dining room was full of older people except for 3 of us being the youngest by 30 years. Sadly the other two other younger patients left soon after I was admitted. So it was me with the older people. The food was nowhere near Swiss Chalet
The meeting of everyone in the dining room allowed for discussions. This didn’t happen on a regular basis but one patient ‘Gladys’ was very vocal and initiated conversations while she was a patient. (I would see many patients come and go because my stay was so long. 51/2 months) Gladys would ask how everyone was doing in their therapies. I suspect she was trying to compare notes and seeing where everyone was and how they were doing up until that point as a way to measure her own success. Initially I was hesitant to share since my recovery was said to be out of the ordinary, likely since I was so young compared to everyone else but soon I realized it was giving her hope. Hope and then she would start to believe it could be done. So I thought if it’s giving hope then age difference be dammed. Believing in herself was half the battle. Mind over matter.
Two good friends of mine were getting married a week after I was admitted. It wasn’t unusual to be allowed to attend different events or be allowed to go home for the weekends. It was unusual I was allowed to go to the ceremony so early on in my stay.
Another friend of mine made sure I looked good. She outfitted me from head to toe. She did the shopping, made a few selections and let me pick which I liked the best. I know she does not want to be mentioned by name. As trivial as it may seem it was a big deal. I went to the wedding self conscious of the wheel chair (and necessary head rest) but not by my outfit. So thank you.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Being Admitted to Parkwood
I looked forward to the new phase but was scared as hell. I may have seen a lot of repetition and my days were the same but at least I knew what to expect. A kind nurse even gave me a nibble of chocolate as a going away present. It was fairly hush hush until it happened. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to the nurse’s that cared for me the most. They really made the difference. I have a new admiration and respect for nurses. They really have to be special people to do what they do. Thank you.
It was a strange sensation to be viewing the city from the back window of an ambulance. Prior to the stroke I had been living in London. The strangest part of it all was the route to the hospital was very familiar to me. Parkwood Hospital was only 2 blocks from my house. I was traveling on roads that took me to the local grocery store, video store, restaurants and my running route I had run for 6 years. It felt good to see the way things had been. I was riveted despite the cute ambulance attendant and the conversation with him. It just seemed like I should be out in the cars participating in my surroundings not watching them from the ambulance.
We pulled up to the entrance and I was wheeled in the automatic sliding doors than in the elevator to the 3rd floor and down the halls. It was like it was happening in slow motion. I remember looking around me trying to take in all of my new surroundings. Just talking about it takes me back to being on a stretcher and viewing things from a laying down position. I was trying to read the signs as I zipped by, I was just happy and proud I could read and understand them.
I was deposited in my new room that I shared with a much older woman. My new nurse pulled the curtain since she had to take a rectal swab to ensure I wasn’t bringing in any bacteria or disease. This procedure that was slightly embarrassing. But at that point I was used to being poked and prodded. I have come to learn that in those situations your body is not your own anymore. Privacy went out the window. I’m far less modest now.
After the nurse shared with me the lay of the land and what to expect she left me on my own. The poor woman sharing the room with me had to hear me. I just cried in disbelief that this was really happening. Thankfully I wasn’t alone for long. Mom couldn’t make it (it was the first time since being admitted) but it would be soon time for Mike to be off work.
It was a strange sensation to be viewing the city from the back window of an ambulance. Prior to the stroke I had been living in London. The strangest part of it all was the route to the hospital was very familiar to me. Parkwood Hospital was only 2 blocks from my house. I was traveling on roads that took me to the local grocery store, video store, restaurants and my running route I had run for 6 years. It felt good to see the way things had been. I was riveted despite the cute ambulance attendant and the conversation with him. It just seemed like I should be out in the cars participating in my surroundings not watching them from the ambulance.
We pulled up to the entrance and I was wheeled in the automatic sliding doors than in the elevator to the 3rd floor and down the halls. It was like it was happening in slow motion. I remember looking around me trying to take in all of my new surroundings. Just talking about it takes me back to being on a stretcher and viewing things from a laying down position. I was trying to read the signs as I zipped by, I was just happy and proud I could read and understand them.
I was deposited in my new room that I shared with a much older woman. My new nurse pulled the curtain since she had to take a rectal swab to ensure I wasn’t bringing in any bacteria or disease. This procedure that was slightly embarrassing. But at that point I was used to being poked and prodded. I have come to learn that in those situations your body is not your own anymore. Privacy went out the window. I’m far less modest now.
After the nurse shared with me the lay of the land and what to expect she left me on my own. The poor woman sharing the room with me had to hear me. I just cried in disbelief that this was really happening. Thankfully I wasn’t alone for long. Mom couldn’t make it (it was the first time since being admitted) but it would be soon time for Mike to be off work.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Transfer
My days at University Hospital were numbered, and really it was about time for me to leave. My health concerns had cleared up and a bed had opened up. It was common for discussions about a patient to occur at the patient’s room door. The doctor’s assumed the patient couldn’t hear what was being said but I had. I had not heard the entire conversation. I had heard something about just before or just after the long weekend in May.
I couldn’t help but look forward to the long weekend. In the past I had looked forward to the long weekend because it was a type of kick off for the summer and some serious partying would occur. This long weekend held a different significance it meant....... moving forward. I didn’t look forward to weekends while in the hospital since it meant that my routine was interrupted. The normal staff had the weekends off. But this weekend couldn’t come fast enough. I had never been formally told that this was actually happening. Nonetheless I was convinced of what I had heard.
The day finally arrived.
