The Kindness of Neighbors

It’s not unusual to get snow up in Maine before January, although the flip side is it’s also not unusual to have no snow before January. This past week we were hit with two storms, one Saturday night into Sunday and then another Tuesday night into Wednesday morning. Weekend storms are the best because, truth be told I don’t have to drive in them. I can take my time clearing the driveway, clearing off my car, etc. During the workweek; however, it’s a different story. Luckily Mom and dad have an attached garage that the car can sit in, a must have when living in a cold climate in my opinion.

I woke up Wednesday morning knowing I would have just enough time to clear the end of the driveway to get the car out (as the town had already plowed the street once and the snow was piled up at the end). There was no way I was getting up any earlier to clear the whole driveway with either the shovel or snow blower. Besides, I don’t think the neighbors would have appreciated a loud snow blower at 4 am and my back wouldn’t have appreciated shoveling all that snow and then sitting at work for 9 hours. I figured I would take care of it when I got home and planned a simple dinner, so I could focus on the driveway afterwards.

When I pulled up to the house after work I noticed the driveway was clear, the walkway to the front door was clear. I went inside and asked Mom and Dad who cleared it. It was Gene, their next door neighbor. I asked, did he call beforehand or stop in afterwards? They said he did not. He just came over and snowplowed the driveway and walkway and then went home. A real Mainer, with a great story to tell about seemingly everything and every time you see him, Gene is retired and older than both my parents.  Not only did he have one of his knees replaced earlier this year (with the 2^nd one needing a replacement sometime in the new year) he is also taking care of his wife and their house and yard by himself. I called Gene to thank him, as he didn’t have to do this kindest of gestures. Always the joker, he said it wasn’t him, it was the turkeys (we have a decent sized flock that comes through both our backyards almost daily). I joked back that it was good thing I was putting feed out for them then! In all seriousness though, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart, because it wasn’t so much for Mom and Dad’s benefit that he had done this (they were in for the rest of the week, until Friday afternoon when there were a couple of appointments to go to), it was for my benefit. Knowing the situation and the nature of me trying to do it all, he did it just so I didn’t have to when I got home. It was one less thing for me to worry about and one of the best surprises ever.  

I have been so blessed to have gotten to know some incredible people during this experience following Dad’s stroke. Gene is certainly one of them and has helped restore what had been tested, my faith in the good that I know is inherently in all of us. It does exist.               

Followup

Dad had another six month followup neurology appointment late last week. Almost a year after the stroke he was told he does not have to see her anymore. That was good news for me to hear, because it meant that the injury sustained had not worsened. No new bleeding is a good thing. It was recommended though, that he go back on blood thinners. Even though he is still not in Afib, he was once and that still puts him at risk to go back into it without any warning, which could cause a blood clot and potentially another stroke. This is something his PCP Dr. Biswas has been aware of, which is one of the reasons for over 6 months we were going to bi monthly visits to see Dr. Biswas (the man is very thorough). Preferring to really give Dad's body the time it needed to heal, we've been waiting when the eventuality of being put back on blood thinners was going to happen. The last time Dad was on blood thinners was right after the initial stroke, which caused him to have a hemorrhagic mini stroke. He hadn't healed enough up to that point.   
You have people that aren't in Afib, people that are and then the select few that are or were at some point, but not all the time. Dad falls into this last group. He was not in Afib the morning of the stroke and as I mentioned he hasn't been in it since.
Needless to say though, it is back on blood thinners and now weekly visits to his PCP for the blood tests associated with the maintenance of being on blood thinners. He is being started off on a low dosage and depending on how well he does, the dosage will increase to the therapeutic levels he will need to be on. In the end we were all given the pros and cons of what is happening, along with the risks involved. I've been called a foolish risk taker in the past, but you know what? You never know if you never take the risk. We got this covered.              

Taking Solace

Over the summer a family friend came up to visit my brother PJ and she wanted to come up the coast to visit Mom and Dad. We all went out to dinner and afterwards as she and I were crossing the street with my parents, she pulled me aside and commented on how good Dad looked. Then she said, “It’s just sad, because he used to like to talk all the time.”  

A friend watching a video I posted on the blog of Dad maneuvering a lawn chair to a spot in the backyard told me she cried when she saw it. I wrote last winter how PJ noted, with some sadness, all the tools in Dad’s garage that he was never going to use again. All remembrances of things past.

Then I thought about it. We all have things we wish we had done, chances maybe we should have taken. In this context, Dad was pretty lucky. As long as I can remember Dad wanted to move to Maine. Anyone who knew him, knew he wanted to move to Maine. Sure, there were things he didn’t get to do in his lifetime like join the peace corps or move to Argentina (these are things I found out he had toyed with in his younger years), but he did move to Maine after he retired from teaching at 55. Retire at 55? How many people do you know have retired at 55? At 42, I can’t even imagine that and yet Dad did it. Not only that, but he retired to the place he longed to live and fulfilled the dream he had of owning acres of land tucked away in the woods. I’m talking here about the Sebec house, the 1^st house Mom and Dad owned when they moved up here. Located just outside of Dover-Foxcroft and an hour north from Bangor Maine, the Sebec house was a great space. More room than they really needed, it sat on 12 acres of woodland filled with conifers, hard woods, soft woods, a little bit of everything. Mom, Dad and my Oma lived there until Oma passed away in 2004. For just over 5 years Dad had the opportunity of his lifetime and he was truly in his glory. He designed walking trails throughout his property, lumbered his own firewood, laid out his flower gardens and all in a remote location where you could only see the one neighbor across the street in the winter time, when the leaves that shielded the house from the world fell down. Never one to just sit around, Dad even got a part time job, taking care of a small farm the town dentist owned. He loved it and would tell us stories about the new pig they got every spring (and then how many pounds of pork they got in the fall), the fences he had to mend for the horses, the chickens he fed, the family’s Great Danes he watched over. Every time I talked to him there was a new story about the farm, a new story about their house. You could hear it in his voice. I could see it on his face every time I visited.   

