"Code Stroke ER"

I've been helping out at one of our Hospitals this summer and have spent some time at Maine Coast Memorial. The office I'm working in is in the hospital itself, quite different from the corporate office I normally work in. This morning was the third time I've been here that I heard over the intercom "Code stoke ER". They repeat it three times and then stop. Every single time it sends chills up my spine. Chills up my spine. Immediately I'm taken back to the morning of Dad's stroke and the horrifying moments in the ER, before he was strapped in and Lifeflighted down to Portland. I do not wish that on anyone. I do not wish the loss and recovery our family suffered on anyone.

The Last Time

The last time I wrote on this blog was last May. My, that was a long time ago. So much and so little has happened in all the time since this day. This day.
Forever emblazoned in my mind as the single most life changing event I could ever imagine my young self would be witness to and part of. Today marks four years since Dad's stoke. Four years ago I was in Portland Maine with my mother and brother, while Dad lay in ICU, unable to talk to us.
Funny thing is, I remember in great detail the day before the stroke, just as much as today. I recounted it recently to a friend of mine. Time has a funny way of dimming memories, until, like Marcel Proust's Remembrances of Things Past, all it takes is the tiniest of things and suddenly your mind is flooded with images, thoughts feeling, once thought long dead.
The weather yesterday and today are exactly as it was four years ago. The day before I had gone snow shoeing in Acadia National Park. I asked Dad if he wanted to join me. He declined, to focused on preparing a turkey with all the fixings for dinner. How I wished he had gone with me. A few years prior we had gone snow shoeing with Bill Chymny. The three of us had a rough time of it, the snow so deep, we had to take shifts walking in front to make the path. It was the best time I remember spending with my father in my adult life. So I was a bit upset he declined the invite the day before. No one would have predicted he would never be able to do anything like that again after that day.
So the day before, I went snow shoeing by myself. I brought a couple of cameras and spend the afternoon traipsing around the woods, taking pictures of this and that. In the back of my mind, I couldn't wait to get home and tell Dad about it. It was just the thing he would have loved.
I went home and showed him the photos, pointed to the map where I had been. He loved it all like I knew he would. We all had dinner. The night went on like any other night and that was it. The next morning everything changed.
As much as I remember today, where we all were, what was about to happen to Dad, to all us, in the months and now years that followed, I also remember that day before everything changed.
Yesterday and today. No one realizes how quickly things change until they do.


  

Everyone Has A Story To Tell

A day or so after Dad had his stroke I remember emailing Mindy asking her what kind of stroke her ex husband had. I needed information, I was grasping at straws and I knew she and he lived together and she took care of him. She would know something. She responded back quickly. From the sounds of it, it appeared that Dad had experienced a similar type of stroke her ex Don had. Mindy ended up becoming an amazing beacon of light in the dark world I found myself following Dad's stroke.

You may be asking yourself, who's Mindy?

Mindy and I worked in the same office, what seems like eons ago now. In reality it's only been half a dozen. But that's neither here or there. Don, her husband at the time, had a stroke while I was working there and while I didn't really know either of them in depth, their story and his life changing event made its way around the office cubicles. Gossip tends to spread faster than wild fire once you get a group of people together. Mindy was a smoker, like me, and occasionally our paths would cross while out having a cigarette. I've met more people being a smoker than not, if that doesn't speak about the social aspect of a nasty habit.

Like I said people gossip and talked. While I tend to keep to myself, I couldn't help but hear this and that, sometimes from Mindy herself, while out on a smoke break. We all need to vent sometimes. So I sort of knew what happened after Don's stroke. Sort of.

Flash forward a few years. I've left my job (right before it was outsourced), attempted to move halfway across the country (bad mistake) and ended up regrouping at my parents, which leads us to why I was there the morning Dad had his stroke. Life has a funny way of providing you a reason for everything.

But back to the stroke and who I can turn to for answers, because the questions in my head grow hour by hour in the days and weeks following his stroke. One of those people was Mindy. With a smile, an email of encouragement or relatable story, she helped in ways to this day she probably doesn't realize. She got it. And got it, all while living through her own life and what was transpiring there. That's what truly selfless people do. Little did I know, that what was transpiring there, she would eventually turn into a book called His Stroke, My Recovery. She recently published it online.   

I picked up Mindy's book through Amazon Kindle a couple of weeks ago and burned through it pretty quickly. It's an easy read with a crazy story. I highly recommend reading about her journey, Don's journey, their journey together. In the end you are left with an indelible mark on your soul and a true realization of the transcendent power of love.

                

                   His Stroke, My Recovery                  

Real and Tangible

I suppose I hadn't wanted to say anything since everything was going so well. Then I thought well if you keep all the news to yourself and you don't share it, is it really news?
For the past four months now we have been able to get away with monthly doctor visits for Dad to check his Coumadin levels. To echo Foghorn Leghorn, "I say, I say, we only have to go once a month to the doctor!"


While our winter may have been non-existent (and deservedly so after last years record breaker), the good news about this does exist and is a reason to shout out loud. You know why? It ends up being one of those thing that someone keeps telling you is going to get better and to hang in there. And you do and then it finally does. It highlights the little things that, once added up, make the extraordinary real and tangible.


Here's to continuing trends...   

Wait It Out

Well, as I joked to everyone, there wasn't enough snow in Maine so I went to New Jersey to get some. Minus the blizzard that crippled the entire mid coast of the Atlantic and the cold I brought back, my trip was a success.
The cold.
I can recover pretty quickly, but I also still have a good immune system and I don't mess around when I'm starting to come down with something. Dad, on the other hand, doesn't recover quickly from anything anymore. I think he's on day four of stuffy nose, feeling like crap, going to sleep all day. We've been pumping him full of soup, liquids, vitamin C and Tylenol. Those are about the only things he can take because of the medications he's on. While he is getting better everyday it's slow going. It is what it is and that's ok.
The tortoise always wins the race.
And we continue on... 