It began the same as every other morning. It wasn’t until a few hours before it was actually going to happen that I was officially told I was being transferred. That’s when the anxiety set in. I can only guess the reason for the anxiety. As boring as things were, at least I knew what to expect. It was bittersweet. I was moving on but leaving behind the comfort of familiarity.
I couldn’t help but look forward to the long weekend. In the past I had looked forward to the long weekend because it was a type of kick off for the summer and some serious partying would occur. This long weekend held a different significance it meant....... moving forward. I didn’t look forward to weekends while in the hospital since it meant that my routine was interrupted. The normal staff had the weekends off. But this weekend couldn’t come fast enough. I had never been formally told that this was actually happening. Nonetheless I was convinced of what I had heard.
The day finally arrived.
It began the same as every other morning. It wasn’t until a few hours before it was actually going to happen that I was officially told I was being transferred. That’s when the anxiety set in. I can only guess the reason for the anxiety. As boring as things were, at least I knew what to expect. It was bittersweet. I was moving on but leaving behind the comfort of familiarity.
Monday, September 13, 2010
My daily Life at University Hospital
The tube was out and I was relearning how to talk. Thankfully, I’m a talker so I am getting lots of practice. My stay at University hospital was very boring. Each day was almost identical to the one previous. It was the sameness that I grew comfortable with and looked forward to the same things day after day.
Days started with a shower. The shower procedure very unique. I would be transferred onto a 'shower bed' that was water repellent (like a raincoat) with wheels. I was covered only by a blanket and wheeled to the shower room. It was suggested that I continue to use the soap and shampoo I would at home. This way I had familiar smells around me. The nurses would shower me as I lay on the shower bed since I couldn’t do it myself. Without fail the nurses would comment on how nice my shampoo and soaps (Aveda) smelled. It did provide a small comfort to have the familiar around me during a very unfamiliar time.
After personal hygiene was taken care of and my hair was brushed the next thing on the agenda was to lie in bed watching TV. Sometimes my TV was interrupted by a therapy team. Physical Therapists and an occupational therapist would come to my room for 1 hour of therapy. My very first therapy was full of tears it was then confirmed for me(the doctors likely knew, but I didn't).....I couldn’t sit on the side of the bed without falling over.
Before their initial appointment it hadn’t occurred to me to even try. I guess on some level I knew that that would pose some problems. The cause of the instability was the fact that I had NO balance.
Over time I progressed to standing with support. I would look out the window and see the parking garage and busy road. This road was significant since I would travel either running, walking or via bus along this road to get to University. How some things come full circle? I was once a student at the campus and would trek around University Hospital to get to my classes. Now I was a patient within the building that was a nuisance to walk around. (What I would give to be able to walk on the campus, even in the cold and slush)
Therapy was pretty basic. Stand in place or move and\or stack cones. Never both at the same time, that would be too complicated. Stacking things was much like the games I would get my younger brother to play when he was a baby......This is what I was reduced to. The thing that stands out-is that my brain was alert and could recognize the activity was very simple and infant like but my body would not cooperate and easily do the task. My movements were very jerky and erratic and would even miss the target altogether.
After therapy I would have an afternoon of more TV, except I am not into soap Opera’s so TV wasn’t that exciting. I’m not sure what I watched- likely HGTV. What I am sure of is the countdown would have begun for visiting hours. Occasionally I would have someone unexpected in the afternoon. A friend or someone that knew m,e that was at the hospital for another reason and would stop by. Later on after work it was mostly my family; Mom, Dad, and Mike. After supper time ( not mine since I wasn’t eating) Jon might come if he wasn’t working. This was also a time when others would come. So I enjoyed the evenings since they were filled with variety. The early afternoons was a time I had to amuse myself, even though it was only a few hours, went so slooww and dragged on forever.
It occurred to me in early days I realized I was not dressed for visitors. I only had the pathetic hospital gown and NO bra. I was self conscious about that for a bit but that thought went away when I started being dressed in some of my comfy clothes that I would have worn bumming around the house but still No bra. That must of been of serious importance since in my delusional haze I had a dream I ran home and got one.
Going to the bathroom was out of the question so I had to wear adult diapers. I got to the point that I would hold it almost all day because it was embarrassing to alert the nurse I needed to be changed. Just admitting that is embarrassing but that was the reality. It wasn’t until I had been discharged from all hospitals that I thought about an alternative-the bedpan. When I was admitted into Parkwood I was put on the toilet on a regular basis (when I had to go). But due to my no balance the nurse stayed with me. Bowel movements became less private.
At the time it felt like hospital stays were going to be create huge hole in my life and at the time were consuming my lifebut looking back on it...it’s just a small blip. I've now learned not to sweat stuff because it will improve OR with the passage of time seem less and less important in the grand scheme of things.
Days started with a shower. The shower procedure very unique. I would be transferred onto a 'shower bed' that was water repellent (like a raincoat) with wheels. I was covered only by a blanket and wheeled to the shower room. It was suggested that I continue to use the soap and shampoo I would at home. This way I had familiar smells around me. The nurses would shower me as I lay on the shower bed since I couldn’t do it myself. Without fail the nurses would comment on how nice my shampoo and soaps (Aveda) smelled. It did provide a small comfort to have the familiar around me during a very unfamiliar time.
After personal hygiene was taken care of and my hair was brushed the next thing on the agenda was to lie in bed watching TV. Sometimes my TV was interrupted by a therapy team. Physical Therapists and an occupational therapist would come to my room for 1 hour of therapy. My very first therapy was full of tears it was then confirmed for me(the doctors likely knew, but I didn't).....I couldn’t sit on the side of the bed without falling over.