Eventually the commute to Bangor for church and other things became too much. Once Oma passed away they sold the house and moved to Bucksport, a half hour south of Bangor. It’s a modest house on maybe a quarter of an acre, hardly the spread they had in Sebec. Over the years Dad has made the Bucksport house and yard his own, accomplishing improvements on the inside and shaping a little nature sanctuary on the outside. There are times: however, when we still talk fondly about the Sebec house. Dad really did get to live out his dream and continues to live it out by still being in his house, still living in Maine and that is something to celebrate. Everyone should be so lucky. 

Happy Thanksgiving

This Holiday is one of Dad's favorites. In years past we would have several turkey's before Thanksgiving. The man loves a roasted bird and the moment they become a staple at the supermarket he would begin bringing them home every couple of weeks.

This year the cooking fell on my shoulders. No stranger to cooking, I was still slightly nervous, because I wanted everything to be perfect. Dad is a bit of a perfectionist and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint on Thanksgiving. In the end, I was only putting pressure on myself, because truly Dad would never say anything, even if he hated the meal.   

As we celebrate this incredibly thankful year, I wanted to wish everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving, from our family to yours. I hope this note finds each and every one of you healthy, happy and loved. Life is short. Eat turkey.     

October 24, 2013

Birthdays are very special to me. Maybe it’s because I was born two weeks before Christmas, so growing up my birthday always felt rushed, with everyone focusing on getting ready for the big holiday. I’m not alone in feeling this way. I know lots of other December babies who have felt this at one point or another in their lives. That being said, since birthdays have always been a big deal for me, I’ve always strived to make it a big deal for the people who are in my life. Well, today is Dad’s birthday! Doesn’t matter how old or young he is, because as I like to joke, after 21 does it matter the age? Besides he’s too humble to care about birthdays or the focus being on him or his age, so let’s just say he’s several decades older than 21 and a couple of decades younger than 90. We as a family are extremely grateful this year that Dad is even here to celebrate another birthday. Things could have turned out much differently and I could be writing about how I miss Dad because he’s no longer with us. I don’t have to do that this year and I hope to not have to write about that for many years to come. Hope is one of the most amazing concepts ever.

Perspective on life is different for everyone though. To give an example of this, one of my closest friends lost her mother on this day one year ago to cancer. So while we celebrate Dad being alive and not succumbing to the stroke that altered his life forever, she is reminiscing about the loss of her mother and best friend, to a horrible disease. Earlier this year I had to put my eldest dog down and while sad for me, the event happened to occur on the day one of my best friend’s sister gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Where there is death there is always life. Perspective is subjective. I have lots of friends who have lost either one or both of their parents, friends who have lost their children (including my parents who lost their first born, my sister Trisha, when she was just over two years old), friends who have lost friends, friends who have lost spouses.

So while we observe Dad’s birthday on this 24^th day of October 2013, I remember how lucky we are but I also remember my friends and those closest to them that may be gone now but not forgotten. Everyone has a different life adventure and story to tell, that’s the beauty of the human experience. Today’s story for us is it’s Dad’s birthday and I am tickled pink to be a part of it and to celebrate it. In true Walter fashion we observe his birthday the only way we know how…by going out to dinner! So Happy Birthday to my Dad, may he have many more to come!     

Below are some photos of Dad when he was a bit younger.

     

Occupational Therapy

I came home yesterday to discover Dad had effectively been terminated from Occupational Therapy for the time being. Medicare requires progress to be made with regards to Physical, Occupational and Speech therapies. As we saw late this past summer Dad quit Speech therapy, but truth be told, they were ready to terminate services with him, because he wasn’t meeting his weekly goals. He can pick up Occupational Therapy again at any time, with a referral from his PCP, but for right now Occupational Therapy felt all three therapies were too much for him.

Everything has been clear sailing for months. The last three weeks there have been some issues. There was a week Dad had some stomach issues, the week after that he was hit with a horrible cold (it’s a good thing I was never a parent because I would have been way too overprotective), then last week he threw his lower back out. All forced him to stay home and skip one or more of his therapies, sometimes for multiple days.

You don’t think having Speech Therapy for only half hour twice a week and on opposite days Occupational & Physical Therapy combined for a total of an hour and fifteen minutes is a lot. Especially when there is no commute time as Mom and Dad live a mile from where therapy is. You don’t think about it if you’re like me who is on the go from the moment I get out of bed at 5:30 am until I sit down at night. Or my brother, who runs his bed and breakfast, sometimes serving breakfast to 14 people and then doing load after load of laundry before heading off to some community event he might be participating in. It’s a lot for Dad though, now, after the stroke. It is a lot.

After Mom and Dad told me the news, Dad gave me a funny look. To be honest I think he thought I was disappointed in him. I’m usually gung ho and very much of the attitude that you can do this or that if you put your mind to it and work hard. I know now what Dad can handle and what he can’t. I just looked at him, said, “Ok,” and I began to make dinner. I wasn’t disappointed in him or upset about this. How could I be? He did what he could do and when he’s ready he can go back and continue, something I know he will do. It’s as simple as that. And we carry on…     

Fall

I was driving around this past weekend, taking leaf photos, as we are in peak season at this moment. I headed up to what I loosely call “the big city”, Bangor. Having lived in the area on and off for 20 years now, I’m pretty familiar with where to go to take photos, which trees have fantastic colors, where the vistas are spectacular without having to hike up a mountain, etc. As I rounded the bend in the road, following the Penobscot river, trees in full bloom on either side, I came upon EMMC, the hospital where Dad stayed, the hospital I bill for. It sits along the banks of the river. My first thought was, the view of the river is fantastic from several viewpoints in the hospital, specifically the floors of the Grant tower and the end of the haul way before you enter acute rehab. For a second I thought about going in and heading to those sections or exploring other areas to get some photos of the trees along the river. For a second. Now I’ve been back to the hospital many times since Dad left, one of my best friends works there, so we’ve met for lunch, etc. I said to myself this day, “I’m glad none of us had to see what the river looks like in the fall from that vantage point.” I drove away.

Dad is continuing to improve. Always continuing is better than stagnant. He was fitted for a new hand brace that splays out his fingers to help with the atrophy that has occurred and he is to wear it three times a day for an hour at a time. It’s kind of like a soft ping pong paddle that straps to his arm. He was recently fitted for a new ankle brace and we are just waiting on it to be made. The one he has now goes under his foot, wraps around the outside of his ankle and comes up the front of his shin. He had voiced some discomfort with this, so we are having another one made for him that will come up from under his foot and go up the backside of his shin. Hopefully it will help.