Winter Vacation

I get to escape this weekend! I'm fortunate enough to get two mini vacations this year and this weekend is one of them. I'm heading down to New Jersey while PJ stays with Mom and Dad. It's a good thing for all of us I think. It gives Mom, Dad and I a break from each other, it gives PJ some alone time with them (and he can do little projects I haven't had time to get to) and after it's over it makes us all appreciate the situation as it normally is!
Aside from seeing friends and driving by old haunts, driving down to Jersey really can mean only one thing...food shopping. That's right. As much as we all love Maine, the slower pace of life, less people, no humidity, yadda yadda, is just as much as we miss certain things found in abundance down there. Namely ethnic foods, bagels and pizza. You can order just about anything you want off the internet, except Oscar Meyer's Braunschweiger Liverwurst or Pechter's rye bread (two of Dad's favorites). The liverwurst is specific to certain markets and the rye bread I've only seen sold in ShopRite in New Jersey. Sure I can drive to Morse's European Delicatessen in Waldeboro and buy Schaller & Webber German sausages imported from New York City (heck you can even get Taylor Ham there), but I'd just as soon go to Kochers in Ridgefield New Jersey and pick them up fresh, along with some sauerkraut.
For weeks now we've been making our list (or I should say I've been making my list) of all the things we want that we can't get up here. So far I'm hitting up a German butcher (sausages, stollen, mustards & sauerkraut), an Italian deli (dry cured meats, cheeses and breads), an Asian market (real ramen noodles, spices, dried chilies), ShopRite, a bagel place and a pizza joint. I've got a seasoned veteran to maneuver me in and out of the congested byways and highways that are New Jersey, a chest freezer in Maine begging to be filled and one weekend to get it all done.         

Day 1098

I didn't post anything on the 2nd of January, the 3rd anniversary of Dad's stroke. The date is ingrained in my brain enough, no need to ingrain it in anyone's else's mind. Then I calculated the days it's been. It's one thing to think of it in years (funny how poof, just like that the event translates into years), it's quite another to see how many days it's been.
I suppose heralding the sentiment of our Christmas letter, what I take away from each day is how the ordinary has become extraordinary. It's remarkable how simplicity can still yield miracles after all this time; yet that is what this and all life is, simply a miracle.
And we continue on.    

Christmas 2015

This is the third Christmas letter I’ve done for the family. I think of letters past, both that I’ve written and that Dad has written. The recurring theme is synopsis. A snapshot of the last 12 months for those not in contact with on a daily basis. Years from now a forgotten bygone of a lost time perhaps.

2015 was a good year for us and the gratitude felt is immeasurable. We survived a winter that was one for the record books. We added more chickens to the coop and I’m happy to say we have more eggs than we know what to do with finally. Mom’s health is good despite the knee problems we are still actively trying to amend. We continue to chase the elusive monthly doctor visits to maintain the thickness of Dad’s blood. His Doctor is as cautious as I am optimistic. PJ is still running the Limerock Inn (check out their website). I am still working and staying at home maintaining the status quo. To use words like still and continue sounds droll, as if there really isn’t much going on, hasn’t been much that’s happened. Yet that’s not the case. An entire year has passed. It’s good days and bad days, sunny and cloudy, snowy and rainy. All different days that equal a life, something wonderful from the second you open your eyes until you close them at night. There isn’t anything droll about that.

May this Holiday season find you happy and healthy in the knowledge that each day is a good day.

Love,

The Walters

World Stroke Day

Today is World Stroke Day. The acronym F.A.S.T is suppose to remind you of the three major signs of a stroke. Face drooping, Arm weakness, Speech difficulty, Time to call 911.
Unfortunately this was not the situation with regards to Dad's stroke, but it very well could be and end up happening to someone you are around, to someone you know and love, to yourself. So this is my little public service announcement. Keep your eyes out, you never know when you could end up saving someone and or possibly yourself.  

71 and Counting

This past weekend we celebrated Dad's birthday the only way we know how. We went out to eat. This year we went to Primo in Rockland. I'm only going to say to check them out, because it is an experience and right here in our little corner of the world. Who would have thought in little old Maine? It was also something that we and Dad will always remember. Happy 71st birthday, as PJ said another year in the books.

Can't Catch That Break Yet

We seem to have trend going on here. We get the OK for monthly protime tests, which is great. However, we come in to find the number is high, which forces us to adjust medication and come back in a week. The number is then acceptable and we are ok'd for three weeks until the next appointment, when it's high again. You might get frustrated for half a second, save the knowledge that the thickness of your blood, when you are sometimes in AFIB and or have had a massive stroke, makes a huge difference.
The only thing you can do is follow orders and keep smiling.

Wait It Out

Sooner or later I suppose I knew it was going to happen. After all we aren't living in a bubble. Dad has a cold. Stuffy head, cough, lethargic, but no fever kind of cold. We are on day three, as far as I can tell. 

A normal person who gets a cold can load up on over the counter cold medicines to get them through the day. Not someone on blood thinners. Not someone who's had a stroke. Look up the warnings on just about every product out there for the common cold and you quickly learn they are all a no no for someone who's had a stroke. Doesn't matter the severity of the stroke, none of them are good to take. 

So we are reverting back to the tried and true methods used long before the invention of cold medicines, water, chicken soup and sleep. Dad can take Tylenol and has. We have Vicks vapor rub and a Nettie pot should the cold not get any better in the next day. Wait it out. That's all we can do for now.  