Before their initial appointment it hadn’t occurred to me to even try. I guess on some level I knew that that would pose some problems. The cause of the instability was the fact that I had NO balance.
Over time I progressed to standing with support. I would look out the window and see the parking garage and busy road. This road was significant since I would travel either running, walking or via bus along this road to get to University. How some things come full circle? I was once a student at the campus and would trek around University Hospital to get to my classes. Now I was a patient within the building that was a nuisance to walk around. (What I would give to be able to walk on the campus, even in the cold and slush)
Therapy was pretty basic. Stand in place or move and\or stack cones. Never both at the same time, that would be too complicated. Stacking things was much like the games I would get my younger brother to play when he was a baby......This is what I was reduced to. The thing that stands out-is that my brain was alert and could recognize the activity was very simple and infant like but my body would not cooperate and easily do the task. My movements were very jerky and erratic and would even miss the target altogether.
After therapy I would have an afternoon of more TV, except I am not into soap Opera’s so TV wasn’t that exciting. I’m not sure what I watched- likely HGTV. What I am sure of is the countdown would have begun for visiting hours. Occasionally I would have someone unexpected in the afternoon. A friend or someone that knew m,e that was at the hospital for another reason and would stop by. Later on after work it was mostly my family; Mom, Dad, and Mike. After supper time ( not mine since I wasn’t eating) Jon might come if he wasn’t working. This was also a time when others would come. So I enjoyed the evenings since they were filled with variety. The early afternoons was a time I had to amuse myself, even though it was only a few hours, went so slooww and dragged on forever.
It occurred to me in early days I realized I was not dressed for visitors. I only had the pathetic hospital gown and NO bra. I was self conscious about that for a bit but that thought went away when I started being dressed in some of my comfy clothes that I would have worn bumming around the house but still No bra. That must of been of serious importance since in my delusional haze I had a dream I ran home and got one.
Going to the bathroom was out of the question so I had to wear adult diapers. I got to the point that I would hold it almost all day because it was embarrassing to alert the nurse I needed to be changed. Just admitting that is embarrassing but that was the reality. It wasn’t until I had been discharged from all hospitals that I thought about an alternative-the bedpan. When I was admitted into Parkwood I was put on the toilet on a regular basis (when I had to go). But due to my no balance the nurse stayed with me. Bowel movements became less private.
At the time it felt like hospital stays were going to be create huge hole in my life and at the time were consuming my lifebut looking back on it...it’s just a small blip. I've now learned not to sweat stuff because it will improve OR with the passage of time seem less and less important in the grand scheme of things.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Motivation
At a time when things were looking very bleak, a few questions nagged at me. The first was; how much better was this going to get? At that point I was still lying in a bed with limited movements, my talking was jumbled, I wasn’t eating. People would try to reassure me that things would improve. They were right, but at the time I had a hard time believing them. However those stories would echo in my mind as a collective unit that things can get better.
In the beginning my gut response to the thought it would possibly was to cry (when wasn’t it). I thought ‘Here I am lying in bed with limited movement, how was it going to get better?’ It appeared to me that that was it. I wasn’t moving part of my body, breathing on my own, nor talking without effort. It was going to get better!? But people persisted not knowing my inner thoughts that would refute their well meaning success stories. I’m glad they shared these stories since they later had an impact on my recovery. Eventually I started to believe them.
It was when I was transferred to the Rehabilitation hospital (Parkwood) my attitude had swung to more consistent positive mindset. Fortunately the many success stories coupled with the following gave me additional motivation; I shared a room with a woman 88 years old. I was told she came to the hospital in bad condition and was being discharged using a walker. I thought this place performs miracles. In addition an article was published in the newspaper ranking Parkwood hospital as the best stroke recovery hospital in Canada. I clung to those two positive thoughts daily.
The most important motivating factor in having a positive attitude was meeting with a woman around my age who had experienced a stroke and had a recovery that I could aspire and strive for. Her father told me that I was further along than she had been at the same time in her recovery. The most significant event that made me so hopeful was just meeting her and seeing her walk towards me as I sit trapped in a wheelchair. It really did emphasize the results with my own eyes. It gave me the inspiration to push forward with an idea of what could happen. I had the all important hope now I just had to believe it and work hard. The skys the limit. I belive now more than ever, that you can achieve whatever you set your mind to!
In the beginning my gut response to the thought it would possibly was to cry (when wasn’t it). I thought ‘Here I am lying in bed with limited movement, how was it going to get better?’ It appeared to me that that was it. I wasn’t moving part of my body, breathing on my own, nor talking without effort. It was going to get better!? But people persisted not knowing my inner thoughts that would refute their well meaning success stories. I’m glad they shared these stories since they later had an impact on my recovery. Eventually I started to believe them.
It was when I was transferred to the Rehabilitation hospital (Parkwood) my attitude had swung to more consistent positive mindset. Fortunately the many success stories coupled with the following gave me additional motivation; I shared a room with a woman 88 years old. I was told she came to the hospital in bad condition and was being discharged using a walker. I thought this place performs miracles. In addition an article was published in the newspaper ranking Parkwood hospital as the best stroke recovery hospital in Canada. I clung to those two positive thoughts daily.
