Sunday Stroke Survival: Life Isn't Fair

Happy New Year everyone!

So how did you spend New Year's Eve? Was it spent partying and drinking with friends? Did you quietly watch the ball drop on the television and all the fireworks afterwards? Did you thank God that this year was over because it's been such a bad one for you? The new year has got to be better than the last one! I fall into the latter category as you can imagine.

New Year's Eve started just like any other day for me. I forgot it was the last day of the year. I really haven't exactly been in a celebratory mood for months. Sure there have been some happy moments that I'll cherish but nothing totally lifted me out of my grief. But I've put on a happy face and continued on.

I didn't even realize it was New Year's Eve until my physical therapist told me and asked if I had any plans or a special meal I fix for the occasion. All the while, he was searching for trigger points to deaden with dry needling.  I actually felt pretty good. The autumnal slump with my Botox was history and the new series was working as advertised. My shoulder which had a torn rotor cuff was healing, or at least wasn't painful when stretched. I'm actually 15 degrees away from full rotation again which pleases me to no end.

My cell phone in my shorts pocket rang. Yes, you read that right. It was around 80 degrees here today. I didn't recognize the number so I let it go to voicemail. Nothing interrupts my therapy unless someone is dying. Of course, if anyone I cared about was dying, I'd have their number in my phone. Makes sense, right? Whoever it was left a voicemail message so I didn't worry about it.

During my therapy session my phone started signaling a low battery so I turned it off. We finished the session an hour later and I drove home to charge my phone. As soon as it had enough of a charge. The unknown number showed up as a missed call. I called my voicemail to get the message left.

The one number I didn't have was my stepmother's cell phone number. Her voice was on the message. My father had been admitted to the hospital for chest pains. He was having a heart cath done, but his cardiologist assured her he'd be just fine. My father had had a heart attack and had quadruple bypass done a dozen years ago. I knew this was serious.

I kicked myself for stopping at the drug store and grocery store before going home from therapy. I should have spent that time at the hospital. I kicked myself all the way to the hospital. My stepmother had told me his room number in the message. It did not register in my mind that he wasn't on the surgical or regular telemetry floor until I got off the elevator on his floor. He was in the Cardiac Critical Care Unit!

I walk into his room and was jovial offsetting my fear. I asked him how he was doing and told him it was obviously my turn to visit him in the hospital instead of the other way around. He chuckled and told me what his cardiologist had said during the heart cath procedure. He couldn't bust through the clot to open it up. In other words, he was still in his heart attack phase with the clogged artery denying blood to the lower half of his heart. Just like with a stroke seconds equals brain cell death, a clogged artery equals heart muscle death.

They started him on some potent blood thinners, were giving him nitroglycerin, morphine, and ativan. That hopefully, this would dissolve  the clot and return blood flow to his heart. Because of his advancing age (80+), the degree of coronary artery disease, his diabetes, and the scarring from his previous bypass...another bypass was out of the question. There are a whole lot of risks managing a MI this way. The clot could dissolve from its 100% blockage state and he'd be fine again (best case scenario), the clot could break free and could possibly go to his brain giving him another stroke (moderate case scenario), or the clot could be stubborn and not dissolve, and kill him (worst case scenario). I should mention at this juncture that I've never heard or seen the best case scenario happening. That doesn't mean it couldn't happen. I'm just saying.

Later, I texted my physical therapist about what had happened and his wife (my old speech therapist) called me. They are both head of my stroke group and I count them as friends. 

She exclaimed, "It just isn't fair! You've already had so much go on!" 

I retorted, "Whomever told you life is fair? Life isn't fair. It just is."

Life happens. Good, bad, happy, or sad. All we can do while living it is hang on the best we can and adapt to the changes. Living is adapting to changes, accepting them, and moving beyond. So once again, I'm awaiting another life change. One that comes to all of us if we live long enough.

       O God, give us the serenity to accept
        what cannot be changed,
        The courage to change what can be
        changed, and the wisdom to know
        the one from the other.

                                           --Reinhold Niebuhr (1892–1971)

Bet you were wondering where to Serenity Prayer came from. Now you know. But more interesting is the rest of the prayer...

         Living one day at a time,
        Enjoying one moment at a time,
        Accepting hardship as a pathway
        to peace,
        Taking, as Jesus did,
        This sinful world as it is,
        Not as I would have it,
        Trusting that You will make all
        things right,
        If I surrender to Your will,
        So that I may be reasonably
         happy in this life,
        And supremely happy with You
        forever in the next.

        Amen.

Now you know where this principle in my life comes from.

Nothing is impossible.

Courage? Retrospect

I was told I was very courageous a couple of days ago. My first thought was me! Courageous?? Funny, I don't think or feel that way. I'm down right miserable and terrified at times. I'm more like the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz.

I'm just getting by hopping troubles like a frog hops from water lily to water lily to keep from getting all wet. I actually had to stop and think what was I doing that could be considered courageous.

In the past few years I've had quite a few life altering events. My father's rapid onset dementia...what could be more challenging or heart breaking for a child? Granted I'm no little child on the outside, but deep inside, I still am. My stroke taking away half my body and my voice. Relearning how to do everything again or adapting ways to do 88% of what I used to do. My husband who was told by many doctors over the past thirteen years, "Any time now" finally reached the point of truly any time now. How I am still his caregiver.