As we gear up for Dad’s birthday next week (the kick off for our holiday season that continues with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Mom's birthday, my birthday, Christmas and ending with New Years) I leave you with a couple of fall photos from Maine, none of which were taken at the hospital, enjoy!

Never A Question

I wrote on Friday, while waiting for Dad’s PCP Dr. Biswas, that we are hoping to get the OK for monthly visits instead of the bi-monthly visits we have been doing since Dad came home in April. I think as we near the end of this incredibly long year we will get that approval. To be honest, Dad’s health has never been better, minus the effects of the stroke. He was actually up another pound to 157, something we have been trying to accomplish since he dropped several pounds in April when he initially came home.  

As we sat with Dr. Biswas, he made the comment to Dad how fortunate Dad was to have me staying with him and able to take care of him; how much better it was for his recovery and mental health to be able to live at home, in familiar surroundings, versus a nursing facility. The initial conversation with the Pulmonologist from Portland in January popped into my head and all I could hear was, “Your father will never be able to live independently again.”

I was on the phone with my Aunt Melody over the weekend. She’s the one who lives in Arizona and stayed with us for three weeks in February, just after Dad had the stroke. Well she had called to check up on Mom and heard me in the background. Next thing I knew I was on the phone with her listening to her tell me how lucky my parents were that I was there, praising my patience, my grace, my I don’t know what. I listened and laughed, politely said thank you. Afterwards though, I thought here was the second person in as many days going on and on about this and that, when in my mind, truly what was there to praise? Wouldn’t anyone do the same for their parents, their siblings, their spouses, their friends? Isn't that what you do for the people closest to you, the people you love and cherish? There was never a question in my mind, would there be in yours?       

Waiting for the Doctor

We are hoping to get the ok soon for monthly visits with Dr. Biswas instead of bi-monthly. Fingers crossed. Dad's numbers have been great for several months now. Still no blood thinners save for the baby aspirin he takes in the morning. He actually gained a pound and is up to 157, the weight he was when he left the skilled nursing facility in April! Here he is today as we wait in the now familiar office. Everyone have a great last few days of summer!

Try

This is Dad's second week of speech therapy. He tried to do all therapies twice a week but it was too much. So it  was decided Monday and Wednesday are speech for a half hour and Tuesday and Thursday are Occupational and Physical for an hour and a half. I can only imagine. That seems to be the only thing I'm able to say, not going through what Dad is myself, I really have no clue. It seems much easier to say I can only imagine. Except I do imagine what it's like and all the time. I try and place myself in his position and while I think I see it on occasion, I really don't and I won't ever because I'm not him going through it. I still try though. We all still try to the best of our abilities.    

Better and Better, the Six Million Dollar Man

With summer winding down I have not the time nor inclination to be inside typing away on a computer. Living where we do, in Maine, there are so few months where the weather is perfect, why would anyone want to wile away this precious time inside? So outside it has been with very little writing taken place as a result. That being said, I thought I would still give a Dad update. After a month off he begins speech therapy anew this week in the same facility where he already goes for physical & occupational therapies, so now all his therapies will be under one roof again. Having the last month off was a much needed break for him, of this I’m sure, but that was then and this is now. I think he’s ready to actively work on his speech again and half the battle is his willingness to want to better himself. 
While Dad has aphasia, it’s both a blessing and hindrance that he can so effectively communicate without using words or with minimal word usage. A few gestures and facial expressions, coupled with a word here or there and you can pretty much figure out what he’s trying to say. If you are willing to take the time and listen, help him out and try. To highlight the blessing and hindrance of his communication abilities, I’m going to relate a recent event where I took Dad into town for a haircut. I’ve taken him before, but usually to some cheap salon tucked away in a Wal-Mart. This time Dad wanted to go to the place he always went to in town. Retired, the man had more free time than he knew what to do. Trips into town for this and that were a constant in his daily schedule and wherever he went conversations insured his remembrance of people and vice versus. So we went into town to see his barber. It was the tiniest of holes in the wall, a small free standing shop in front of a motel and next to a Dunkin Donuts. It is very typically a small town Maine kind of place. There was a poorly written sign on the door, when you walked in that blatantly said “If you’re sick don’t come in.” I thought it humorous until I walked in and saw about 4 kids waiting for haircuts around noon on a Friday. Time of year, back to school I suppose. The sign all of a sudden made more sense. We waited. When it was his turn in the barber’s chair, Dad sat down and the woman asked him how he wanted his hair cut. He looked in the mirror and then to me. I always wait a second before chiming in, to give him the opportunity to speak for himself, and so finally said, “Shave the neck and just cut it really short.” She asked him, as she was cutting his hair, “Did you fall?” He kind of looked at her, tried to say something and then just looked again at me. I said,  “He had a stroke at the beginning of the year and he has aphasia, so he has some difficulty speaking.” Dad looked slightly embarrassed. I said to him and to her, without any hesitation, “There’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s what happened.” The stroke is something that needs to be addressed and talked about without any shame or embarrassment.
The blessing is I can usually decipher what he’s trying to say and help him along. The hindrance is I’m not always going to be with him.  
There are some whose prevailing thought is that there just might be a day where all of a sudden the flood gates of speech will flow forth from Dad’s mouth as if he had been purposely silenced and he will return to telling stories, relating events, communicating about this and that, as if nothing had ever happened. That is not going to happen. Does that sound like a harsh defeatist position? Hardly. I’m being realistic while always remaining infinitely hopeful.   
So much progress has already been made and will continue to be made, but the reality is Dad had such a massive stroke that it forever changed him. While his brain continues to find new ways to connect with the rest of his body, there also just might be some things that never return and that could be just the way it is.