A Great Day

The weekends are usually busy with preparing for the following week. As we near the tail end of summer I thought it might be a good idea to take Mom and Dad for a drive. One last hoorah. I thought we could drive up to Dover-Foxcroft and Sebec where Mom and Dad lived for the first several years they were up here. It's been a while since they've been back and it's been a while since we've gone anywhere other than Rockland or Bangor. So it was agreed upon and off we went.
You drive to the end of our road, turn right and continue on the same road. Roughly an hour and a half later you've reached your destination. While there are dozens of different ways to maneuver through Bangor, you pretty much stay on 15 and it leads you right to Dover. I sometimes find it difficult to conceive of getting lost in Maine.
As you leave Bangor and its outer suburbs with towns like Glenburn, the road opens up. It's swampy with little rivers and streams running here and there to the left and right. It's also littered with lush fields, some growing corn, some grass for hay, some plain old Golden Rod, the most hated weed by those that suffer from allergies. There's a peacefulness this drive offers, partly because it's so familiar, partly because it's so beautifully country. Unlike other places I've lived, not much changes. Oh sure, the sleepy town of Corinth (where Dad once tried to get a teaching job) is building a ginormous school building to house several school districts, big news in that area. And Dover-Foxcroft may have rehabilitated part of the old mill that sits along the Penobscot river, converting them into apartments. But that is pretty much it. Overall, not much is different. The statue factory, a house that has for the better part of 30 years, been selling lawn statues of every design is still there. Houses we used to admire still stand, some in need of repair, some fixed up, since we've last driven by. Dilapidated dwellings have continued on their path of deterioration, still not torn down because people most likely still inhabit them. Along the drive there comes the point in the road where you can see the Charleston correctional tower, way off in the distance sitting on top of a hill. Several miles later and you climb up that hill to it's peak, where the correctional facility is (Dad applied there also as a teacher to the inmates). As you top the peak of this ridge directly in front of you is the most gorgeous road view of what I like to call the gateway to the Maine woods. The Appalachians stretch the entire horizon. Borestone Mountain, with it's distinctive double peaks lies almost smack dab in the middle. On a very clear day you can get the faintest hint of Mount Katahdin off to the right, some 60 miles away, Maine's tallest mountain. You head down the ridge eventually ending up in Dover-Foxcroft, the somewhat sleepy little town we used to visit as kids and where Mom and Dad first lived when they retired up here (although, technically their house was in the next town Sebec, but Sebec has nothing in it, making Dover the lifeblood for everything you need). It is a quaint little town. It has everything you need, gas station, grocery store, hardware, post office and even a small town restaurant. Dad originally picked it because it's the county seat so it's High School is well known, it has a hospital that services so much of northern central Maine, it's just a little bit of everything.
We drive slowly through town. Dad had to remind me how to get to their old house (something I laughed at after the fact). We drove by. It looked the same. Secluded and well away of everything, this was the house Dad loved and still thinks about, even though it's been well established they are better off in Bucksport.
Slowly we meandered our way back towards Bangor and home, taking an alternate route that both Mom and Dad reminded me they used to take home from church in Bangor. The sun was shining. There were hardly any cars. It was just us. It was a perfect day and a great way to end the summer. What more could you ask for?

What Do You Do?

It hasn't happened to me in almost four years, being sick that is. I'm lucky in that respect I suppose. It's not that I don't take care of myself, I was just born with good genes I like to joke. Since Dad's stroke everything has been smooth sailing. None of us has been sick. Sounds odd doesn't it? With everything that's happened, things have been smooth sailing until now. The last six days I have been struck with such a sickness. Like so sick I didn't cook. Whaat?
So what do you do when you're the one taking care of everyone and you can't take care of anything. Sleep, drink lots of water and thank God Mom was able to pull it together to help out in the minimal capacity she can. Every little bit has helped. If it had gone over 7 days that would have been something, but it didn't. On the eve of the 6th day I feel alive again. Graced once more. It was a tough week for everyone and I thank Mom and Dad for bearing with me. Let's get back to living. 

Connections

Our friend Bill had his birthday a couple of weeks ago. If I repeat myself with this post I apologize. I have a tendency to do this with stories, facts, you name it. It has endeared me to a select few, while the majority just roll their eyes. In the end I am my father's daughter. 

Bill is three months older than Dad. Growing up in Maplewood, NJ they knew each other during a stint in the Cub Scouts. Eventually my grandparents moved themselves and Dad to Livingston and that was that. End of story? No. Flash forward thirty years to me in nursery school. The story goes something like this. There was a little boy in nursery school with me and he was wearing suspenders. They were the kind that had the obnoxious metal clasp, like a miniature trap you would use if you trapped animals for a living and they clipped to your pants. Well this little boy's suspender had become unhinged. I offered to help him with his suspender faux pas and we became instant friends. When I came home and Mom told Dad about what happened he asked what the last name of the boy was. It was Chymiy. Dad instantly recognized the name as someone he knew from Cub Scouts. Small world right? It wasn't long after that our mother's became best friends. Like 30 plus year best friends. Mom and Judy would spend every other Saturday together playing cards or Yahtzee, sitting around drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. When it came time for Bill to retire (he held out a little longer than Dad) Mom and Dad received word he and Judy were moving to Maine. Fed up with traffic and too many people in NJ, they, like so many others fled the state. For Mom it was a blessing to have her best friend 15 minutes away. Judy and Bill spent Holidays with us, they would come over and play cards, they all explored parts of the state of Maine. It was a grand time. Then Judy got sick. It wasn't but a few months and she passed away. Just over two weeks later Dad had his stroke. Where we were comforting Bill on the loss of his wife, he was comforting us by visiting Dad in the hospital. Bill was instrumental that first year keeping us company, taking Dad to therapy appointments, a million and one other little thing. Two men who had known each other briefly as children, now tied together by tragedy and circumstances. 

While scanning old photos I came upon two, taken by my grandfather, of Dad with a group of kids. As soon as I saw them I knew. Bill was there. It was of both boys when they were in cub scouts together and I smiled. I don't believe anything happens for a reason. Except this. This connection with this man whom I have tremendous respect for was no accident. Two guys who met when they were kids, whose kids then met each other, whose moms became best friends and who are still in each others lives as they enter their seventh decade of living. He is and will be a constant in our lives. And they knew each other when...