Any one of these things could rock anybody's life off the tracks, but all at one time span of a year is insane. But yet I do realize that it can and does. And, it's happening to more than just me. I mean really, if I was the only one singled out to face all of this in the whole world... but statistically that would be like one person hitting the mega billion dollar lottery...it just doesn't happen. So somewhere out there is a family who is suffering the same life altering events or worse.

Would I be selfish to say I take comfort in that fact? Although I really won't wish this on anyone else. That would just be hateful or possibly wishful thinking on my part. But then, I figure anyone else faced with the same set of circumstances would be doing the same thing. Why it seems courageous to others is the fact that they haven't been punched in the gut with them like I have.

What brought on all this retrospective analysis to a head was my physical therapist telling me to relax. I answered him back with a quick comeback of "what's that?" I said it in a joking manner.
Later as I was kicking back to take a nap, it dawned on me that I no longer knew how to totally relax. I mean even in sleep mode I'm always listening. A choking, gurgling sound, or a tinkle of the goat bell, bed/oxygen alarms, power failures, or even the sound of fart coming from the other room and I'm wide awake, donning my brace to go check. It's actually a scary thought. I'm like the Lion when Toto confronts him.

Even in therapy when they sandwich my arm in heat packs before needling, I feel tinges of guilt like I shouldn't be lying there doing nothing. I should be doing something. If I doze off during the early evening trying to read something a blogger has said because I'm so exhausted, I feel as if I didn't do enough. It's no use telling me there's nothing to feel guilty about. Enough about that.

You know my tagline of "nothing is impossible." This is where it stems from and I guess that's why others see me as courageous, strong, or even inspirational. I can't take the credit for any of it.

So now you know.

Sunday Stroke Survival~ Skiing! Yep, That's Me.

I've made more confessions on this blog of late than a Catholic makes in church...well, maybe not a good Catholic. Here's another one. I haven't been snow or water skiing in decades. Woah! That feels better to have gotten that off my chest.

To be honest, I wasn't exactly good at either one. Remember I'm a nerd. I prefer books and the search of knowledgeable enrichment over physical. It's not even that I'm anti-jock because I was one of those too at one time in swimming, field hockey, soccer, and even golf. Skiing requires balancing on one or two sticks of wood. You skimmed surfaces, supposedly, but I always sank. The same was true with skating both roller and ice. I'd always end up on my butt taking many helpless victims with me. I learned young that you have to pick your battles if you ever dream of winning. That's not to mean I didn't do it, I did. But I didn't excel at it.

I prefer to ski through life---Screech!

You: Wait a minute! I've read your blog for a while now. It doesn't sound like you're skiing through anything, but hitting every wake or tree as you do it.
Me: Well I do prefer skiing through life. A girl can dream, can't she?

Credit

Well I can, can't I? I can glide gracefully through this life only scratching the surface of water or snow. Skiing isn't without some hazards. I've hit a few trees along the way. Er, um, maybe more than a few, but I got back up.

That's the whole point isn't it? That I got back up and kept trying? Well, so I didn't choose to perfect my water and snow skiing abilities. I had other areas which I did. I couldn't be perfect at everything. Living is about choices and living with the choices you make. Yes, I had a fun summer and a winter vacation trying to ski without falling,  but it was a take it or leave it situation and a tiny piece of my life.

Credit

My stroke recovery is a whole 'nother situation. My stroke devastated my life and tore so many holes through my professions that it will take time to heal and mend. Even with the small strokes I had. It's a good thing I know how to sew and darn holes because there are a hundred little holes or gaps that my strokes took from me. Even if I didn't know how to sew or darn, I think I would learn how real quick. It's not like you can easily replace your body like you can a pair of holey socks.

I want my old body back with all its previously impaired functions. I was comfortable, for the most part, in it. I had four functioning limbs that weren't spastic. I could pull words in an instant from thin air when appropriate. I had control over my emotions and a hundred other things now gone. Yes, I've recovered quite a bit over the last two and a half years, but I want more! I want to reach the 25%, 50%, or even 100% recovery and am willing to work hard for it. Sound familiar? Really? Are you in the same place too?

Bell Mountain, CO

Yes, I can dream of skiing through the rest of my life. It would be beautiful.That's my goal. I've seen how the other 1/3 live and want to move on. But the truth is, I'm still stuck here on this mountain side looking down on a forest of trees between me and thee finish line at the bottom of the mountain. Skiing down this mountain will be treacherous and fraught with frustrations along the way. Trees will try to block my path. I will either skirt them or hit them. If I kiss a tree full face, I'll pick myself up and continue on.

I know the goal is reachable because...

Nothing is impossible with determination.

Stroke Class with Susan ~ Late Again, Perpetually

One of these days I actually going to attend the live class. Now, for the third week in a row, I was absent. I did manage to squeeze the 45 minutes in yesterday.

But then again, that's the beauty of this type of class. It fits your schedule. Mine is terribly hectic. That's why I think this exercise class will be a lasting thing with me except it's not a free trial anymore. There is a monthly subscription rate of $19.95. My personal pledge to do the exercises twice a week has fallen by the wayside this week with my new AFO fittings, OT, hospice, my hubby's pneumonia, and assorted other things. It's a real shame too since it was the last one I could attend.

I just can't get my life back to the orderly world I once had. My master juggler status has been a long forgotten feat since my stroke. I thought being a mom of five, two careers, caregiver for three elderly parents, and being an author was tough. I had no idea what tough was. My earlier life was just a primer for today and I'm failing miserably. Well maybe not failing, but only succeeding with a lot fewer balls. In some ways, I'm supremely thankful not being able to work.