The most important motivating factor in having a positive attitude was meeting with a woman around my age who had experienced a stroke and had a recovery that I could aspire and strive for. Her father told me that I was further along than she had been at the same time in her recovery. The most significant event that made me so hopeful was just meeting her and seeing her walk towards me as I sit trapped in a wheelchair. It really did emphasize the results with my own eyes. It gave me the inspiration to push forward with an idea of what could happen. I had the all important hope now I just had to believe it and work hard. The skys the limit. I belive now more than ever, that you can achieve whatever you set your mind to!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Laughter the Best Medicine
My niece and nephew have always been a source of laughter and Joy. When they lived closer I would make special trips just to visit and get my “fill”. They always make me laugh with what they say or do. They were faced with a very grown up issue at a very young age. Andrew was only 5 and Abbey only 3. They proved to be resilient and took it all in stride. As far as I know they haven’t been scarred from this event.
When they would file in the room I would be so happy I would cry. One particular visit stands out in my mind. Aaron, my brother, had Andrew in his arms. Behind him strode a little girl(Abbey) with a mass of curly hair bouncing with each step. Abbey had a purpose that showed in her long strides and pumping arms. Amanda his wife pulled up the rear carrying coats and bags.
Andrew being older and having more of an understanding of the gravity of the situation had a cautious approach. This is completely reasonable since they were entering a hospital room with beeping and hissing machines running to and from what was the fun aunt. Not the motionless crying aunt. Prior to the stroke we would be played tag, or little sticks hockey or any number of kids games or toys. Now I was lying on a bed, just happy to see them. Abbey on the other hand was just fearless and did not show any nervousness. Often she would sit on the bed with me completely unafraid and curiously tryed to push at the buttons that would adjust the bed.
Abbey is the cause of gales of laughter. She has proven this time and again over the years with her dramatic and no nonsense personality. Unfortunately in this situation I don’t fully remember the details but it is funny nonetheless. My sister in law has filled me in and we have laughed about it since.
The observation room wasn’t equipped for patients having visitors, therefore there weren’t chairs. A little girl would need to stand on a chair or sit on the bed to see, so the only logical place was to sit at the foot of the bed. At that time it was Amanda and Abbey. The visit was usual; they came to see me lying in the bed waiting for me to pull through....It was a serious time. At the end of the visit it was discovered that Abbey had been sitting on my pee bag with everyone being completely unaware and proceeding as usual.
Fortunately as easily as I cry I also laugh. It seems like I find the funnier things in life even in terrible situations. I know a good laugh makes me smile and can make the grave situation not so intolerable. It helped me deal with the crap, and there was a lot of crap. Instead of looking back on what a terrible time it was, Amanda and I have chosen to laugh at it instead. It is just more fun. This time it is tears of laughter not sorrow. Thanks Amanda
When they would file in the room I would be so happy I would cry. One particular visit stands out in my mind. Aaron, my brother, had Andrew in his arms. Behind him strode a little girl(Abbey) with a mass of curly hair bouncing with each step. Abbey had a purpose that showed in her long strides and pumping arms. Amanda his wife pulled up the rear carrying coats and bags.
Andrew being older and having more of an understanding of the gravity of the situation had a cautious approach. This is completely reasonable since they were entering a hospital room with beeping and hissing machines running to and from what was the fun aunt. Not the motionless crying aunt. Prior to the stroke we would be played tag, or little sticks hockey or any number of kids games or toys. Now I was lying on a bed, just happy to see them. Abbey on the other hand was just fearless and did not show any nervousness. Often she would sit on the bed with me completely unafraid and curiously tryed to push at the buttons that would adjust the bed.
Abbey is the cause of gales of laughter. She has proven this time and again over the years with her dramatic and no nonsense personality. Unfortunately in this situation I don’t fully remember the details but it is funny nonetheless. My sister in law has filled me in and we have laughed about it since.
The observation room wasn’t equipped for patients having visitors, therefore there weren’t chairs. A little girl would need to stand on a chair or sit on the bed to see, so the only logical place was to sit at the foot of the bed. At that time it was Amanda and Abbey. The visit was usual; they came to see me lying in the bed waiting for me to pull through....It was a serious time. At the end of the visit it was discovered that Abbey had been sitting on my pee bag with everyone being completely unaware and proceeding as usual.
Fortunately as easily as I cry I also laugh. It seems like I find the funnier things in life even in terrible situations. I know a good laugh makes me smile and can make the grave situation not so intolerable. It helped me deal with the crap, and there was a lot of crap. Instead of looking back on what a terrible time it was, Amanda and I have chosen to laugh at it instead. It is just more fun. This time it is tears of laughter not sorrow. Thanks Amanda
Monday, August 23, 2010
When will I talk?
The tube in my throat was scheduled to come out. I would finally be able to speak! Say goodbye to the one sided conversations where visitors would talk to one another and I would follow along quietly participating in the conversation in my mind. I finally would actually be able to speak the things only I could hear.
The conversations sounded like me but no one could hear but me. A calming one sided conversation I had with myself; was my voice telling me everything was going to be fine. FINE????!!!! I am not sure why I was telling myself that when things were at their worst. Basically I was just lying in a bed. At the time I thought my life was over. For about two months I did a lot of crying. At least until things were getting better. Life as I knew it was over. But you know....... this life can be a struggle but it isn't so bad. I try to make the best of it.
The thought of the tube coming out had me scared to tears.(of course) Was it going to hurt? More importantly, what if I wasn’t going to be able to breathe? That was an irrational thought since the doctors had thought of that. To prepare, over the course of a week or so, a plug was inserted into the tube forcing air in through my mouth and nose instead of the tube in my throat. Every time the nurse would enter the room with the pink coloured plug I would panic a little in my mind. However throughout the day I wouldn’t give it a second thought.