Dad is middle bottom row, Bill second on the right top row

Dad and Bill on the left

 

As Luck Would Have It

So you all know Dad has to go to his PCP for protime tests since he's on blood thinners. Other than a back spasm (the kind those from Millington can remember, i.e. ambulance at the house spending 40 minutes persuading Dad to roll over onto the stretcher) he's been in great health. He lost his 'winter weight', he's feeling pretty good. All things are good. Since his doctor is doing Saturday clinics, he felt safe letting Dad go a month in between protime testing. It's been wonderful. With Mom doing better and now Dad and I having a month off, it's been a luxury I haven't known the last couple of year. Well, we went this past Saturday, one month in. Sure as the sky is blue on a sunny day, Dad's number was high, like 3.4 high (it should be between 2 and 3). Adjustments in coumadin levels to be adhered to this week followed by an appointment next Saturday morning and then back to every two weeks after that.
We had a month off. I will joke about it one day and say, "Remember that time we had that month off? It was so very nice."
 

Slice of Heaven

What's your definition of paradise? Is it a tropical beach with manicured sand and perfect aqua colored water? What about your ideal vacation? Jet setting to a different culture, road tripping across the country? Where is your little slice of heaven, your paradise? What if it was right in your backyard?
Sometime over the weekend Mom randomly thanked me for taking care of the yard. While her sentiment was sweet, it was unnecessary. The lawn has to be mowed (and replanted but that's a whole other issue), the vegetable garden has to be planted (because if I get rid of it inevitably it becomes more grass for me to mow), flower beds have to be weeded. It's just what is needed. If Dad was taking care of the yard it would look a heck of a lot better! I'm just trying to keep up. But it got me thinking. Dad always had quite a bit of pride shaping, cultivating and designing his yards. From the house on Fernwood in Maplewood, to Brookside in Millington and all the way past Sebec to Bucksport, there has always been an ever changing and rotating group of flowers, shrubs and trees that have adorned all the properties.
There is a place on Mount Desert Island called Asticou Azalea Garden. I go there every year, around this time, to photograph the brilliantly blooming azaleas and rhododendrons. Usually I stop by early morning on my way home from photographing the night sky and/or sunrise in Acadia National Park. The garden is an inspiration for me.
I joked with both Mom and Dad that I would like their backyard to be a mini version of Asticou. It's a lofty ambition and Dad, just tired thinking about it, quietly told me not to bother. I looked at him and said, "When are either of you going to be travelling anywhere, anytime soon?" There was no harshness in the truth I spoke of. I continued, "Instead of having to take a vacation and go somewhere to see beauty and get away from everything to relax, you have your backyard. That's your paradise, that's your vacation. And you can go out there anytime you want. You have your own hidden paradise right in your backyard. Who wouldn't want that?" He agreed. And we continue on...

Click for more photos

       

Spring has Sprung

Well, halfway through "official" spring, it has finally sprung in Maine. Coldest, longest, snowiest winter I can remember in my brief life, that's for sure. I think it's really only been warm enough for Dad to sit outside a handful of days so far. As a matter of fact, this past Memorial Day weekend was the first time we were able to keep the screen door open it was so warm out. Prior to this we have still maintained the heat in the house. Yes your blood thins as you get older and become less active, Dad being the prime example of this.
Needless to say with winter a somewhat distant memory (they did get a light dusting of snow up in the "county" over the weekend), preparations for all things spring and summer have been keeping everyone (me) busy. The lawn is back to weekly mowing, the flower beds are riddled daily with pluckable weeds and the asparagus bed, now in it's 6th year (?), continues to produce tasty Flintsone size sprouts of delightful yumminess.
I upgraded my grill this spring. With all the cooking we do and trying to keep as much as what we eat unprocessed and homemade it made sense. Everyone thinks I'm crazy and Dad laughs knowing it was only an excuse to get a bigger, better grill. He may or may not be right about that one!

 

We lost another chicken this past spring, this time while I was away on vacation. Nothing like hanging at an airport for a layover when you get the text at 7:30 in the morning that your chick is dead. My brother, who had been watching my parents, felt horribly guilty, thinking he had done something wrong. He hadn't. If you don't know the signs or what to look for, it just happens.
That left us with only two chickens. So I went out and got six more baby chicks. State law requires they sell six minimum. I guess that minimum requirement deters irresponsible parents who think it's cute to get their kids baby chickens, bunnies, etc, for Easter. It makes sense to me.
We have had these little ones for almost a month now. They are the same as the big girls, so they are all Easter eggers, as they're called, for the pastel colored eggs they lay. So far so good. The mistakes made last year are sure to not be repeated. 
Now, Dad will have eight chickens to talk to when he goes outside this summer. I'm hoping this time next year to be able to give away eggs to friends and family.

Little girls are just over a month old

We've made some improvements and additions to all the flower beds this year (flower garden photos to follow in a later blog).
I am determined to have a successful vegetable garden; unlike last year, where I cheaped out, didn't till anything, didn't add any nutrients and just stuck some veggies in the ground. No this year's bounty will be fruitful with rutabaga, kale, arugula, beans, green pepper, broccoli, cauliflower, red lettuce, green cabbage, butternut & buttercup squash, yukon yellow potatoes and three tomato plants. I try tomatoes every year and am usually disappointed. What allows us to not need an air conditioner in the house does not bode well for tomatoes who like it hot.



digging it all up again

 



planted and ready to grow

Spring is busy. There is so much to do. So much to prepare for. Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in the day between this and that. PJ posted a photo of his dinner, asparagus and filet minon, noting the asparagus came from his sister's garden. No it didn't. It came from Dad's garden. I'm just staying with Mom and Dad, trying to maintain.