This would be a salad plate

Part of the problem with not attending the exercise class is my husband's new eating schedule. We now have our big meal around one-ish instead of around six. The reason I say one-ish is because the time will vary because of when the aide, nurses, and appointments happen. Stroke Class is at 1:30. It may be closer to three before I can set a meal before him. But he's eating better. He's actually gained two whole pounds in the past month since the change over and his calorie intake has gained a whopping 300 calories per day. Yeah, I keep track. He now weigh 97 pounds. Five out of eight grandchildren now weigh more than he does.

I'm still measuring food by the tablespoons for him. We also do a reverse weight loss thing for him. It takes twenty minutes for the stomach to register it's full. So he crams as much food into his stomach for that amount of time. Granted he feels stuffed to the eyeballs afterwards, but he's getting almost twice as much calorie intake.

Yes, I could make it easier on him and myself by buying Ensure, but have you seen the cost of these nutrition supplements? $7.99 for six cans and that's for the store brand. It's not covered by insurance or hospice. It's cheaper to cook for him and give him vitamins. But I do give him one supplement about 11 PM to take with his bedtime medicines. For him, it's got to be dark chocolate and ice cold. It may mean going to up to three stores to find it-maybe on sale for a buck cheaper for me, but he's worth it. It accounts for one-third of our monthly food budget. But he's got to have it. The dying process is full of hidden costs between dying and dead.

Meanwhile, I watch what I'm eating the same way. I'm hoping with my new AFO to start exercising on my machine again because I can stand without pain for longer than thirty minutes. You'd think with all the stuff I do I'd lose weight, but no. Unhappily, I haven't. Round is still the shape I'm in. Between combating fluids with 40 mg of Lasix and a poor eating schedule, I still weigh more than I should. But since the Stroke Class with Susan is out of my price range, but my machine is available to me that may not be my legacy.

Nothing is impossible with determination.

Life and Exercising after a Stroke Part 2

Wednesday came and went with a flurry of emails with Susan and Darren of Stroke Class with Susan, but as usual with my Wednesdays, I was MIA for the live class. Hump Day for me means I'm humping it all over the place. Yes, I realize it's now Friday.

No nurse or aide from hospice comes which is a blessing and a curse. My husband's care is all up to me, but I can run around the house in my panties if I want to. He's not too demanding. It's just a fact of my life. But this particular Wednesday, I had OT, an appointment with my brace maker (more on this in a moment), a stroke group meeting, and my regular knitting/spinning group meeting. All this, and the first live stroke Class with Susan too. Something had to give. It wold take my energy supply for three days to do all of it.

Luckily/unluckily the brace maker's office gal called and said that my brace wouldn't be ready until the 18th. Good because it lightened my schedule. Bad because I have to keep hobbling around in my ill fitting, inadequate AFO for a week longer. Another week of walking only when absolutely necessary to prevent my foot ulcer from getting worse and splitting open again. You have no idea how frustrating this is when it's up to you to do it all.  But looking at it this way, I've spent almost a year fighting the insurance company for approval - a week is nothing. Yeah, that sounds better.

I went to OT and my therapist discussed reducing my time from three times a week to two. Eliminating Wednesday sessions, would I mind? Wohooo! Another Wednesday mayhem item gone. The reduced time is not because I don't need it, but because of session limits with my insurance.

I made the stroke group meeting but skipped out on knitting/spinning group. I just didn't have the strength or an ounce of energy to spare.

So when did I have time to exercise with Susan? Thursday afternoon. It was rainy and too humid to be outside. Think about being in a sauna wrapped in a wet quilt and you get a pretty good idea of what it was like outside, but my plants loved it. I clicked on the link and watched the video all the way through and then did it with her. I loved the option to stop the video to catch up or take a break when I needed to. One thing I'm going to have to do is get a regular speaker for my computer. Exercises and headphones do not play well together.

While doing the workout with Susan, I found out just how out of shape I am. I was totally pitiful and it's not a high powered workout either. I found after the thirty minute mark, I was pausing the video more often. It's actually made fun with music playing in the background just like a regular exercise class. It made me feel semi normal. Great job Susan, Darren, and Luc!

I would suggest a shorter microphone to reduce Susan's breathing noises. One that came to her cheek instead of the one that looked like it could wrap halfway around her face. It's an old DJ trick. Did you know I was once a radio DJ? I was the overnight voice of a Virginia station while I attended nursing school. Now I can't talk worth a hoot, but I still have my FCC broadcasting license...just in case. Boy, the things we keep.

While there were some things I could not do, I did the best I could. Remember I have very limited extension of my elbow, and nothing in the wrist and fingers. To place my affected fingers so they'll hold my kneecap meant first stretching them out  to hold my knee. This is where I was really glad for the stop/start button. Exercising without my AFO was interesting especially when my Clonus kicked in at a couple points with the ankle movements...another stop/start button thing.

This morning the tell tale signs of "working out" were present. Muscles not used in a while were still exhausted, but then I'm not your normal stroke survivor either with dosing my husband with morphine every two hours around the clock. Not enough time sleeping to repair stretched muscles, but like I said it's me and my lifestyle. Then again, I can see difficulties ahead when my Botox wears off and the spasticity begins again. But those are problems for another day.

I do plan on continuing with the class during the trial. I would love to have a DVD of the class to play it in a larger room than my office. Or if it were downloadable would be even better. I can see great benefit to these classes if nothing less than getting this old lady off her duff and making round a less desirable shape.

So how can you join in the fun?