Tears ran down my face onto my pillow just before the tube was painlessly removed and a band aid was placed over the hole. A band aid? Leaving a scar that is a permanent reminder. Having it removed was a snap so I am not sure why the tears? It was likely the fear of the unknown?
The biggest problem was not the removal. It was the fact that I still couldn’t talk. I would move my lips but nothing would come out. MEEE NOT TALK??!!! That is unheard of. (I’m a talker) So the one sided conversations would continue. Visitors were talking over me, about me, and no one heard what I had to say.
Thankfully only a few days later I spoke. It wasn’t clear and has taken years to get it to this point. But I could talk. What a relief. I never really thought I wouldn’t talk. However the unthinkable had happened so I thought what if I didn’t?
I consciously made my first word be my then husband’s name. Mike. I wanted to surprise him with something positive when he came in the room. It was far from clear but eventually I would be able to have a conversation with him. Later on a friend told me she heard him say that all he wanted was to be able to sit and talk to me. Well that came true and........
Mike told me that he would stand outside of my room listening to me practice. In order to make my stay more comfortable pictures were brought in and posted along the shelf facing me. This was supposed to give me a feel of home. To practice I would say the names of the people in the picture. Andrew, Abbey, Fisher (my dog at the time, she’s dearly departed and I have a new dog) Mike, Jon, Aaron, Amanda..... you get the idea.
As the months and years have passed, I have gained an inflection, better rhythm and don’t to catch my breath when talking. It is not so monotone and flat. More like before. A few people have even mentioned their surprise on how much better it has gotten. I even sounded like the old me when I had a cold. I didn’t really want to get over that cold.
However I am still aware that it is far from perfect. I need to be careful not to talk quickly. Which is hard since my brain will move fast. When I’m tired, laughing or crying it makes it more difficult to hear. The biggest obstacle to learning to speak clearer is that the words I am trying to say are perfectly clear to me in my head but not to the listener. So I am not aware when it is not coming out right unless I see a quizzical or a blank stare—I’ll then repeat myself and speak slower and enunciate.
The conversations sounded like me but no one could hear but me. A calming one sided conversation I had with myself; was my voice telling me everything was going to be fine. FINE????!!!! I am not sure why I was telling myself that when things were at their worst. Basically I was just lying in a bed. At the time I thought my life was over. For about two months I did a lot of crying. At least until things were getting better. Life as I knew it was over. But you know....... this life can be a struggle but it isn't so bad. I try to make the best of it.
The thought of the tube coming out had me scared to tears.(of course) Was it going to hurt? More importantly, what if I wasn’t going to be able to breathe? That was an irrational thought since the doctors had thought of that. To prepare, over the course of a week or so, a plug was inserted into the tube forcing air in through my mouth and nose instead of the tube in my throat. Every time the nurse would enter the room with the pink coloured plug I would panic a little in my mind. However throughout the day I wouldn’t give it a second thought.
Tears ran down my face onto my pillow just before the tube was painlessly removed and a band aid was placed over the hole. A band aid? Leaving a scar that is a permanent reminder. Having it removed was a snap so I am not sure why the tears? It was likely the fear of the unknown?
The biggest problem was not the removal. It was the fact that I still couldn’t talk. I would move my lips but nothing would come out. MEEE NOT TALK??!!! That is unheard of. (I’m a talker) So the one sided conversations would continue. Visitors were talking over me, about me, and no one heard what I had to say.
Thankfully only a few days later I spoke. It wasn’t clear and has taken years to get it to this point. But I could talk. What a relief. I never really thought I wouldn’t talk. However the unthinkable had happened so I thought what if I didn’t?
I consciously made my first word be my then husband’s name. Mike. I wanted to surprise him with something positive when he came in the room. It was far from clear but eventually I would be able to have a conversation with him. Later on a friend told me she heard him say that all he wanted was to be able to sit and talk to me. Well that came true and........
Mike told me that he would stand outside of my room listening to me practice. In order to make my stay more comfortable pictures were brought in and posted along the shelf facing me. This was supposed to give me a feel of home. To practice I would say the names of the people in the picture. Andrew, Abbey, Fisher (my dog at the time, she’s dearly departed and I have a new dog) Mike, Jon, Aaron, Amanda..... you get the idea.
As the months and years have passed, I have gained an inflection, better rhythm and don’t to catch my breath when talking. It is not so monotone and flat. More like before. A few people have even mentioned their surprise on how much better it has gotten. I even sounded like the old me when I had a cold. I didn’t really want to get over that cold.
However I am still aware that it is far from perfect. I need to be careful not to talk quickly. Which is hard since my brain will move fast. When I’m tired, laughing or crying it makes it more difficult to hear. The biggest obstacle to learning to speak clearer is that the words I am trying to say are perfectly clear to me in my head but not to the listener. So I am not aware when it is not coming out right unless I see a quizzical or a blank stare—I’ll then repeat myself and speak slower and enunciate.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Visiting hours?
After the stint in the observation room, I was placed in my own private hospital room. I spent most of the time sleeping with short periods of wakefulness. I happened to be awake and alone I wondered ‘where is everyone?’ I found out a few years later that visiting times were very limited. The schedule was two people for 15minutes every hour.
During one of the short visits my sister in law, tried to give me a pedicure and only had time to take the existing polish off and paint one toe before her visit was over. It was then she noticed and took advantage of the stairwell located beside my room. She had the sense to realize that she could by- pass the nurse’s station and visit when she wanted and for as long as she wanted (within reason) It was then I noticed more frequent visits, for longer periods of time. Or was it I was awake more often?