Dad Lifting His Arm

Video of Dad lifting his right arm

PJ came up yesterday to visit and while at my parent’s house, he recorded Dad lifting his right arm, something he has been actively working on with his physical therapist. I have not been able to sit in on PT or OT with Dad so I have not been able to see what he’s been doing there. The following video will show you the progress that continues to be made, almost nine months into the recovery of this stroke. I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty impressive, especially when I think of how he was at the beginning of this year when everything happened. Dad, though, still doesn’t see it. But the rest of us who have been here through it all do. I said to him last night, “Do you remember how excited we all were when you could lift your leg up off the bed? You were still wheelchair bound, not even walking at that point and we were so excited. A year from now when you have improved even more I will say to you, remember how excited we were when you could lift your arm up to your chest from a standing position?”

As our powerful minds can produce feelings of depression, paranoia, fear and a host of other emotions that in turn can manifest into physical ailments we suffer from, so too the opposite holds true. With positivism and hard work, our minds, damaged seemingly beyond belief, have the power to mend and find new ways to connect with the rest of our bodies to relearn what was once learned, to reconnect what has been severed. It’s a beautiful thing that continues to astound me. Check out the link above, hope you enjoy!

 

Returning to Church

The highlight to a stellar weekend in Maine and a personal triumph on my part, after four months I managed to get Mom and Dad to return to their church this past Sunday. It was something I knew would be good for them, especially Dad, as I try to get him out socializing more. He had resisted this idea of going back to church for quite a while now. I learned a long time ago you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do. You have to be patient and wait for them to come to the idea themselves, should that be what they choose. That’s not to say; however, that I didn’t mention it to him every week, because I did. What can I say I don’t like to give up. 
In the end they went. I dropped them off for the service and then headed out for what I needed to do (there is always something that needs to be done and no rest for the wicked). An hour or so later when I went back to pick them up, I was waiting in the main entrance when Pastor Elaine came out of the worship area and was waiting to say hi to everyone as they readied to exit. She saw me across the room and smiled. “What a great surprise this morning! I had no idea, this was wonderful!” she exclaimed. I replied, “Well they wanted to come back. It took a while but here they are.” I smiled. When we left, both of them admitted to me how good it was to go back and be back. If they decide to go next week, I’ll drive them again and continue to drive them every week for as long as they want to return.

Making his way through Wal-Mart

This is a better video of Dad driving through Wal-Mart. He has become quite adept at using those little carts! I get a kick out of it. Enjoy!

Quit

Well, Dad officially quit speech therapy yesterday. He had reached a point that many in therapy reach where they just don’t want to do it anymore. I was told this is quite common. And if you aren’t showing improvement, Medicare will stop paying for services. Dad’s speech still presents a hurdle (specifically with yes and no still) and speech therapy had wanted to start him on augmentative and alternative communication. This begins to teach an individual how to use other forms of communication (i.e. pictures and hand gestures, computers), anything other than oral speech. Like older people whose licenses are taken away, because they pose a danger to themselves and others on the road, asking someone to essentially give up something they have done practically their whole life is a lot to ask. Asking them to begin communicating in ways they never imagined is even more to ask. Many feel a choice, speech in this instance, is being taken away from them, that they have no say in anything, no pun intended. Dad did not want to learn augmentative and alternative communication at this time. You can’t make someone do something they do not want to do. So he quit. What can I say? That I was disappointed? Part of me was. I want to see Dad succeed. It’s one thing to raise your children, it’s quite another to take care of your parents, yet the sentiment involved in caring for both is the same or should be.
In the end he was told to take a month or so off and see how he feels. If he wants to begin speech therapy again he will have to go to his PCP for a new referral. I joked with Dad last night, remembering he was a teacher, “You just wanted to have the summer off didn’t you.” He laughed. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve and I'm not giving up yet. And we continue on…

Addendum

Dad is not going on blood thinners yet. We saw Dr. Biswas for our bi-monthly visit and even though the neurologist Dr. Hajjar okayed him to go back on blood thinners for his Afib, Dr. Biswas, as mentioned, doesn't want to rush into anything. Originally he was going to put Dad on them. Friday he discussed with us the risks involved with going back on blood thinners, the dosage Dad was to go on, with now weekly followups to monitor everything. While Dad may not remember the disastrous results, the rest of us very clearly remember the hemorrhagic stroke Dad had about a week or so after his initial infarction, most likely a result from the blood thinners he was on at that time.
Dr. Biswas checked Dad's pulse and asked if we could stay a little longer. He wanted Dad to have an EKG. Ok I thought. Meanwhile, inside I began to have anxiety about Dad going back on blood thinners. Dad was slightly hesitant too. The nurse came in and administered the EKG. The nice thing about this test is that the results print out immediately. Within moments Dr. Biswas came back in the room and changed his mind. When he had checked Dad's pulse he did not feel the irregular heartbeat. In fact he hasn't in months. Dad is currently not in Afib and as a result doesn't need to be on blood thinners at this moment. Both Dad and I breathed a sigh of relief. We are still very much aware of the reason he was on them and the reason he may one day have to go back on them. But for the moment he doesn't need the blood thinners. The less pills you have to take the better you are. Dr. Biswas joked that he changes his mind a lot and was going to have to do an addendum to his dictation for this office visit. I'm ok with that because I trust him with the care of my father immensely.
And that is the word from Maine on this Sunday, July 28, 2013, day 207.  

The Gardens

If you click on the photo it will take you to the album.

This is an early shot taken about a week or so after Dad returned home in April. The big joke was he missed the entire winter but was home in time to enjoy seeing spring blossom. Mom and Dad have lived in the Bucksport house (as I call it) since the fall of 2004. Prior to that they lived in the middle of nowhere, or what's called Sebec Maine. In the almost nine years they have been in Bucksport Dad has tinkered with his front and back yards. He's added this, taken away that, expanded upon a little bit of everything and designed the whole feel and shape of the outside. Not one to travel outside of Maine, this was retirement living for Dad and something he enjoyed immensely as I've already written about. I thought I would share photos of the yard to highlight how it changes from spring to summer and through to the fall. The album will continue to grow as the seasons change so I urge you to check this entry for photo updates. I hope you enjoy!

*The pictures are taken with my Sony DSC-R1 and Samsung Galaxy S3 using an HDR app by Almalence.