Read all about it on their website: http://www.strokeclass.com/
They are on Facebook too at:  https://www.facebook.com/strokeclass
Maybe Luc (the internet savvy one of the trio) can start up on twitter and Instagram soon hint,hint.
Next live workout is September 17, 2014.

Sounds like an infomercial doesn't it?Not really. I just want to pass on a good thing by some great people trying to help us. I receive nothing from this except a good work out with high hopes of improving me for me.

Nothing is impossible with determination.

Wednesday Writerly Ways~Oops, Was it Something I Said

I sure hope so.  I know I've been absent from this blog hop for a while but an email this morning got me thinking.

I read all emails and comments with a grain of salt. Some emails and reviews are hopelessly hostile while others are good. Both are helpful and I'll tell you why. Comments to this blog are harder to judge, but it is still in the mix as feedback.

I always use me as an example. Zombie Apocalypse: Redemption has a 1-star rating. Not my proudest achievement. I finally got around to reading the reviews. The email was a follow up to the review. A friend emailed me with concern on how I felt about it.Yes, I'm slow and late to the party. Mainly because right now, I just have bigger fish to fry in my skillet of life in general. Yes, it stings a bit from my author point of view, but it is still one of my best sellers in fiction.

The comments, you don't have to go to Amazon. I'll post them here.

Nothing Personal

By John C. Brewer on February 8, 2013

Format: Paperback

I wish indie authors would take the time to have their work properly edited at the very least. Here we have a 152 page book (which is really short) self-published, on sale for $7.99 and the first two pages alone have enough grammatical errors to receive a failing grade in an English class. I applaud any author's attempt to get their work out there, and hope this author continues, but if English is not your native language you need to spend a few hundred bucks on a professional editor so people can see how creative you are and experience the magic of your story instead of being distracted by poor editing.

 

Thought I was going crazy..................

By Peggy B on May 31, 2012

Format: Kindle Edition

Okay, so one line reads - "The guard outside the lab had said something about a world class The only thing he could the amount would be gym and track in silo #2." Huh??? I re-read it twice, three times, rubbed my eyes, shook my head to clear out the cobwebs and read it again. I am not making this up - this is exactly how it appears in the book (along with hundreds of similar lines). WTF - does this guy not proof read???? And, to top it off, sometimes the characters "talk" like hillbillies with a lot of "what do ya want"s and "is that how ya"s and "outta"s and sometimes not. I would not have given it even 1 star but apparently Amazon reviews won't let you give any thing no stars.
I support the "independent" writer and I don't expect everyone to be Stephen King but, come on, throw the reader a bone and at least make a stab at proof-reading - okay?

 

Good or bad? I don't know.

By Misselaineous on November 28, 2011

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

I have no idea if this is a good story or not. Between bad grammar and lack of syntax, there were the continuity issues, so I'm lost. Then there are the quotation marks in lieu of apostrophes. It"s driving me crazy. When I grammar/spell checked this review, it caught every one of the author"s errors. (It even caught my purposeful ones.) I must say I admire anyone for putting their "stuff" out there, but PLEASE, edit first. I had a writing teacher in college who said no matter how bright, funny, or insightful you are, if you can't speak or write properly, no one will ever know. I read this on my Kindle, so I'm using Kindle locations vice pages. So here are a few of the errors I've found...
Location 222: "Of course, they could have put a transmitter on her car or tracked her by satellite. minute, old girl. She was letting tendencies run away with her mind." I'm still not sure what this means even though I read it like 5 times
Location 233: "Whoa, wait a her paranoid." Huh?
Location 260: "There were six bedrooms upstairs. Their grandmother had twelve and raised all of them in the house." Did Grandma have 12 kids or 12 bedrooms, this house or another one?
Location 265: "She peered into the refrigerator and saw the box of specimens still waiting. Warning to the general attacks, and anyone who was bitten was to go directly to their nearest hospital." Continuity is totally lacking here, and elsewhere. I mean, the very next location is a newspaper article, I think?
Location 307: "How her mentor had asked her opinion, sent her samples, and how she"d gotten specimens from her cousin of victims." I had to read this sentence 4 times to make out the meaning.Was her cousin a victim?
I'm not sure I'll finish this one.

Really bad right?  I make no bones of having formatting issues with Kindle. It shows up fine with the proofreading before publishing but in the downloaded copy, it's a mess.

 It all depends on your point of view too.

My stance is a love it or leave it one, and not without some measure of gratitude. Gratitude? Yes, gratitude. I'll tell you why. The person took the time to write a comment. Some rather lengthy ones at that. And yes, I could come back with some scathing comments and excuses of my own, but I refrain. I know it needs work but I'm not able to do it right now.

Anytime you can get someone to comment, IT IS A GOOD THING. It's worth its weight in gold.Whether they liked it or didn't like it is for the most part irrelevant. Of course we'd all like glowing reviews, would we? That isn't always the case.

I've consider striking a chord with a reader a positive thing with readers where they feel compelled to comment. Is that a bad thing? One even took the time to spell/grammar check it for the review. Now that thorough. Time is everyone's most valuable commodity. That in itself earns my respect and a closer look. I won't make excuses. The book has some problems. Little did I know that I was suffering small TIAs during the writing and editing of this book. That only showed up in the MRI following my big stroke.

I've mentioned several times about comments to this blog being negative, but that also is a point of view thing.  Recently, real life has stopped me commenting on a lot of blogs that I usually do. For two months or more. With the juggling act I'm doing now, time is platinum. The best I can do is read the blog posts and sometimes comment. What do I feel the need to comment on. A blog that really twists my mind and makes me think. A momentary pause in what is happening around me. It has to make me take the time to give feedback.