Days were passing, and ordinarily I would have showered daily, shaved my legs and done my hair. My sister in law realized that something wasn’t quite right, besides the obvious lack of movement. Maybe I was beginning to smell? This concern of hygiene was brought up to the nurse and my mom happened to hear. Her reaction was that more important matters were of concern and not to bother the nurse’s with such nonsense. Thankfully it was soon after I had a sponge bath, and a shaving of the armpits. After all a good week had gone by....it was long overdue.
During a time I had visitors my limp left leg was incredibly itchy. Oh the itch! I couldn’t scratch it as my left arm wasn’t moving and my right arm had limited movement. I was trying to get their attention by moving my right leg up and down. A discussion ensued as to why I was behaving in this way. As I was being consumed with this itch I couldn’t scratch. I was thinking ‘here we have some smart people; surely they can figure this out’. What seemed like an eternity to me but likely was minutes, eventually someone had caught on. My little brother (who is not little anymore except in age) had the intuition that an itch might be the problem,.... however he was scratching the wrong leg. Good try
At this time I wasn’t breathing without assistance with a tracheotomy (a tracheotomy is a tube in the neck to let oxygen in to assist with breathing) and consequently wasn’t feeding myself. Any food I got was via a feeding tube through my nose down into my stomach. As you can imagine it wasn’t very comfortable and at times made sleeping uncomfortable. My solution to this problem was to pull it out.
It was long and warm and wet as I pulled it out, but that did not deter me. I was not a fan of this being reinserted. Since I couldn’t talk my only recourse was to give them the finger. I had pulled the tube out a few times and to prevent further harm my arm was secured by tying it to the bed. How uncivilized. Eventually a tube was inserted directly into my stomach with a nozzle the nurse’s could attach the pouch of disgusting brown liquid to. This was known as a GJ tube. I would have that tube for a few months.
During one of the short visits my sister in law, tried to give me a pedicure and only had time to take the existing polish off and paint one toe before her visit was over. It was then she noticed and took advantage of the stairwell located beside my room. She had the sense to realize that she could by- pass the nurse’s station and visit when she wanted and for as long as she wanted (within reason) It was then I noticed more frequent visits, for longer periods of time. Or was it I was awake more often?
Days were passing, and ordinarily I would have showered daily, shaved my legs and done my hair. My sister in law realized that something wasn’t quite right, besides the obvious lack of movement. Maybe I was beginning to smell? This concern of hygiene was brought up to the nurse and my mom happened to hear. Her reaction was that more important matters were of concern and not to bother the nurse’s with such nonsense. Thankfully it was soon after I had a sponge bath, and a shaving of the armpits. After all a good week had gone by....it was long overdue.
During a time I had visitors my limp left leg was incredibly itchy. Oh the itch! I couldn’t scratch it as my left arm wasn’t moving and my right arm had limited movement. I was trying to get their attention by moving my right leg up and down. A discussion ensued as to why I was behaving in this way. As I was being consumed with this itch I couldn’t scratch. I was thinking ‘here we have some smart people; surely they can figure this out’. What seemed like an eternity to me but likely was minutes, eventually someone had caught on. My little brother (who is not little anymore except in age) had the intuition that an itch might be the problem,.... however he was scratching the wrong leg. Good try
At this time I wasn’t breathing without assistance with a tracheotomy (a tracheotomy is a tube in the neck to let oxygen in to assist with breathing) and consequently wasn’t feeding myself. Any food I got was via a feeding tube through my nose down into my stomach. As you can imagine it wasn’t very comfortable and at times made sleeping uncomfortable. My solution to this problem was to pull it out.
It was long and warm and wet as I pulled it out, but that did not deter me. I was not a fan of this being reinserted. Since I couldn’t talk my only recourse was to give them the finger. I had pulled the tube out a few times and to prevent further harm my arm was secured by tying it to the bed. How uncivilized. Eventually a tube was inserted directly into my stomach with a nozzle the nurse’s could attach the pouch of disgusting brown liquid to. This was known as a GJ tube. I would have that tube for a few months.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Thank you
I have had such a positive response and your kind words have inspired me, I hope I can do the same. They make me smile and of course tear up a bit (but that is not unusual). I have heard from people I haven't seen since high school and I am touched. AS well as those I haven't met yet. Very touched (sniff sniff) I want to let all of you know it means alot and thank you. A kind word goes a long way
Now and Then
What it was like before the stroke and what it is like now are completely and 100% different. For anyone who didn’t know me before the stroke. I’d like to paint a picture.
I married my high school sweetheart. But the pressures of the stroke made that collapse. (I’ll get to that another day.) I attended University right out of high school and later on, college. I was very active in high school sports. Sports are what I enjoyed and kept me interested in school. I played field hockey, volleyball, soccer, badminton. I always played a sport. My real passion was volleyball and I would play at every opportunity I got. I even played in some recreational leagues outside my small town. At UWO I played varsity field hockey and house league volleyball.
In order to stay in shape and prepare my body for the gruelling practices, I started to run. I became addicted and a bit obsessive compulsive. I would fit a run every day, even if that meant an early start. It became such a part of me I was using it as an escape from the bad happenings in my life. If school or work was stressful a good run enabled me time to think of how to prioritize my worries and come up with solutions. In the past I would have went for a run to ease the stress of the stroke. That now is not possible. I now workout as religiously as before, except not at the same activities and not for the same reasons. What drives me now when I am feeling tired is rehabilitation.