The Neurologist

Last week Dad saw Dr. Hajjar, the neurologist. While I knew he had been seen by neurologists in the hospital and Stillwater, this was the first appointment I took him to and the first visit he’s had since he’s been home. As we slowly followed Dr. Hajjar into the office she asked Dad, “I remember you Rudolf from the emergency room, do you remember me?” He didn’t. He doesn’t remember much about the stroke itself and that’s a good thing. I; however, remembered her. Dr. Hajjar was called in for a consult the morning Dad had his stroke. She carried with her a plastic flip book listing different criteria for determining the acuteness of a stroke in patients, questions to ask, things to notice etc. To be honest, it’s so long ago I forgot where Dad was on the scale of stroke severity that morning. All I remember is thinking there was still hope. Neither of it is here nor there now, but seeing her brought back that morning in the emergency room with such vivid clarity that save for the time of year, I would have sworn I was back there watching Dad spastically try to get off the table they had him lying on, while she tried to talk to him.

The good news is (for there is always good news) Dad’s latest CT scan revealed nothing new, which I had been anticipating. It’s nice when things out of your control work out in your favor. She emphasized to Dad how he didn’t just have a “little stroke”, but rather such a really massive stroke, he was lucky to be alive. It reminded me of the pulmonologist in Portland who played bad cop, telling us Dad wasn’t going to improve beyond the way he was in intensive care. Everyone has been right and wrong with much of what’s happened. She also mentioned that the type of stroke Dad had was unusual because, as I like to say it, it’s more a young person’s stroke, affecting people around 35-45 years old. I guess Dad is young at heart, no pun intended. She couldn’t give an opinion on the cause of Dad’s stroke, just the damage that had been done. And the damage was pretty extensive. Dissections, like the one he had, are either traumatic or spontaneous.

Traumatic dissection is the result of either external mechanical injury, such as a penetrating or blunt trauma, or trivial trauma that is related to a movement or abrupt change in head position. Examples of such movements include rapid turning of the head, flexion or extension of the head and neck, and strenuous physical exertion.

Spontaneous dissections are those in which no definitive precipitating factor is recognized. However, spontaneous dissections may be associated with predisposing factors, such as connective tissue disorders, systemic hypertension, smoking, diabetes mellitus, a history of cerebral infarction, hyperlipidemia, cerebral and abdominal aortic aneurysms, use of oral contraceptives, and a family history of arterial dissection.

At the end of the appointment she ok'd Dad to go back on blood thinners because of his Afib. We are working with his PCP Dr. Biswas to determine when that is to take place. What I like about Dad's PCP is he isn't looking to rush into anything and prefers Dad not take any medication. His philosophy is if you don't have to take a pill, then why would you? I like that about him.  

And we continue on...

No News Is Good News

Things have been all quiet on the western front the last couple of weeks. I’m not going to lie, it’s been nice to say the least. They say no news is good news and that has certainly been the case since Dad’s been home, with regards to his health. I am hoping that trend continues after he sees the neurologist this Wednesday for his first post Stillwater head exam. Other than baby aspirin, he has not been on blood thinners since he had the hemorrhagic stroke in mid-January. Part of this week’s visit is to determine if he is to go back on them and what level he will be on. As I wrote previously, it’s a tricky situation because while he needs to be on blood thinners for his atrial fibrillation they aren’t necessarily good because of the dissected artery in his head. The dissected artery can’t be repaired and the afib will never go away. Both these issues will continue to be at odds with one another for the rest of his life. Needless to say it will be interesting to see what the neurologist has to say and what her course of action will be.
In other news around the Villa Walter, Dad has been bored. Never one to just sit around he has been bored out of his mind lately. I’ve started giving him little jobs to do around the house though and that seems to be working out nicely. Yesterday he was pointing to the glass sliding doors. After a moment or so I figured out he wanted it cleaned (darn dog nose prints). I was in the middle of something but assured him I would get to it. He shook his head and said he would do it. I love his can do attitude. However, the previous weekend he had almost fallen backwards, when he stood up from his chair in the backyard. The chair had tipped back and he almost went with it, but caught himself with his improved balance. The incident still made me a little nervous though and I was not comfortable with him bending down that far to try and clean some glass so I said to him, “Tell you what, I will clean the glass, why don’t you make your own lunch today.” He was having soup and toast. He looked at me, said OK and immediately got up, glad to have something to do. Now, the only thing I did to help him was open the can of soup, otherwise he was on his own and did everything himself. I write about this like it’s some monumental task he accomplished and you know what? It kind of is and it may seem like a little thing to you and me but for him, it’s huge. This entailed, getting the pot to heat the soup up, the bowl to eat the soup, the plate for the toast, the knife to butter the toast, the spoon to stir the soup, all while maneuvering without his hemi-cane in the kitchen. I know people that can’t boil an egg (they exist) and there was Dad, getting everything together to heat up some soup and toast a piece of bread, without burning either of them. Piece of cake. The other day I came in from outside and I heard him in the kitchen. He was trying to grab some paper towels. I got out of him that he wanted to clean the countertops. So, I handed him the cleaning wipes and told him to have at it. He proceeded to clean all the kitchen counters, clean the toaster and change out the garbage. The only thing he couldn’t do yet was carry the garbage into the garage. I say yet because he isn’t quite at the point where he doesn’t need his hemi-cane. He will be though, he will be.

Monday July 1, 2013, Day 180

Tomorrow is 7 months since Dad’s initial stroke. I cannot believe we are more than halfway through this incredible year of change. It doesn’t feel like it, that’s for sure. Last Friday I put my old dog Kane down, a difficult decision I knew I was going to have to make, yet not an easy situation to go through. The best dog I could have ever asked to be graced with, I had Kane for just over 11 years. I thought about the decade plus he was in my life. How it had changed, the things I had done, the places I had been, the people I had met. All gone now and in the past. Even last year is so long forgotten I can barely remember what it, life, was like.

Kane was to stay with Dad, when I was initialing planning my escape of Maine. It would have been easier on me with moving and I knew he loved Kane and loved having a dog to take care of, despite what he would tell you in person. Kane grew very close to Dad and Dad to Kane. They had a very clear understanding who gave out the treats. It was Dad.