My feedback-Sometimes it's a support thing, in gratitude for commenting so often on my blog, and the other times its because of a strong emotional response to either agree or disagree. The last is the greatest to me as a blog writer. It proves that I can touch people where they live.  The "Oops, was it something I said?" You betcha! Not really an oops because I did it on purpose...writer that I am.

As a blogger, I write what is in me to write. As a writer, I do the same. Comments and emails are always good feedback even the negative ones.

The one good thing of being the age that I am now is that I can audit a college class for free each semester. When I heal enough and after my husband dies, I may just do that for an English grammar refresher. I'd be going into it with fresh eyes having forgotten or misplaced most of it anyhow. It can only be a positive step forward, right? Death, for me, is the absence of learning.

Keep writing and loving the Lord.

Another Milestone Downward and Venting

It seems all I'm writing about these days are doom and gloom reports. Sigh!

That isn't why I started this blog. It's really hard to find hope in hopelessness. No I'm not depressed, just battle weary just like my hubby. A tiny pin light shines in the distance of life ever after while maintaining a toe hold to our current life. But daily life goes on. The beds still need changing. The clothes still need to be folded. Dishes done. Animals cared for. Cooking of meals must be prepared for.  Etc, etc, etc.

It started this afternoon just before the hospice nurse visited. The nagging cough that my hubby has been experiencing changed. He's on Tussin to help him bring up the junk in his lungs. He can no longer cough hard enough to bring it up on his own.

His sputum went from milky to green and I knew he was in pneumonia again instead of just congestion. Then he brought up blood. Just a little from a broken vessel in his throat. No, I didn't panic but he did. I know the difference in the blood brought up. Calming him down and fixing him a warm drink, we sat and waited for the "official" word. We've been here too many times before.

The nurse came and ordered an antibiotic for him. There just isn't anything else to do. He already has oxygen, inhalants, and breathing treatments that he does several times a day. So now we sit and wait through another crisis. What a difference twelve hours makes. Last night he was congested with wheezing in the upper left quadrant of his lung to today with crackling and gurgling in the base. Definitely more fluid there.

It gets very frustrating at times. It's at times like this my GITG (Give It To God) box reaches the overflow point. Others ask me how I can remain so calm and matter of fact about it all. That's how. I do what is necessary but don't buy into the worry about it category. The fact is I don't want to have to deal with it. Worry doesn't change facts and rarely change outcomes. I realize this and accept it. It's not that I don't care because believe me, I do.

Of course, I did take my frustrations out on a poor can of vegetarian baked beans tonight. I tried to open it with my electric can opener and it refused to balance against the blade. Instead of cutting a nice clean cut it gapped and pulled away from the blade. I snatched it from the can opener and threw it across the kitchen. I walked across the kitchen and threw it back the other way. Of course the gapped cut lid spewed tomato sauce across the floor as it flew. I looked at my handiwork and realized how stupid I was. Now I had to clean it up. Believe me, I'm not immuned to good, ol' temper tantrums.

After the clean up, I got another can of beans and fixed the hot dog my husband wanted. Three bites and he was done. It took almost an hour for him to eat those three bites. He cracked a tooth over the weekend which adds to my stress. I can't take him to the dentist. So he is eating ever more slower. While I make a point of eating meals with him, it takes him forever. It also takes me an hour to was what few dishes I use for a meal.

Thanks for reading.

When the SHTF Happens Revolt!

I've had a rather rough 24 hours.

3:30am- I'm sleeping peacefully in my bed. Awoke to an ominous rumble in my bowels. Just one then then my body spewed forth a yucky surprise before my brain had time to process what it meant. Thank God for diapers! It gave me time to pull back the three blankets I was under because it was cold in the house and I once again opted for leaving the space heater in the office. I donned my AFO after pulling the Velcro free of the blanket. You know those furry, micro plush ones that catches everything but oh so warm? Grabbed my tennis shoes and put them on. The whole time more stuff was spewing forth in danger of flooding all over everything.

I clean up while sitting on the commode, and then I realized my nightgown was not clear of my upper thigh and rump on my affected side. More mess as I clear it and carefully pull the soiled garment trying not to touch my body and hair one handed. Feat accomplished, another rumble issues from my bowls. Now naked in a 58 degree bathroom because in my rush to the commode I forgot to turn on the radiant floor heating switch, I plopped myself down on the commode. Easier clean up this time. I shoved a was of toilet paper between my cheeks to from a plug.

4:00 am-I hear my husband call from the living room asking if I was all right. Knowing he couldn't hear me if I answered, I waddled naked down the chilly hallway into the living room to answer him. I knew if I didn't answer him, he would try and get up by himself to find out. In my mind, the phrase, "Are we having fun yet?" replayed over and over again.

I assured him I was fine and retucked him under the covers. He drifted off to sleep and I waddle off towards the bedroom to get some clothes on by way of another pit stop to the bathroom. Montezuma's Revenge had me but good. I toyed with the idea of putting on pants but figured they would just get in the way. So I donned my sweatshirt that read...

Bet you saw that coming, didn't you? 

lol

It seemed appropriate for the situation. Yeah, my wardrobe has changed a bit since my stroke. Things like this aren't considered appropriate dress for a minister, but my shirts now say it all. You honestly haven't lived until you have to put on an AFO, and shoes before you can go to the bathroom, and changing your clothes around them! I now cast modesty aside and go with what's easier. Even if it means having cold legs. I knew the Revenge wasn't finished with me yet because of the way my bowels grumbled.