A mystery still exists as to the cause. I was a VERY active person. I like to keep busy. It was complete boredom being bed ridden and movements limited. I don’t smoke. I drink causally, maybe the odd glass of wine or mixed drink. More often than not my drink of choice was and is water.
My interests were sports and now I spend more time in different activities. I have taken up more stationary pursuits like sewing, Yoga, and Pilates and I have considered spinning. That just touches on the changes not to mention a walk with the dog at any given moment. Life is not worse just different.
I married my high school sweetheart. But the pressures of the stroke made that collapse. (I’ll get to that another day.) I attended University right out of high school and later on, college. I was very active in high school sports. Sports are what I enjoyed and kept me interested in school. I played field hockey, volleyball, soccer, badminton. I always played a sport. My real passion was volleyball and I would play at every opportunity I got. I even played in some recreational leagues outside my small town. At UWO I played varsity field hockey and house league volleyball.
In order to stay in shape and prepare my body for the gruelling practices, I started to run. I became addicted and a bit obsessive compulsive. I would fit a run every day, even if that meant an early start. It became such a part of me I was using it as an escape from the bad happenings in my life. If school or work was stressful a good run enabled me time to think of how to prioritize my worries and come up with solutions. In the past I would have went for a run to ease the stress of the stroke. That now is not possible. I now workout as religiously as before, except not at the same activities and not for the same reasons. What drives me now when I am feeling tired is rehabilitation.
A mystery still exists as to the cause. I was a VERY active person. I like to keep busy. It was complete boredom being bed ridden and movements limited. I don’t smoke. I drink causally, maybe the odd glass of wine or mixed drink. More often than not my drink of choice was and is water.
My interests were sports and now I spend more time in different activities. I have taken up more stationary pursuits like sewing, Yoga, and Pilates and I have considered spinning. That just touches on the changes not to mention a walk with the dog at any given moment. Life is not worse just different.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Survival rate?
I have been a little apprehensive about starting a blog. Am I interesting enough? Will I be able to express it in a way that is grammatically correct and that makes sense? But I have been convinced that a blog reader does not have the same expectations as a book reader might. I’ll do my best and learn as I go.
Since the stroke my brain has trouble processing many thoughts. It has becomes more difficult to write when there are many thoughts floating around upstairs. I feel the need to regurgitate them all at one time and run on sentence that goes on forever. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself....I did have a stroke. This stroke has been the reason I have had to relearn how to breathe, eat, talk and walk. With that said.......
The situation was very touch and go for the first week. I even had a relapse where I began coughing uncontrollably and manual resuscitation was necessary, just like you may see on the hospital shows. I was afflicted with a brain stem stroke. Not very many people survive that type of stroke since it is the area of the brain that controls breathing and other automatic functions. Those functions that aren’t thought about to occur.
The dire situation is best illustrated when my ex husband had proudly stated to some visitors that I had beaten 85% of the odds. Wait a minute, he must have gotten that wrong and meant 15%, I thought in the foggy haze.
Those visitors also stated that if there was anything we might need.....they would be there for us. It is a bit overwhelming to think about all of the support I received. I still run into strangers, faces I recognize but names escape me, in my hometown that said they prayed for me. It must have worked.
I also have two shoeboxes full of cards and letters full of support and encouraging words, even my grade two teacher. My house has angels and stuffed animals on display that are a reminder of support. Not to forget the thoughtful gifts of all types that made my 51/2 month stay in the hospital more bearable. Thank you
I am only now beginning to be proud and boastful of my achievements. My sister in law has said I should be proud. ‘Look at where you came from feeding tubes, wheel chairs and 24 hour care to an independent woman living on her own’. When you put it that way I guess it is quite an accomplishment. I just can’t see the upside to giving up. Fighting can be tiring but look at the alternative; giving up meant living life as a semi-vegetable. Noooo thank you
Since the stroke my brain has trouble processing many thoughts. It has becomes more difficult to write when there are many thoughts floating around upstairs. I feel the need to regurgitate them all at one time and run on sentence that goes on forever. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself....I did have a stroke. This stroke has been the reason I have had to relearn how to breathe, eat, talk and walk. With that said.......
The situation was very touch and go for the first week. I even had a relapse where I began coughing uncontrollably and manual resuscitation was necessary, just like you may see on the hospital shows. I was afflicted with a brain stem stroke. Not very many people survive that type of stroke since it is the area of the brain that controls breathing and other automatic functions. Those functions that aren’t thought about to occur.
The dire situation is best illustrated when my ex husband had proudly stated to some visitors that I had beaten 85% of the odds. Wait a minute, he must have gotten that wrong and meant 15%, I thought in the foggy haze.
Those visitors also stated that if there was anything we might need.....they would be there for us. It is a bit overwhelming to think about all of the support I received. I still run into strangers, faces I recognize but names escape me, in my hometown that said they prayed for me. It must have worked.
I also have two shoeboxes full of cards and letters full of support and encouraging words, even my grade two teacher. My house has angels and stuffed animals on display that are a reminder of support. Not to forget the thoughtful gifts of all types that made my 51/2 month stay in the hospital more bearable. Thank you
I am only now beginning to be proud and boastful of my achievements. My sister in law has said I should be proud. ‘Look at where you came from feeding tubes, wheel chairs and 24 hour care to an independent woman living on her own’. When you put it that way I guess it is quite an accomplishment. I just can’t see the upside to giving up. Fighting can be tiring but look at the alternative; giving up meant living life as a semi-vegetable. Noooo thank you
Monday, July 26, 2010
I almost died!