You Just Do It

I'm sometimes asked how I do it? How am I able to take care of both my parents and yet still maintain sanity? Our family friend Mr. C calls me Cinderella, when he comes over. I laugh every time I hear that name.
You know, at first it was Dad after the stroke. However, as Mom has progressively worsened over the last two years, especially with her arthritis, I'm now also taking care of her. Despite, everything, things are pretty settled this year. No strokes, no seizures and only 1 ambulance sugar low call made (knock on wood). Really it's been a pretty good year so far.
All joking aside, the only thing I can say and the only advice I can give is you just do it. While I do see similarities between my friends raising their kids and me taking care of my parents, it really is completely and utterly different in so many ways. With few exceptions, one of the most dramatic ways it's different is that your kids grow up to live adult lives. When you can't sleep because you have a crying toddler, in the back of your mind you have to know it won't last forever (even though it may seem like it does). Taking care of parents, on the other hand, is more about maintaining a quality of life that is winding it's way down rather than preparing an individual to go out into the world. There aren't graduations to go to, weddings to anticipate, grandchildren to look forward to. You are just protecting the quality of life for the people you love.
You do it with love and empathy, patience and kindness. You do it, sometimes while biting your tongue in silence. You do it without complaint. You do it because again, as someone pointed out to me, you are thinking of the we and not the I. When you think of others I truly think the they and the you become the we. And I mean this in the most altruistic way possible, not just a self serving way disguised as altruism. Is it easy? Some days are better than others, but that's life isn't it? Is it worth it? Maybe for you it's not. For myself, personally if it's the one right thing I do in my life, well then, it's the least I can do.

Respite

This weekend marks the second time I leave Mom and Dad for a vacation. For the last week or so Dad keeps asking me when I'm going away. Once again my brother is coming up to stay the long weekend. Half jokingly I gave him a list of things that he can do this weekend. All little tasks I get out of for the moment. Little things like haircuts. Dad goes to a barber in town who only accepts cash. Mom goes to Supercuts in one of the Wal-Mart's several towns over. Friday is Dad's bi-weekly protime test at Dr. Biswa's office. PJ has heard so much about Dr. Biswas and now gets to meet him and see how the routine is done. There's food shopping to be done. With Mom's congestive heart failure limiting her diet to 2000 milligrams of salt a day, that cuts out virtually anything processed you would buy in the supermarket. So just about everything we make is from scratch. Then there are the animals to look after, Loki, Fritz and now the chickens. PJ asked, with regards to the chickens, "I just have to open the coop door in the morning, close it at night, make sure they have food and water and get the eggs right?" Yes, that's all you have to do. It's a cakewalk.
I'm sure I will have lists for this and that when he shows up on Friday. Either way, the world isn't going to end while I'm gone. Instead it will merely take a respite for a few days and then return to normal when I get back.    

Traditions That Keep On Changing

There are only a few traditions we still hold true. One of them is Easter dinner. Physical ailments may keep Mom and Dad from attending church every week, but for them Easter is a big Holiday. For any Christian, well it is the Holiday.

I'm reminded of Easter two years ago when we got special permission to steal Dad away from the nursing facility Stillwater and drive him down to Rockland where PJ and Frank were hosting Easter at the Inn. What a lifetime ago that seems. This year it was just the five of us. 

The menu this year was as follows: Dad likes ham, so we had ham. I like roast beef so we had roast beef. Mom likes cheesecake, so she and I made cheesecake. Frank made his families traditional Italian Easter Bread (which is delicious), I made my Portuguese Sweet Bread. I decided to switch it up a little this year and made onion, bacon and leek scalloped potatoes. Baby asparagus is on sale this time of year. You can't go wrong with asparagus sauteed in butter, olive oil and sea salt. Lastly, in the spirit of spring and despite the foot or so of snow still prevalent on the ground, I made a citrius sangria topped with  pomegranate seltzer. It's spring dangit!  

 

The Good and the Bad

The ebb and flow of life has it's ups and downs like the tides of the ocean. Whenever someone asks me, "What do you want to hear first, the good news or bad news?" I always respond I'll take the bad. I like to get the bad out of the way first.
While not really "bad" news, we got it straight from the horse's mouth or in this case, Dad's Doc, Dr. Biswas, that he's leaving the practice at the end of May. He is letting his patients know before the gossip takes over and people begin to hear it second hand, something he is trying to avoid. Much like fear, gossip breeds like rabbits in heat.
It's not that Dr. Biswas doesn't love what he does. In fact he cares for his patients so much that provided a contract can be worked out, he plans to come back to the office every other Saturday to see patients. No, a combination of the harsh winter, long commute and the all mighty dollar are the catalyst for this decision. In reality health care, while there for the well being of the patient, is also about getting the best bang for you buck and making a profit. There are a number of factors involved that would leave a bad taste in the mouth for anyone with a passion for what they. Like art, a good physician shouldn't have to worry about quotas or if they go over the time limit for an office visit with a patient. As we continue to refine Henry Ford's assembly line way of doing business in health care, more and more scenarios like this will occur. Don't kid yourself, the politics of medicine are big business. I know from my own personal experience in my job.
I told Dr. Biswas we would follow him where ever he goes. He is going to split his time between seeing patients and teaching, something he did in England long before arriving in the States. We wish him the best of luck, albeit with a twinge of sadness. He has been my constant in caring for Dad and the trust I have in him cannot be measured, because I know how much he cares. Trust is hard to come by for me, especially when it comes to the health of both my parents.
That was the bad news. The good news was Mom's lab work results. Always a work in progress, I got the call from the pharmacist at her doctor's office. Her latest numbers were great! They showed a big improvement, especially with regards to her A1 hemglobin, finally within a normal range. We have to cut her lasix in half with one of her meds as her kidney function was a little off, but other than that, her numbers are looking good. She was down several pounds during her last office visit too. The hard work is beginning to pay off. I tell Mom I don't mean to be a pain in the ass, because I know I am, but it's for her own good. Last week's labs result proved this. We look forward to continuing with what we've been doing and hopefully getting her those new knees she needs.    

The Winter To Remember

I had to re-title and re-write this blog. Up until two weeks ago we didn't even have a dusting of snow on the ground. I've talked to some old timers up here and asked them if they can ever recall this many consecutive storms with significant plowable, measurable snowfall. There were no stories to be told. In as many years as Mom and Dad have lived here they can't ever recall this many back to back storms. I'm just going to provide a pictorial story of how much snow we've gotten in the last 14 days with another foot to potentially fall over the course of the next two days. Here's a few photos to give you an idea. For anyone who knows Dad this is the type of story he would revel in telling everyone.