 5:30 am-I make my way into the office by way of the bathroom. I take 2 Imodium. I debate whether to get couple more hours of sleep or not. The decision not to was based on a couple of factors: at 7am my hubby was due for more meds, and I wanted to make darn sure there wasn't an explosive wake up call again. So I whiled away my time answering emails and posting some comments on blogs in between mad rushes to the bathroom. The Revenge was persistent. I steadfastly took one Imodium after each session.

7:00 am finally arrives and I'm fighting to stay awake out of sheer exhaustion. I took my morning meds including my Lasix.  I give my hubby his meds. One pill at a time followed by a swallow of water sometimes two. My hubby needs the urinal. When he is able he has to pee standing up and refuses to go in his diaper. So I finagle his bed and help him up. This morning was one of his stubborn mornings he chose to be stubborn about it. I'm standing there supporting him while he is doing his business and it takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r!

I rest my head against his shoulder remembering other cold mornings that we snuggled in the bed together. I'm so tired. The Revenge was finally over or at least I thought it was. It had been half an hour since I heard or felt the dreaded rumblings before an explosive evacuation of my bowels.

I get him settled back into bed and pointed out his medicine box and told him I was going back to bed for a couple hours. His next meds weren't due until 10am. He would have to be responsible for taking them if I wasn't awake. 

11am- I awoke with a start. I'd overslept his med time. I threw off the warm covers, struggled into my AFO and shoes. I had to pee bad! I didn't make it to the bathroom before the flood. The urine soaked my socks which meant I had to change them. I pulled off my pull ups and waddled bare butt into the bedroom for a clean one, and socks lying on the bed to do it. I decided to put on my pants this time. The hospice aide was due a little bit later. No sense in "shocking" or maybe flashing (a better term) her. All pretense or hope of getting a shower was a fleeting flight out the window.

Walking into the living room, I found my DH (darling hubby) slumped to one side, sitting up with his meds and a bottle of water in his lap sound asleep.  He tried but didn't succeed. I raised the head of the bed and straightened him up on his pillows. I took the water bottle still with the cap on and his meds, and placed them on his bedside table. Stroking the side of his face I called his name. As usual he opened his eyes and smiled at me. "It's late. You have to take your meds."

I let the rabbit out for his daily romp while I cleaned his cage and got his fodder, goodies, and hay for the day. I know the Guinea Pig, Bella, will run away to various parts of the cage while I do it. Even though she, the cats, and puppies have touched noses, and did the customary "Let's be friends" routine, she's still timid around them. Buddy makes a beeline for my hubby's bed like he always does. He's gotten into the habit of having to say "good morning" to him. By"him" I mean both of them.

I water and set up the next days fodder and by then my hubby is either ready to start the day with a cup of coffee and a tangerine given to us by a neighbor. The tangerines are organically grown and we trade off fruit in their season. His tangerines for my apples. I know my hubby will also want his donuts so I open a new bag. I check his blood pressure and oxygen level before deciding whether or not to give my hubby his Lasix like a good, little nurse. They are both crappy low so no Lasix today.

I shoo Buddy to other haunts so my hubby can eat in peace. I leave the cage door open so Bella can socialize with the other animals and Buddy can jump in if he wants. Even though I've taught him to come when called, having him do it on his own sure beats chasing him to put him back in his cage. My hubby decides he wants to go back to sleep, but I tell him he can't because the aide is coming so I get him up into his electric wheelchair and he motors off to the office bumping into the chair rail and wainscoting as he goes. He utters a curse every time he bumps into things.

Noon- My youngest called. Her babysitter for James is sick, can I watch him? Sure, I got NOTHING else to do today. Meanwhile I check on the outside animals. Fresh water and feed, a quick clean up, and they are set for the day. I was glad I put foam insulation around their automatic waterers. This time hindsight wasn't 20/20 but the foresight was. I go back inside to play on the computer and chat with the hubby for a bit.

It's so chilly my hubby wants another cup of coffee. Thank you Missy Chrissy, daughter #2, for the Keurig single cup coffee maker she bought him for Christmas. It's so fast. My hubby rarely has a second cup of coffee these days. I'm hoping the extra coffee will keep him awake until after the aide and grandson leave.

1:30pm- The aide and my daughter arrive at the same time! It's a mad house. James has to give his grandfather a hug and kisses before anything else but the aide is trying to get him into the bath tub. My daughter is gathering clothes for the weekly washing, but my hubby's electric wheelchair is in the way. She wants to do this before she leaves for work. She moves the wheelchair enough to slide into the bedroom but it blocks the bathroom door so the aide, my hubby, and James are trapped in a 5x7 bathroom until she is done. Better yet, my grandson wails in a high pitch tone because he wants out!

I just look down at my sweatshirt. "Are we having fun yet?" and shake my head. I move the wheelchair freeing James and saving the other persons in the bathroom's ears. At the same time my daughter approaches the bedroom door with a heaping basket of laundry blocking her view. Can you guess what happened next? You got it! Clothes went flying the same time James reached the wheelchair and he got buried under a mountain of dirty clothes and bedding! Better yet. It was followed by my wicker basket landing on his head like a cherry on top of a sundae.

I extricated and picked him up moving him to the safety of my office. The aide started picking up the clothes and placing them back into the basket. She placed the basket in the wheelchair and moved the chair out of my daughter's way. She thanks her, grabs the basket and goes to work. She won't get off until 10 pm, but daughter #2 will pick him up when she gets off work. Meanwhile I do the grandmother thing and feed my grandson cookies before lunch.

