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.