 

2/27/15 UPDATE: Bangor Maine is on track for the coldest month on record and we are only a few inches away from the 2nd most snowfall in a winter. As I always like to say, go big or go home. 

It all began with a little blizzard. At least you could still see the bench and chair. 

The bush in the front yard is still prominent.

Even the mailbox is accessible!

Not so a few quick snowfalls later.

Early morning.

Remember that bush? Different view and disappearing.

Add caption

The bench is still there, sort of.

Front

Back

Looking down on the bird feeder

The mailbox now

2/21/15

2/22/15

2/22/15

2/27/15

2/27/15

2/27/15

  

The Joke Is...

So to make things easier for Mom and Dad and to save money, we opted this winter to replace the wood stove with a pellet stove. It's a cleaner burn, it gets you a bit of a tax break in Maine, it's something that I can get started in the morning and it will burn while I'm at work requiring no maintenance from Mom and Dad. Ideally this was the perfect solution.
Since it's installation in early December (and the fact that it took that long to install after ordering it 2 months prior is another long story) the thing has worked for a combined 3 weeks? The high heat switch has tripped more times than Carter had liver pills (only a certain generation will understand this reference). The company that installed it has been out to the house at least 6 times to fix this issue, eventually replacing the high heat switch. Everything has to be followed in conjunction with the manufactures warranty and there are no house calls on the weekend. Needless to say it has been a time consuming process.
I title this blog entry The Joke Is because from installation to every house call, neither PJ or myself has been able to be here when they are. Usually I come home, find out there's a problem, call PJ, who calls the company who says they will come by. I come home after they have been here and ask what happened, because now the stove is working. Well Dad has the memory, but difficulty speaking and relating what was said. Mom has the speech to relate what was told to her, but not the memory to tell me. It's a catch 22. You have to laugh at life. This is what the joke is and it's pretty funny.

The We

I was reminded recently to remember the "we" instead of the "I". I've been focused on the "I" lately instead of the "we", through no ones fault but my own. But it is the "we" that needs the focus, never the "I". I write this blog about Dad and the experience continuing after his stroke. I rarely write about Mom, yet she is a huge part of the equation. Dad cannot take care of Mom anymore, something he had maintained prior to his stroke. I've been doing it the last two years, under the illusion that she was able to help take care of herself. Illusions are just that, illusions and not real.
Mom had a sugar low tonight. A sugar low that required a 911 phone call, incoherent sugar low. A sugar low we dealt with only one other time about nine months ago, when at work I called to see how everything was going and realized Mom was in a sugar low only to then realize she wasn't able to get to something to fix it so I had to leave work, calling 911 on my way home. Was the sentence really that long? Yes yes it was.
I am ok with taking care of my parents, now taking active care of both of them. It is still not a nursing home. It is still better than a nursing home. I do it because this is what you do with those you love, whether your parent, your partner, your child, your friend. It is something I love doing. I know people that do this with regards to each scenario mentioned. My friend Pete, whom I've recently reconnected with comes to mind immediately, having taken care of both his mother an father during different periods. Then there's my friend Mindy, truly a gift on earth and caregiver to her ex husband who had a stroke similar to Dad's. These are the selfless people I think about and admire. These are the individuals I am blessed to know.
Mom is now not allowed to take her insulin unless given to her, based on her numbers. It is not a dig against her. It is to help her, protect her. It is for the best. It is not "something else on my plate". It is just something I know I do without question and what many people I have been fortunate enough to know do without question. It is just what you do.        

Visitors

It's always nice to have visitors come by that knew Dad pre-stroke, even if they weren't part of the early months post-stroke, because I like to ask their opinion on how they think he is. Dad still sees no improvement in himself, yet as I've written countless times on here, the improvements could move mountains.
This past weekend we had my cousin Dawn and Aunt Lisa come up for a visit. Actually they are still at PJ's inn, with both their flights delayed due to the blizzard we are supposed to get tonight. The last time Dawn saw Dad she was here with her mother, my Aunt Melody and Dad was still in the hospital awaiting transportation to Stillwater Skilled Nursing. As a matter of fact when Dawn was here last time, we had a huge blizzard. I joke that she can only visit in the spring or summer from now on. The last time Aunt Lisa saw Dad was August 2012, when she and her husband had come up for a visit after dropping my cousin Kate off for her freshman year of college.
Dawn was immediately impressed with how far he's come along, especially his speech. Last time he wasn't even speaking yet. Aunt Lisa said, after dinner, "It's still your Dad. His facial expressions, mannerisms, even the fact that he can spit out the word shit when it's appropriate." Honestly it all made me feel better. I don't know that Dad believes it. That's ok. I believe it, Mom believes it, PJ believes it.   

Little One Lays An Egg

Yeah I know it's a picture of three eggs. You might not be able to tell the color difference but the far left is a light blue, the middle one a very light brown, the last one a definite brown. The first two I described are from the Easter layers I have that have consistently laid just about everyday of the week for several months. Today, I discovered what I was hoping for, the third egg in the row, the brown one. My 'little one' as I call her, my silver lace, finally laid an egg! Recently we lost my two original Plymouth Rocks to illnesses I didn't catch in time. It was quite trying as I don't do well with dead things, let alone animals that die on my watch and I'm still kicking myself for not catching it sooner. Antibiotics were too late despite injections of them. Anyone who said raising chickens was easy didn't have the luck I've had this past eight months. Quite the learning curve, it's been more difficult than I anticipated. I had about given up on my silver lace laying eggs until today! Currently we only have the three that are now laying. I mention any of this, because of Dad. He will never admit it, but he loves these chickens and the process I've undertaken by having them, something he wouldn't have ever done, despite secretly wanting to. There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't look out the back door to see if they're in the run or ask about them when I come in from the garage. He says hello to them when he sees them and gets the biggest kick out of the fact that if I'm outside and call to them, they come out of the coop to see what's going on. It has all been worth it for this fact alone and now we get the third egg.