The aide leaves after getting my hubby settled into bed for a nap. James is laid down for a nap after eating all of his lunch. Blessed silence! I sink into my desk chair knowing I should be doing my rehab exercises but lacking the energy to do it. Aw heck, I did enough walking, bending, lifting and stretching in the last hour to count as a workout, I justified to myself. All the energy I recovered from my morning nap is gone and I'm exhausted! I ventured outside to a pleasing warm short lived sunshine. A pile of pine cones James had gathered earlier sat next to my outdoor rocking chair. The rabbits and guinea pig love to chew on them. The arctic blast is over! YEAH!!!!

I hear James stirring in the bedroom and call to him. He arrives carrying his shoes and one sock. Have you ever tried changing a squirming toddler's diaper, putting his socks and shoes on one handed? Try it and you'll get a whole new appreciation for having two working hands. It is now 12 hours since I got up for the first time this morning. The day is only half over. One more hour until my daughter picks up my grandson.

My grandson steps on my already stretched headset cord and it snaps off at the plug. My husband is now calling to get up and pee. I go to tend to him while my grandson is pushing on my butt in the hall saying "move" and "wanna play."

I tend to my husband and sit him in his wheelchair at his request. My grandson brings him his stacking rings and proceeds to take it apart so Grandpa can play with him. When I try to intervene, James shakes his head violently and snatching the rings away from me. I look over his head at my DH and shrugged. He shrugged back and begins to play with him.

I had to pee so I left them to their game. I'm on the commode when my cell phone rings. Of course it's in the office. To top it off someone is knocking at the door. I flush the toilet and reach my cell phone just as it stops ringing. The phone beeps for a voice mail as I answer the door. Whoever was messaging would have to wait. It was my youngest daughter's girl friend from work coming to pick James up at the door. James wasn't having any of that. He was playing with his grandpa and proceeds to pitch a fit when the girl friend grabs him to carry him off. I know that she watches him for my daughter so I don't worry. She's a back-up sitter.

I breathe a sigh of relief as she carries a kicking and screaming two-year old out the door. That boy never wants to leave his grandparents' house like all our grands. As much as James pitches fits for everyone else, he rarely does it with us. Thank God! I prefer the distraction method instead of screaming at a child not to scream.

I drove to the Family Dollar a get a new headset. I really should not have been driving as tired as I was, but I did. I picked up a Di Giorno pizza while I was there. It was going to be an easy night for me. As luck would have it. Bad luck that is, I drove home at rush hour. ARGH! Fifteen minutes waiting to pull out onto the main road home. You know the type of traffic I'm talking about. Bumper to bumper one way and clear in the oncoming lane and vice versa! I pulled into my driveway half a mile away and just sat in the car for a few moments to decompress.

I look up and saw my front door wide open. A wave of panic swept through me. I was sure I'd closed and locked the door before I left. An equal wave of relief swept through me when I saw my husband's wheelchair peek out the door. He was looking to see if I had made it home yet because I'd been gone over thirty minutes. He was in the midst of a full fledged panic attack. The one thing bad about my house is no low windows. It's raining now too.

By 8 pm, I'm done in. After every thirty minutes of waking my husband a reminding him to eat his one piece of pizza. He asks for another drink so I get up and get it for. I felt something squishy and a foot of pain go through my right (affected) foot. With drinks in hand (2 cans of Coke Zero) I hobbled back to the office to access the damage. We took my shoes, AFO, and gently pulled off my sock to a blood stained mess. Yep, I'd broken open the pressure sore yet again.  

It takes time to dress and bandage a foot you have no control over. First it weaves and wavers all over the place in an unsupported lift and then the clonus sets in. The clonus stops for the ointment to be put on and then starts again. I have trouble doing this by myself so my foot is resting on my husband's lap while he tries to administer to my wound, and clucking like an old mother hen. Yes, I am loved. The phone message I finally got around to listening to was my youngest daughter telling me that her friend was picking up James and she was at my door.

By the time 930 pm rolls around, my youngest daughter pounds on my door. She had brought the Coke Zero I'd ask her for. Then she was changing uniforms, her other job called and said that the guy covering the shift had a heart attack could she possibly come in until they found a replacement for him. She felt obligated to go in. She knew it meant covering the entire shift because nobody wanted to work the graveyard shift. Then, she was out the door. No sense in trying to rest my tired body now his and my medicines are due over the next two hours. I'll just sit at my desk and play an item search game.

I had just given the last medicine until 7am and crawled into bed. I was too tired to even take my pants, shoes, and AFO off, but I did. I just got comfort with the blankets pulled up to  my chin when I heard it...a transformer blew. The same time the power went out. That meant my husband's oxygen condenser wasn't working. I waited a few seconds for the solar back-up system to turn on like it usually did. It didn't! (that's the end of the clocks. I think.

I reached for my AFO and shoes in the dark. Of course, the Velcro on the blasted things worked against me. I had left my battery powered lantern in the living room when my #2 daughter took down Christmas and she needed it to see in the attic. I grabbed his 1 lb oxygen cylinder back-up.  Grumbling, almost cursing, groped my way into the living room. He was sitting bolt upright in bed gasping for breath. I pulled the nasal cannula off his face and replaced it with the one on the bottle. He's gripping a tiny LED flashlight in his hand. See I'd already taken my night meds of Zanaflex, Baclofen and Valium to boot and they were in my system well.