Someone related a conversation they had regarding the loss of a loved one. This loved one hadn’t passed yet, but it was looming on the horizon and so the question arose, “I don’t know how I’m going to deal with the loss. How will I get through it?” The advice given was as each new day rises, so too do you rise. At first it may be difficult, unbearable and possibly heart wrenching. But you go through the day and then the next day and the next day and the next day. Before you realize it, life is happening. It had never really stopped, even though you may have thought it did. Life continues to happen for all of us.



Kane and Dad 2/7/2012



Telephone Conversations

Dad does really well speaking on the telephone. I don’t know if he’s more relaxed because you aren’t right in front of him or what have you, but he is able to articulate very well. I call Mom and Dad’s several times a day, mostly to make sure Mom hasn’t slept until who knows when (she is NOT an early riser like Dad and I), but also to talk to Dad. This morning I called the house and cell both with no answer. I used to panic when no one answered, thinking one of them had fallen, something bad had happened. Now that I’m more relaxed, realizing and accepting what is not in my control, I don’t panic anymore. If something were to happen then something were to happen. It’s out of my hands. Anyway, I gave it half an hour and called back. Dad answered. The only way to describe how he answers the phone is adorable. “Hello,” he says in a quiet but raised voice. He actually reminds me very much of his mother, my Oma, on the phone. “Hi Dad, how are you?” I asked. He replied, “Did you call before?” I said to him, “I did but you didn’t answer.“ He began, “I was...,” and then he stumbled for a second. I waited, then chimed in, “In the bathroom?” He laughed and replied, “Yes, in the bathroom.” I laughed. “Is Mom up?” I asked. “Yes, she’s taking a shower,” he told me. “Awesome! That’s what I was looking to hear. She’s going to get breakfast for you?” He replied, “Yes, cereal.” I said, “That’s right. Make sure you remind her to use the milk, not the light cream.” He repeated, “Yes, milk.” I said, “Ok, I have to go, I will talk to you later.” He replied, “OK, bye.” We hung up. Doesn’t sound like much of a conversation does it? Except for the complete sentences he strung together without a thought in the world. I don’t know, maybe it really doesn’t take much to make me happy, because that conversation made my day.     

Speech Therapy

I'm often asked about Dad's speech, "Well, can he talk?" Yes he can and yes he does. Not like he used to, but yes.

Yesterday I took Dad to speech therapy. It was the first time I had taken him since his initial visit, a couple of weeks after he came home. Normally our friend Bill takes Dad, something I am beyond grateful for, but Bill couldn’t take him yesterday. I’m fortunate that Bill has been able to help out with speech therapy appointments and that Mom has been able to drive Dad into town for his physical and occupational therapy appointments. I don’t feel like there are several of me running around from town to town (because we are in Maine, nothing is close).  

So away we went to speech therapy. I had a blast. I can’t tell you the last time I had so much fun. His speech therapist, Karen, is a wonderful woman with a great sense of humor. I expected to just sit quietly while they worked on his exercises, but no this was interactive so I got to participate! Karen sat next to Dad and would show him a photo. He then had to describe the photo and I had to guess what it was. Karen gave him clues as to what to describe or to focus in on. Little known fact about me. I hate games, except card games. I’m the last person you want on your Pictionary team and I’m horrible at charades. Needless to say, I now had to play guesswork with what Dad was seeing. Maybe it’s being in tune with someone else, maybe it’s that Dad is extremely expressive and descriptive, but I got every photo he described to me. For someone who has difficulty getting the words out, Dad does an amazing job of getting the point across, which is unusual for someone with aphasia Karen said. Normally the short term memory kicks in (or disappears) and the train of thought is lost or the person prior to the aphasia didn’t use language much to begin with so the complex way the brain strings together sentences and forms conversations isn’t really felt as a loss to the individual. With Dad though, his thought process is so intact and exact that it enables him to very effectively communicate, despite the lack of words. The flip side is it also makes it that much more frustrating for him when he can’t get the words out. Karen told me (something I already knew) Dad is a perfectionist and very hard on himself when he gets a word wrong, something he knows as soon as it’s uttered from his lips. That’s usually when he swears and makes a discouraged face. I learned how to help him get his point across by taking clues from the few words he got out and whatever hand gestures he gave me. This was charades, only Dad was allowed to talk. The best example I can give of this was a photo of eggs with bacon and toast (breakfast of champions). As soon as Dad saw it he looked at me, made a yummy sound and smacked his lips. I said is it food? Yes (his eyes widened). I said is it breakfast? Yes (his eyes widened even more). Is it eggs and bacon? Ding ding ding, winner winner chicken dinner! Karen was hysterically laughing that we got it so quickly. All I could think was, I know my Dad, that’s for sure. It was a great therapy session and I’m so glad I went with him yesterday. I will treasure that memory for the rest of my days.     

Father's Day

I don't ascribe to Holidays designed by card companies to promote their products. So a day set aside for things like remembering love or your Mother and Father seem ridiculous. I'm a firm believer that every day should be a reminder of this. It's a novel idea to tell the people you cherish I love you every day. With that being said it is Father's Day today. Being 41 I have friends who have lost their fathers, who didn't have a father, who are fathers, who don't get along with their fathers.
Every day is Father's Day since Dad's stroke and so while this day might be set aside as a reminder for everyone else, I already celebrate it every day. He has not had it easy, losing a child and then raising two unconventional children, but he has always done everything with kindness and grace. Not perfect by any means, but shamelessly selfless, I love my Dad and I am proud to know him as a father, friend and person. He continues to inspire and amaze me everyday.

Sebec house, Dad's favorite house

top of Great Pond Mountain 2010

Mt. Katahdin in background July 2003

summer 2010 Rockland Maine

   

Free Caneing It

Here is Dad walking without the hemi-cane and as you can see his balance has improved greatly. Every day getting better. Every day.

Determination

I like to capture candid moments through photography or video. You know, those little snippets of life that show more than a posed photo or choreographed video ever could. For me it’s always been about capturing the real you, not the Xerox copy of yourself that you put forth for all the world to see. And I’ve gotten some great shots of loved ones over the years, not only in documenting my own life but also of those that are close to me.

