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 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.

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.

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.

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