"No air," came to me in raspy breathing. I grabbed his penlight and looked at the gauge...empty. I found the lantern and made my way to the office to get his big D cylinder of oxygen. The one on wheels. Transferred the regulator by penlight in my mouth to the big tank. I got him connected and called the power company. We're on an emergency response list. The address is flagged on their computer. The time frame is three hours to get the power back on or they'll have to move their trucks for an ambulance.

I got my hubby relaxed enough to sleep and he was snoring gently in his bed. I'm sitting in his wheelchair waiting for the power to be restored so I can switch him back to his condenser. The minutes tick by. I hear one large truck after another go down my street so I know they are working on it. I'm trying to mentally figure out why the solar batteries didn't kick in like they were supposed to. It's still raining fairly hard outside and it's lulling me into the sleep my body and the drugs in my body want me to do.

I keep jerking myself awake knowing I've got to keep watch. This goes on for an eternity or so it feels. In a startling, blinding moment the lights kick on. I don't know for sure whether GA Power got their line fixed or the solar back-up decided to run again, but either way I had power. I switched out his oxygen canulas and stumbled off to bed. (Okay so I lied about the clocks).

I awoke this morning at 9am feeling like I'd been through a war or two. My hubby, God bless him, got his own 7am medicine. I didn't even hear him. I was that exhausted. The hospice nurse is due for a visit today. My hubby sounds like he is going into pneumonia again. 

After peeing my pants to wake up this morning, a rude awakening but not as rude as the day before.  The circuit breaker flipped on the solar back-up is why it didn't come on upon investigation so it was GA Power that saved the day. I've already called my hubby's oxygen supply company for replacement bottles. Fixed him his morning cup of coffee and a tangerine cut up. Done the meds for him and me. Now all's that left is the outside livestock and wait for hospice.

On looking in the mirror this morning and surveying what the night or wee hours had wrought I knew it wasn't going to get any better when I looked in the bathroom mirror this morning and saw this...

Yep, that's right HORNS!

A sure sign to me that it was going be another cantankerous day and my day began anew. I'm wearing my "Me?? Sarcastic...nah!!" t-shirt today just to forewarn everyone. Even though I wet my hair and tried to brush them down, they still remain. I'm going to be devilish and in revolt today.

Nothing is impossible with determination.

Fore Thought and Action After a Stroke

I'm realizing that my previous post is boggling most of you readers minds. How am I am to do what I do after a stroke. It takes a lot of fore thought and trial and error.

I have always been able to set priorities before acting. This stems from years of experience as a life flight nurse. I know you've all heard of the ABCs...airway, breathing, circulation in any first aid course. I tend to function like that after decades of following ABC steps. Critical first and everything else next. I call in my front seat/back seat method of prioritizing. Paying the electric bill before the power is cut off. Giving medicines in a timely fashion to prevent crises later on. Mopping up spills when they happen prevents falls later on. I personally dislike when others make their emergencies my emergencies. This takes a lot of fore thought to stop emergencies becoming emergencies.

A little fore thought before any action goes a long way in preventing a severe energy waste of do overs.

As in the case of my husband being on the floor my first concern was air because he didn't have his oxygen nasal cannula on. When he kept saying "no oxygen" it became a process of elimination before ever considering broken bones from the fall or trying to move him. It turns out that because the rails were up on the bed, the only way he could get out of the bed is over the foot rail. So rather than actually falling out of bed, he had done a slow slide intent on going over to the condenser. I didn't find this out until much, much later.

The way I balance him now is to brace my paralyzed side against him. With my spasticity in full force right now that side of my body is not going anywhere. This leaves my functioning side free to support, grab, reach, and lift or do whatever is necessary. I'll place what I need within easy grasp for my left hand before I try to do anything. It's not the perfect way to do it, or the safest, but it works for me. I get 'er done.

I fell a couple of days ago in my kitchen (the same day as my husband "fell"). I was turning around to leave the kitchen and I got my feet tangled up. BOOM! The Diet Coke I had in my hand went flying pouring its contents all over me, the floor, and down the hall. I did a quick body assessment ie, moved various moveable parts to check for damage. The main things that hurt were my functioning elbow and knee. This would be a major problem in me getting up but I'd have to grin and bear it.

My husband saw the can go flying and asked if I was okay. I yelled back yes. The last thing I needed after falling was him trying to get up and try to rescue me. We'd both be on the floor and no help coming. After I assessed the damage I sat there and looked around thinking of things to help me rise without hurting myself further. I scooted over to the stove. I could straighten out my braced foot and use the edge of the stove to pull my fat behind up. My knee and elbow screamed at me and I sat back down on the floor to rethink my options. I eventually figured it out and began mopping up the mess I'd made. The results were some really bad bruising and me guarding the injured parts for a few days.

I returned to my hubby with a forced smile on my face and got him up into his electric wheelchair. I grabbed a bag of frozen peas and propped on my knee and elbow for the next twenty minutes sitting at my computer. My hubby didn't know I'd fallen until after I got up to put the peas back in the freezer. That was because I did my loud old lady groan. Ya gotta love getting older. You make such interesting sounds when you move.

Since my stroke there are a lot of things I cannot do. I accept it for right now as a changeable fact in the future. Until that time, I'll do what I can with what I've got. Although I always tell others ...you never know what you are capable of unless there is something you have to do. Given the same set of circumstances, not that anyone would want my circumstances, they would surprise themselves at what they could accomplish.

Nothing is impossible with determination.