So I watched and videoed Dad ever so carefully moving his chair to a shady part of the yard last weekend. He was carrying the chair and using his hemi-cane with the same hand, something that would have made us and his therapists nervous two months ago. However; I thought, I’m watching him, if something happens I’m right inside. Let’s see how he does this. Click on the link below to view the video.

Early Morning

If you watch, there’s a moment when he reaches the spot he likes, where he pauses for a moment to look around. I can only imagine what he was thinking, because it was a gorgeous morning, his backyard overflowing with spring. Then he opens the chair. Resilient as ever, he uses his right arm to help open it, something I thought humorous. We always find a way to get things done if we are determined enough don’t we? Dad is most determined. It’s the surest sign that he won’t let this stroke get the best of him. And neither will I. Enjoy.

Visitors and Lobster

For the last week we have had Mom’s sister, my Aunt Linda and her husband, my Uncle Don visiting. Just as wonderful as it was for my Aunt Mel to visit back in February, so too is it wonderful to see Aunt Linda and Uncle Don. Dad is an only child, so the only relatives we knew growing up were on Mom’s side of the family (with the exception of a sister of Oma’s that flew over from Germany a couple of times). I have great memories of family vacations with them and my cousins over the decades. Mom and Dad share many more memories before all us cousins were born.

Uncle Don lost his sight about 8 years ago. There were many harrowing weeks and months he was in the hospital and then rehab. His recovery was long and arduous. Different circumstances with similar recovery experiences, both my Aunt and Uncle could relate to what Dad, Mom, all of us have been going through. I believe it was helpful for Dad to see the progress Uncle Don has made. He never regained his sight, but if there is anyone who has a great attitude about the curve balls life can throw you, it’s my Uncle Don. I thought I had a great attitude? He could teach a class in positive thinking. He is amazing and it was a very good visit.  

In true Maine fashion (for me at least), when company comes to visit and it’s summer time (because in my mind I’ve skipped what’s left of spring).…you cook lobster. Last year I tried doing a lobster bake in a pot on the stovetop. If you google it, you will find tons of versions on how to do this and it’s so easy! So I decided to kick off this year and end their visit, by doing a lobster bake. To make sure there was enough for seven people, I doubled everything and used two giant pots. If you do this at home you basically want to make sure there is at least one of everything you put in the pot for each person, with a little extra for seconds. For anyone looking for the recipe, please click on the link below. It is well worth the effort!

Stovetop Lobsterbake

Me, Aunt Linda, Uncle Don, Mr. C, Dad and Mom

Six Months

Six months ago today Dad had the first stroke. It seems a lifetime ago and yet is only six months. Six months and the rest of our lives, for this is only the beginning of a lifelong rehabilitation. Yet, I could be writing something very different. I could be writing that this is six months since my father passed away, because he could have and there were many doctors that were anxious about Dad because his recovery was so slow. But I'm not and I don't have to. I hope to not have that conversation with you for many decades to come. Life is precious and we only have today. Make it worth the hours, make it worth the breath, make it worth the words you say to those you love and hold close to your heart.

     

Make You Smile

I am ridiculous, there is no question of that. There are only a small number of people that get that with me. Dad and I were both bored sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office. As soon as I asked him to look at my phone he busted out laughing. I snapped this picture.

Tightrope

Since Dad’s stroke everything about his life has changed. Everything about all our lives has changed. It is times like this you really find out what you’re made of, what you’re willing to sacrifice, who is there for you.  A friend of mine, whose husband had a similar stroke, with a similar recovery, said to me what seems like a lifetime ago, “My best advice is to let your heart navigate this one. Your head and what Doctor’s say is analytical, you need to break beyond that and remember what it was like to be a kid and waiting for Santa to come. Let your heart be open to all the wonders this universe has to offer. Miracles DO happen if you can believe it before you see it. Believe and trust that it will be. Reach out to everyone. You may be surprised at who shows up. I was.” Her inspirational words have stuck with me these months and continue to resonate with me daily. I’ve always been accused of letting my heart navigate situations when I should have been more pragmatic and listened to the rational head. As a result my blind faith has been my downfall on more than one occasion. Perhaps it’s my downfall now? The tightrope is a pretty vulnerable spot to be without a spotter below guiding you and being there for you. It takes everything in your being to not look down and let vertigo take over.    

The Clouds Finally Parted

Pointing different plants out in his backyard

On actual Memorial Day, the clouds parted and the sun came out. After a spring Nor' Easter, we had temperatures that didn't require knee high socks and winter jackets, quite the opposite compared to the last week or so. We BBQ'd, PJ came up for the afternoon, Dad had thirds of what we call crackaroni. It's macaroni salad who's secret ingredient, chicken bouillon, makes it so good I have yet to meet a person that can only have one helping. We may have found the secret food to help Dad gain weight! It was a good way to end a great Holiday. Below is a short video of Dad in the backyard this afternoon.  

Spring Tiny Planet of the backyard.

  

Today's Menu



Todays menu

I’m not embarrassed by the use of this dry erase board as a reminder of what to eat during the day. Mom needs to lose weight, Dad needs to gain weight. It’s as simple as that. I actually get a kick out of it and Dad laughed out loud when he read the dinner menu for tonight. There is no shame in the knowledge that Mom has no short term memory. She hasn’t since PJ was born and she went into a cardiac arrest and was in a coma for I don’t know how long. She woke up not knowing she had given birth to a baby. Since then she has been, let’s say forgetful. This is how I have always known Mom though.

Since Dad’s stroke, the bulk of his care falls on her Monday through Thursday while I’m at work. While he is quite self-sufficient, things like carrying a glass of liquid are something he just can’t do yet, without the use of his right hand. Our goal is to work towards the day he doesn’t have to use his hemi-cane and will have more use of his good left hand. Already he has shown tremendous progress with his balance and there are days I see him trying to move things like furniture around the house, albeit awkwardly, but he tries.  

With Mom’s lack of short term memory and Dad’s inability to completely care for himself right now, the dry erase board has become a great daily reminder for them. For Dad, who always liked planning out meals ahead of time, it’s a good constant for him to see every day and it also helps Mom remember what to do. Sometimes we all need to be reminded what to do.      



