Dad began rehab in Bangor but within a week complained of a headache. Up until this complaint, he had begun to move his right thumb, index and middle finger slightly and his right leg a little. The same nerve connects our thumbs, index and middle finger, so that is one of the reasons why he was able to move those. I stopped by the hospital as I had been every night after work and walked in to find the Nurse Practitioner talking to Dad. They were moving Dad to the main part of the hospital because the CT scan ordered after the headache revealed two bleeding spots on the brain, one small, the other more substantial in size. If there was some good part of this news, it was that the bleeding was occurring over the spot of the initial stroke. He was having a mini hemorrhaging stroke. I stood in his room, watching as a series of Doctors came and went, Hospitalists introducing themselves asking Dad if something happened did he want them to perform CPR, rehab physicians making quick assessments about his physical ailments, nurses prepping him and his few belongings to be moved. I left the hospital that night not knowing quite what to feel. Just when we were all beginning to settle into this new routine, the complete darkness and unknown was back again in full force.
Dad stayed on what's called Grant 5 (fifth floor in the Grant tower of the hospital) for just over a week. Among other things Grant 5 is, it is also the stroke floor and I knew when he was being moved from rehab that’s where he was going. I work for the corporate office of the hospital, located across the Penobscot River in Brewer Maine and as a result I’m quite familiar with different areas of the hospital. They moved him and monitored him closely and that was all they could do. Dad’s body needed to make the bleeding stop and that was the hardest part to wait for. My good friend Lindsay used to work on that floor and so not only did she know everyone there, she would also go and check on him. It gave me great comfort when I found out her friend Jeanette, who I've hung out with before, was going to be Dad's nurse one particular night. Jeanette even made a point to call me that night and assure me she was going to take really good care of Dad and that he was a sweetheart and adorable.
The day I found out Jeanette was going to be Dad's nurse was also the day he was approved for mechanical eating with thickened liquids! I am not going to lie about how pleased I was to hear this. It is going to be one of a million things I’m sure I will look back on knowing it would happen. Within days he was approved for just mechanical supervised eating, no more thickened liquids. The thickened liquids were so something like plain water wouldn’t just slide down his throat, and perhaps go into his lungs causing him to aspirate. From the look on Dad’s face when drinking these liquids, he was not a fan. Mechanical eating is mushy food, yet that's really not quite it. The proteins are typically a loosely chopped consistency, usually with some kind of thick gravy to mix in, just to keep everything moist and, well, thick. For me the fact that Dad could eat now was huge. You see, one of the only things Dad ever spent his money on was going out to eat. It was the one luxury he allowed himself and all who would join him. As far back as I can remember, we, as a family, went out to eat. I couldn't even begin to tell you the frequency of this, but it was enough times that I knew it to be part of my childhood and adulthood anytime I was around Dad. It was something that PJ and I had in common with our father and as a result became like our father in this respect. We all loved to go out eat, drink (when we were of age) and have a good time. With him being able to eat I knew it was just a matter of time before he would be eating one of his favorites again, a good medium rare steak.
The aphasia was still effecting his speech and he was inconsistent in his yes’s and no’s. For example, he would nod his head and say no or shake his head and say yes. PJ tried to get him to hum a song, after reading about aphasiacs who can’t speak but can sing words and phrases. PJ did this by humming a tune himself in an attempt to prompt Dad to try this and ended up instead just making Dad laugh, which is never a bad thing! Dad tries very hard to speak and will begin a sentence with “What..” then he pauses. You can tell he’s concentrating so hard but the words are just not coming out yet. Most often when this happens, he will then just shake his head in a humorous manner and mumble some jibberish, to which I say “You still speaking French eh?”
After just over a week on Grant 5, Dad was approved to go back to rehab. Dad had a mustache and in the almost four weeks since the stroke, not only did his mustache become a little overgrown, he had only been shaved once so he was growing a white beard and it was driving him batty. The one afternoon PJ and Mom went to go visit him, PJ went out to the store, bought a beard trimmer and with dad’s approval, shaved off the beard and mustache. All of a sudden my 68 year old father looked so much younger! When I saw him yesterday afternoon I shaved him and asked if he wanted to grow the mustache back. He said yes. I told him by the time it comes in enough for it to be trimmed, he will be able to do it himself.
The chaos of the last 2 weeks, the ups and downs, the waiting and worrying, the laughes and progress are all part of the new norm for now.
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