I have a friend who incubates duck eggs. I've been toying with the idea....hmmmm. I didn't become a farmer because?       

Conversations with Dad: Exercises

Dr. Biswas asked Dad this week if he was still doing his physical therapy exercises at home. If he doesn't keep up on his physical therapy at home, eventually his muscles will atrophy. Dad sheepishly said no. For some reason both Mom and Dad need their Doctor's to tell them what I tell them before they will listen and then do. I guess I'm not that authoritative, I don't know.
This morning I mentioned to Dad, since he was cold, that he could do his exercises and it would warm him up. Dr. Biswas keeps asking if Dad can hold anything in his right hand. We tried this with a spoon. After a few humorous attempts, Dad had a better idea. At first he tried to tell me just by pointing to the TV. After a very quick bout of charades I said you need to get up and show me, as the only thing I was finally able to get out of him was that whatever it was, it was in the other room. Away we walked. Once in the living room he pointed to his bookshelf, where I saw two 2 pound weights, sitting on one of the shelves. "Oh ok, you want to use the weights," I said and went to grab one. I handed it to him. He grabbed it with his left hand, so happy he was going to start using this to help build up his strength. As he turned to walk away, he grabbed his cane and said almost triumphantly to me, "Thank you." Then he stopped dead in his tracks and held up the weight. "Shit," he said, realizing how heavy it was. We looked at each other and laughed.
We'll see how it works out.        

Reminded of...

I was cleaning out emails at work recently and I happened upon a conversation I had with my friend Lindsay. We email each other daily, sometimes to make plans, sometimes to vent about things going on in our lives, but more often than not, just to say good morning to each other. It’s a nice little constant to have and a ritual I've come to cherish. This particular thread I happened upon was from June of 2013, what seems like a lifetime ago. Dad was over six months into post stroke life and had been home from the skilled nursing facility Stillwater for just about two months. I won’t bore anyone with the details of what amounted to a non-riveting conversation, except to say that the thing I took away from reading it was the recognition of a snapshot of a specific time and place. I wrote about how I purchased corn for dinner, how I had forgotten how much Dad liked it and how much of it he had eaten the night before. It was evident by the retelling of this to my friend that I was tickled pink about this fact. At the time we were still trying to get Dad back into eating food on a consistent basis. Hell, he was still drinking stuff like Ensure to build up his weight. And that's the thing, in June 2013 it was all still new. Everything was so new. Not new as in a new romance, a new job, moving to a new place, getting a new car, things like that. It was a different new, albeit edge of your seat, don’t know what’s going to happen every morning I wake up, but hey Dad is still alive, breathing and able to remain at home, so everything’s OK kind of exciting and new. 

I was reminded of the movie The Sweet Hereafter. While the film has far too many layers to go into, the title references the feeling and the life after a tragedy. A small Canadian village lives through a horrific school bus accident and comes out the other side to what is known and called the sweet hereafter. They are transformed from the time before, something that no longer exists and will never exist again, to an acceptance and almost reverence about the time after, the reality of their lives. The nature of life.   

On almost the eve of Dad's stroke, two years ago, I am reminded of the sweet hereafter we are all living in now. Even after a tragic event, there is something to take away, even if it's a small thing, like having corn, you know your Dad loves, with dinner.      

2014

Let's try this again. My second attempt at this blog, with a better video quality thanks to my brother PJ. Whew.
As we wind the year down, the only thing I can think of is, I didn't take as many photos as I did in 2013. This year was a year of settling in, settling down. Were there problems? Hell yeah! But there always will be, like Mom's New Year Day visit to the ER resulting in a congestive heart diagnosis to the complicated nature of maintaining Dad's blood thinner meds. The beauty of life is the tenacity of the human spirit to adapt and shine.
This is a very short video I pulled together to share some photos I took of Dad this year. Almost all the photos are from my phone. The music is one of the best guitar riffs ever by Frank Zappa on his Waka/Jawaka album, track 3 It Might Just Be A One-Shot Deal. He's like opera, you either like him or you don't.
We look forward to the coming year(s) and wish everyone health and happiness.

Focus

As you know Dad has to go and have a protime test, now bi weekly at his PCP's. Dr Biswas has been away visiting his family in India for the last several weeks. In the interim since we last saw Dr. Biswas, Dad had received a referral for a colonoscopy from someone whom he had this procedure with some three years ago. Dad had no desire to have this done and so we didn't go to the appointment. Unbeknownst to us the physician's office had called Dr. Biswas for Dad's medical records. This is the part where going to a Doctor who not only knows his patients, but also has the staff that goes above and beyond pays off. One of the nurses (and there are two Vickie and Rhonda who know Dad very well) went and notified the Doctor that medical records were being requested. This set Dr. Biswas off and we discovered later he had been frantically trying to get in touch with us to recommend we don't go to this appointment. It happened to be the day before my mother's birthday and so we had been out to dinner and didn't get the messages until much later after the fact. When we saw him the next day on Friday he explained why he had been so determined to stop us.
Dad had the procedure three years prior. They had found and removed a polyp. No cancer of any kind. The first reason Dr. Biswas didn't want him even going to the consult was because it was an unnecessary drive to Ellsworth. While only a half hour away, his reasoning was why make him travel that far if he doesn't have to. The second reason was what I've adjusted to this last year and that is managing expectations, something I wrote about in another blog entry. As the good doctor said, if Dad goes for this procedure, stuff like his blood thinner will have to be altered, stopped, changed, something that is always a risk. That's part one and a very important part one. Part two is the what if. What if he did go and have the procedure done? Now let's say, God forbid, they find a cancer. We as a family have to then make a decision about managing that possibility on top of the stroke that should have killed him. Would that be something we would even want to put him through? Why even go there if he is healthy in every other respect? Dad recently had his blood work done and he is in perfect health. His 'numbers' couldn't be more perfect. Why rock the boat? Is ignorance bliss or merely rose colored foolishness? As optimistic as I am (and I'm sometimes foolishly optimistic) I'm also not about putting Dad through something that could have a risk of any kind. Not now, not anymore. I'm about focusing on Dad building up his strength, both physically and mentally. What I focus on is that almost two years into the stroke he asked Dr. Biswas, out of the blue, "How was India?", knowing he was out of town and visiting family. A year ago he wouldn't have been able to form that sentence. I say again a year ago he wouldn't be able to form that clear and concise sentence. That is my focus.       