Infinite Possibilities

Dad sat outside directing me in what yard work needed to be done for much of the weekend. Since it’s spring and almost Memorial Day there was a lot to do outside. There’s a saying up here, you don’t plant anything outside until after Memorial Day. With the late frost we had last week, no truer statement could be made, this year at least. Needless to say it was a busy weekend. I tell Dad I’m just keeping up on the maintenance until he can do it himself. It does not matter if this actually happens or not. What matters is the hope in infinite possibilities.

While we sat outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun, I noticed Dad appeared frustrated. I say appeared, when really I knew he was and has been. He tried to tell me something and got stumped on part of the sentence, eventually putting his head down shaking it when the words wouldn’t come out. I can only imagine and even then have no clue what that’s like. The usual phrases, “It’s ok, it’s going to be ok, you’ll get there, give it time” resound like a broken record, repeated so often you forget you say them. They’ve lost meaning by now. I looked around Dad’s backyard. I looked at his garden, with his prize asparagus bed that he cultivated for two years before being able to pick any. I looked at his flower beds, with its assortment of peonies, lilies, clematis vines and such, all planted with no rhyme or reason, yet so pretty to look at and be around.  I looked at all the work he has put into this house and yard to make it his own and turned to him saying, “Think of it this way. You could be dead right now. But you’re not are you? You’re alive and improving everyday whether you see it, feel it or not. You need to stop looking at what was and look at what is. You need to stop looking at what you can’t do and look at what you can. You are alive right now and you are sitting outside on this gorgeous spring day in your backyard, watching the birds, taking in and enjoying what you’ve created. There is nothing else but this moment and this is a great moment isn’t it?” He looked at me and nodded because he knew it to be true, because it is true.

Happy spring everyone.    

May 16, 2013, Day 144

It’s hard to believe Dad has been home for just over a month now. The Hospital, the Skilled Nursing Facility, all the places spent visiting, spent living in, for four and a half months have begun to fade away like “tears in the rain” (to quote Rutger Hauer from the movie Blade Runner). Winter seemed so long this year, although I’m sure it was no longer or shorter than years past. But nature has “popped” the last two weeks in Maine, greening everything up with the sights and smells of spring, allowing the cruel winter to disappear from memory, much like Dad’s stay away.

New Year’s Day

It was cold. Somewhere between Christmas and New Years it had snowed and there was a fair amount of the white stuff on the ground. It was the most we'd had in over a year, enough to go snowshoeing. I had gotten into snowshoeing several years earlier, figuring I needed to have some kind of winter activity to keep me busy during the long months. You have to do something or you end up like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I had a fear of going down hills, having fallen down a flight of stairs as a small child, so skiing was out, along with snowboarding. Cross country skiing was too rigid, ice skating too limiting and I didn’t have a snowmobile. Snowshoeing was perfect and made me a happy Goldilocks. Dad had a pair of snowshoes as well and we had gone a couple of times over by the Great Pond Mountain Conservation Trust, about 9 miles or so from their house. 

Snowshoeing 2011

I woke up New Year’s Day, ready to start the year. Prior to that day Dad had been sick with what was thought to be just a common cold. I could speculate more on this matter, but I won’t, because it would be nothing more than speculation. This day; however, was the first morning in over a week that he felt good. So much so that he asked if I wanted breakfast. Usually more of a coffee for breakfast type, I said sure, thinking well he’s feeling better, he wants to cook again. You could always tell when Dad wasn’t feeling well, because it was the only time he would actually do nothing. And he had slept more the last week than I could ever remember him sleeping. He set about getting everything ready for breakfast. We were going to have the standard, eggs, maybe some toast and home fries (something I had perfected a couple of years earlier that Dad was still learning how to master). I distinctly remember Dad asking me to smell the bacon fat that was in the fridge (because that is the secret ingredient). “Does that smell bad to you or spoiled?” he asked. I smelled it. It was fine. “Dad, bacon fat doesn’t go bad, especially if it’s in the fridge, “ I reassured him. I thought it odd that he mentioned this, but chalked it up to he’s still getting over a cold and you’re never quite yourself when you’re sick.

After breakfast I said I was heading down to Acadia National Park for the afternoon to snowshoe, but that I would be back for dinner. I invited Dad along, but he declined. Bill, or Mr. C, as I call him, was coming over for dinner and cards. Bill’s wife Judy, had passed away only a couple of weeks prior, on the 12^th of December, after a long battle with diabetes. She and my Mom had been the best of friends since her son Michael and I had met in nursery school, some thirty plus years earlier. What's strange was after our mothers became friends we discovered our father’s had known each other when they were little boys in the Cub scouts. 

Dad and Bill on the way up Great Pond Mountain 2010

It really is a small world with few coincidences. Bill and Judy had retired to Maine only a couple of years ago, moving into a house the next town over from my parents. Since Judy’s passing Bill had been coming over to the house several times a week for dinner and cards. It was our small way of trying to help ease with the loss of his wife and for Mom, her best friend.

Dad informed me we were having a huge meal this first day of the New Year with roast chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes with gravy, the whole nine yards. It was one of Dad’s favorites and so he was going to be busy all day preparing everything. He really was feeling better and quite ambitious I thought and left it at that. 

It was a gorgeous day in Acadia with the bluest of skies. The snowshoeing was spectacular. I had one of those hikes where you just keep going, wanting to see the view at the top of every hill or what lies around every bend along the path. The trails were fairly busy with people, shaking off the previous year and moving forward with the new one, I suppose. That’s what I was doing at least. I managed to get off the beaten path a couple of times to find some seclusion away from the myriad of people around me. The whole time I remember thinking how much Dad would have really enjoyed this. Oh well, I said to myself, next time. We have all winter, there will be a next time.

views from Acadia

Tiny Planet in Acadia

Soon I headed back home for dinner. I shared my photos and told everyone what a great day it was and that the next time I went Dad and Bill had to come with me. They agreed. After dinner, I headed into the TV room, while they all stayed in the dining room and played cards. As I sat in silence, having a martini to relax, I could hear them laughing and joking. It made me smile. The previous month had been rough for all of us, Bill and Mom especially, so it made me happy to know they were enjoying this moment. I remember thinking what a great day it had been and that this was the first day of a promising new year where anything could happen, where the unknown future was bright and hopeful.