This is not just a figure of speech or a small brush with death, like a close call in a car. I laid in an emergency room bed drifting in and out of consciousness being whisked from test to test trying to determine the cause of paralysis, loss of speech, double vision and the need for breathing assistance as well as the overall decline in health in an active healthy 30 year old.
A doctor explained to me, as I lay motionless in a bed with an overwhelming need to pee, that I had had a stroke. My first thought to register in the foggy abyss of my brain was .......what the hell is a STROKE? Unfortunately, since I’ve lived it for the past 6 years. I know all too well.
My health was declining to a dismal state with doctors giving me a 15% survival rate. I can only imagine the helplessness my family was experiencing during that stressful time.
The risk of not knowing how much time had passed from the time of stroke and being discovered stopped the doctors from performing a procedure that might reverse the effects of the stroke. It was thought at the time only by piecing things together from the debris left behind in my path approximately 9 hours had passed. Many discussions as to what happened and the timeline had me screaming the correct answer in my head.
I had woken up to go for a run before work and decided I didn’t feel well and would go later in the day and would go back to bed. I went pee and while sitting on the toilet my foot went numb. I crawled back into bed knocking over the lamp. I leaned over to the other side of the bed to change the alarm. But I had only managed to turn it off before flopping face first on the pillow.
There I lay from 6am to 4pm.
Initially I couldn’t open my eyes but I did hear a woman’s voice saying they needed to get permission from the family for organ donation. My fear was they were going to cut me open. I thought wait I’m here!
It was then decided they would wait it out versus the risky surgical procedure..... It was said that the critical time would be the first 5 days.
A series of scattered memories of what occurred during this time is all that I remember.
Two things happened early on.
The first was the need to roll over, but not being able to. hankfully the nurses were in charge of ‘turning’ me at specific intervals. ...Ah the relief and I was able to be comfortable and go back to dreamland where I was capable of the incapable.
When I flicked the clip off my finger it would cause a beeping that would summon a nurse to replace the clip. It wasn’t much, but it was something to do while I lay almost paralysed in bed.
The observation room was large with several beds strategically scattered about to provide enough space to access all the patients. My next memory is being in a bed near a darkened window. I could see a woman sitting at a raised desk looking at a monitor. Another nurse was chasing a patient that would not keep his blood clotting prevention stockings on. Her distinctive shrill voice repeatedly calling the name Vern...Vern and seeing her scurrying by my bed hustling after Vern in an attempt to corral Vern. My eyes close and next I begin plotting my escape.
So much has happened to me as a result of the stroke, not much of it positive, yet all of it has been a lifetime of lessons in a short time. That is my motivation for sharing what I have learned. I’d like to pass along any details that may help someone else in a challenging situation or one that seems insurmountable. Bottom line I have gone through more than one person should go through in one lifetime and my life isn’t over yet.
Posted for Tina by Amanda
A doctor explained to me, as I lay motionless in a bed with an overwhelming need to pee, that I had had a stroke. My first thought to register in the foggy abyss of my brain was .......what the hell is a STROKE? Unfortunately, since I’ve lived it for the past 6 years. I know all too well.
My health was declining to a dismal state with doctors giving me a 15% survival rate. I can only imagine the helplessness my family was experiencing during that stressful time.
The risk of not knowing how much time had passed from the time of stroke and being discovered stopped the doctors from performing a procedure that might reverse the effects of the stroke. It was thought at the time only by piecing things together from the debris left behind in my path approximately 9 hours had passed. Many discussions as to what happened and the timeline had me screaming the correct answer in my head.
I had woken up to go for a run before work and decided I didn’t feel well and would go later in the day and would go back to bed. I went pee and while sitting on the toilet my foot went numb. I crawled back into bed knocking over the lamp. I leaned over to the other side of the bed to change the alarm. But I had only managed to turn it off before flopping face first on the pillow.
There I lay from 6am to 4pm.
Initially I couldn’t open my eyes but I did hear a woman’s voice saying they needed to get permission from the family for organ donation. My fear was they were going to cut me open. I thought wait I’m here!
It was then decided they would wait it out versus the risky surgical procedure..... It was said that the critical time would be the first 5 days.
A series of scattered memories of what occurred during this time is all that I remember.
Two things happened early on.
The first was the need to roll over, but not being able to. hankfully the nurses were in charge of ‘turning’ me at specific intervals. ...Ah the relief and I was able to be comfortable and go back to dreamland where I was capable of the incapable.
When I flicked the clip off my finger it would cause a beeping that would summon a nurse to replace the clip. It wasn’t much, but it was something to do while I lay almost paralysed in bed.
The observation room was large with several beds strategically scattered about to provide enough space to access all the patients. My next memory is being in a bed near a darkened window. I could see a woman sitting at a raised desk looking at a monitor. Another nurse was chasing a patient that would not keep his blood clotting prevention stockings on. Her distinctive shrill voice repeatedly calling the name Vern...Vern and seeing her scurrying by my bed hustling after Vern in an attempt to corral Vern. My eyes close and next I begin plotting my escape.
So much has happened to me as a result of the stroke, not much of it positive, yet all of it has been a lifetime of lessons in a short time. That is my motivation for sharing what I have learned. I’d like to pass along any details that may help someone else in a challenging situation or one that seems insurmountable. Bottom line I have gone through more than one person should go through in one lifetime and my life isn’t over yet.
Posted for Tina by Amanda
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