Conversation

Making our way into the doctors office for his protime test a woman was kind enough to hold the door open for us, something we usually don't let people do because we are a little slow in the walking department and don't want to put people out. The woman looked familiar to me and apparently to Dad. As we entered the building and I got one of the wheelchairs ready for Dad he said to me, referencing the woman, "She is...she's...um..."
"Something?" I chimed in.
Well he busted out laughing. "Yes something," he replied to me and we both laughed all the way down the hallway.
This is my Friday afternoon story. Have an amazing weekend everyone.

One Ends, Another Begins

Bangor Maine made the national news this week. At least that's what I heard. We wouldn't know because most of the week we were out of power from a freak snowstorm that torn down trees, some still full of leaves. Thank goodness we didn't have the pellet stove we ordered installed yet, because that runs off the electricity. No, we still had the trusty wood stove and still had some leftover wood in the garage from last year. Another thank goodness goes to me that I didn't burn all the remaining wood this summer and fall in the firepit outside (my original intention). So while we had no power, we were still able to flush toilets, run the facets and be toasty warm in the TV room.
I took Monday off to make sure the wood stove was maintained as Mom is forgetful and I don't want Dad trying to balance himself while trying to load wood in. That's all I need is for him to fall on a hot stove and burn himself or bang his head on the bricks around the stove. I stopped by therapy on Monday to tell them Dad wasn't going to be there that day for PT and to drop off a referral for Mom who is about to start physical therapy for her knees and weight loss. She has no cartilidge in her knees but is too heavy for knee replacement surgery, so she's in a bit of a catch 22. The pain is so great she doesn't want to walk, but if she doesn't walk she won't lose the weight to have the operation and will eventually be bed ridden. Word to the wise and from experience with my mother, weight issues are never easy. They become even more problematic as you age. Not only is it a strain on the heart and blood flow, but eventually it's going to take a toll on something like your knees. I'm not giving up on hope for my Mom though and so hopefully PT will be able to help her.
I wasn't sure how it was going to work with both parents in PT during the week though. That's when I found out this was going to be Dad's last week for PT. As I've known and his therapist told me, Dad does really well for a few months and then he plateaus. He loses interest, he's tired, whatever the reason. So they discussed him taking the Holidays off and starting back up in January. While Medicare doesn't really have a continuation maintanance program for therapies (I forget how the therapist put it), she feels where he comes in and does great for a few months, then plateaus, takes a break, goes back and the cycle repeats, Medicare should keep paying for therapy. So far this has worked, knock on wood. In the meantime; however, Mom gets to slide into the coveted 1pm slot Dad occupied for her own therapy. Now Dad gets a break and Mom begins. Everything always works out in the end!
Oh and we got the power back on day four. It's going to be a wild winter I think.    

The More You Know

It's true what they say about being on blood thinners. It's all about the number and sometimes that doesn't even matter. Any little cut can be virtually impossible to stop. That being said, after a tooth extraction Friday afternoon and an ER visit Saturday morning, I'm happy to report the oozing has finally stopped where Dad had his tooth removed. While it was never gushing, it was a steady enough bright red in a couple of spots to adhere to the followup instructions and go to the ER, albeit we waited until the morning to go. A shot of lidocane (the most benign method), more gauze and we were sent home with the repeated instructions, if it doesn't stop bleeding come back to the ER. I'm going to say by about 7 pm and a day and a half of Dad not eating or drinking, it finally looked good, as far as no new red.
Another reminder blood thinners are nothing to mess with. Even though Dad was within the acceptable limits to have this tooth extraction done, something that should have clotted and begun healing quickly still took much longer than anticipated. As my friend Sarah says, "It ain't easy raising parents."

      

To Drive Where We Had Never Hiked Before

Dad can't go hiking anymore, There was a place I've written about before called Great Ponds Wildlife Conservation that sits about 9 miles from the house. Dad continues to donate to this organization. It was about three years ago he took me and my dog Loki there for the first time. What's nice is the dirt roads they maintain. The gate at the trail head is open on the weekends for cars to drive in to the various hiking only trails. We've never really driven in before, preferring to leave no trace and all those other good things one does in nature to preserve and protect. A couple of Sundays ago, while looking for leaf photos to take, I decided to drive in. I have limited time for my own hobbies nowadays and so yes, I drove in, and down and up and around. I drove to what I thought was the end, knowing the road does not go through to the other entrance for these Wildlands. Then I decided to follow past what I knew to be the last parking lot just to see what was around the bend. The next thing you knew I was driving up and around and up again until I climbed to what was called Mountainview Road. That's when I decided to turn around and go get Dad. We had already been out that morning, running to Tractor Supply for chicken feed and bedding for the coop. We had meandered the long way back, knowing this was pretty much the peak weekend for leafs up here. But this, I knew Dad had to see where this road led. So I went home. He was sitting there, headphones on, listening to whatever YouTube was recommending to him on his tablet. I told him about the road and that he had to come with me. Off we went. Now there was no way we would have been able to do this in the Matrix (I call all the cars by their name), but the Venza, well that was all wheel drive and handled beautifully, especially up the fairly steep hills we had to drive up. We drove back down and up and around where I had just been until we got to Mountainview Road. I told him this was as far as I had gone. Up we went, neither of us knowing what we were going to find.

It was beautiful. The road finally ended but not without some breathtaking views of the Penobscot River. Dad got out of the car, just stood and stared. In all the years of hiking through these Wildlands we had never made it that far. All I could think was, Dad may not be able to hike again, but if we can still get to spots like this, well then that's not so bad after all.