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. 

   

Chicken Update

I knew we were all going to enjoy having chickens. They have provided immense amusement and joy albeit will a little stress tossed in here and there. I don't know how many times Dad walks over to look outside when I'm at work, but I do know on the weekends, it's every few hours to check on the chickens in the run and say hello.
Without going into details we currently have four hens and one rooster. Two Plymouth Rocks, one (little one as I call her) Silver Lace Wyandotte (the three of them are collectively called Huey, Dewy and Louie) and two Ameraucanas (Mr. and Mrs. Brown). We got the Brown's from Dad's nurse Vickie who needed to unload some chickens. We had a Plymouth Rock rooster, raised since a baby chick, gorgeous, but too aggressive for how few hens I have. They say one rooster per 8-12 hens. I get it now after seeing what my rooster was doing to one of the hens. Dad didn't believe me until the one afternoon I was in the living room and heard him yelling very loudly "Hey! Hey! Stop that!" I went in and all he told me was "He has to go!" I laughed. I said 'Oh you see now huh?" Two days later I gave him to a friend who ended up re-homing him to a great family, something we were all happy to hear. The morning after we got rid of him, Mrs. Brown laid the first egg. Her breed is nicknamed the Easter Egg Chicken because of the light blue, green, torquise colored eggs they lay. Once the stress from Big Red (as we called him) was gone, Mrs. Brown was able to lay an egg. That was three weeks ago. The other hens are younger and haven't begun laying yet, but they hopefully will any day now. It has only been 3 weeks and yet we all still get a kick out of checking the nesting box and finding an egg. You know, sometimes it doesn't have to take much to bring amusement and happiness. The chickens have provided both for all of us. I keep joking with Dad next is the pig...

1st egg

       

Serendipity

As you all know my brother PJ and his partner Frank run the LimeRock Inn in Rockland. Over the last 10 years they have been witness to countless serendipitous connections. The stories could go on and on and truly highlight what a small world we live in. 

About a week or so ago, while having a conversation with a couple originally from New Jersey, Frank discovered that they lived across the street from Tuscon School, in Maplewood, where Dad had been a teacher for most of the 30 plus years he taught. A little more digging and come to find out their daughter had been one of Dad's students and he was one of her favorite teachers at Tuscon. They also fondly remembered him from the various teacher/parent conferences. Dad did remember her as a student. He always remembered many of his students, especially the ones that excelled. 

About a week later PJ received the sweetest note from the daughter, along with a few photos taken during a school camping trip. This was 1977, still early in his teaching profession. Dad couldn't have been more than 22/23 at the time. It was a thrill to read her note and to see images of Dad I never knew existed. It highlights the influence we all have on one another and how that influence stands the test of time.  

Opportunity

There's always a story within a story. The result of my dog Loki being sprayed by a skunk Tuesday night meant that I was granted the rare opportunity to take Dad to Physical Therapy on Wednesday (in between washing the dog and deodorizing the house). Since Dad has re-started therapy I have only what he tells me to go on, as far as progress he's making. If you talk to Dad he doesn't see any progress so he always tells me he's making none. That is not the case, something I have suspected and learned firsthand this week. Here's are some examples of the exercises I was able to sit in on.
Dad laid down on a table with a wedge pillow stuck under his legs that came up to the back of his knees. What I would describe as a 6 inch wide, very lengthy ginormous rubber band was placed around the top of his right foot. The therapist pulled on it a little for tension (as if to pull his foot down) and Dad was told to pull his foot up 6 times. When that was done, she changed positions, providing the tension the opposite way and Dad was told to stretch his foot forward and down 6 times.
Another exercise was to sit on the table with his feet on the ground. Dad was to rock his right foot back and forth, heel to toe. Afterwards she raised the table slightly and he was to extend his leg straight out and then pull it back behind him.
One of the strengths and areas where he has improved greatly is the back motion of his leg. Being able to pull his leg back behind him is something he hasn't been able to do prior to the last few months. She told me he is able to stand and holding onto a bar lift his leg back and up. We talked about soreness in the muscles, something Dad complains about now and again. Part of it is the tightness in his leg muscles. One way to alleviate this pain is to stretch his hamstring and calf muscles. It's not rocket science, but stubborn is as stubborn is and suggesting to someone ways to they can help themselves is different than them actually helping themselves.
You don't think a simple little thing like rocking your foot back and forth or being able to lift it backwards is a big deal, because it's something we do and don't even think about. Walking, standing, sitting, all with balance...they are not overrated movements to take for granted.
 
         

New and Exciting

It's been a while since I last wrote. I suppose if one could sum up the last month one could say it was settled, relaxing, with almost a relief as it organically came into its own; along with the ridiculousness of laughing over the cat not wanting to move from its spot.

Hothole Pond

I had the kayak all ready, paddle, life jacket, fishing pole, dry sack and waterproof camera. Just as I was about to grab the handle at the front of the kayak and begin pulling it down the short incline to a stream that lead to Hothole Pond, a truck pulled up on the opposite side of the road. The engine shut off and I heard a car door shut. I looked up, in a bit of a hurry to get going on the morning and saw mom and dad's contractor, Graham walking towards me.  
As with everyone Dad came in contact with, by the time I met Graham (about 3 years ago now) I already knew everything about him, where he grew up, what his parents did for a living, where he and his girlfriend were building their house, etc. We talked. He asked how Dad was doing, how he was improving, the usual stuff you inquire about when catching up with someone. Seeing the kayak, he asked if I was heading to Hothole Pond. I told him I was. He mentioned how the stream comes to a fork and if you go to the right it can get a little hairy and take you to a much larger lake, but if you go to the left, well, Hothole Pond if just a ways down over a beaver dam or two. Then he mentioned how Dad and our friend Bill (whom Graham has also done work for) had gone canoeing out there several years earlier and I smiled to myself. One of the reasons I picked Hothole Pond as my first outing in the kayak was because Dad had gone there and when he came back he went on and on, to everyone, about what a cool little spot it was. I've been by the stream every fall to take pictures, I just never had the means to make it all the way to the pond.
Soon Graham and I said goodbye to one another, I put the kayak in the water and headed down the stream, eager to see what all the fuss was about.
For a stream that flows into a pond, it was the stillest body of water I ever seen, let alone be on. Like glass, as I made my way down I could see the huge timbers, covered in algae and little water plants, as I call them, clear as the sun shining above me underwater. On the surface, lay a perfect reflection of the trees, an image cut only by the rippling water as my kayak sliced along downstream. It wasn't long before the woods gave way to an open marshy, swampy area carpeted with tall grasses, water lilies and purple pickerel rush. Along the way I saw a gray heron lifting out of the marsh up towards the sky, two deer, upon hearing me, hightailed it in the opposite direction and as I approached the first beaver dam, spotted the little sucker swimming over to his house and diving underwater. Winding this way and that, left and right, around bend after bend, I began to think maybe Hothole Pond didn't exist and I was just being led on a wild goose chase through a watery maze. And then...
The stream opened up and suddenly I found myself on the marsh side of what I would call a small lake. Now I'm not an expert in what qualifies as a pond but this was much larger than what I expected upon hearing the name Hothole Pond. Perhaps it was the stream leading up to, somewhat narrow in spots even though it was an open expanse but void of shade bearing trees. Perhaps it was the fact that there were no houses and I was the only soul on or surrounding this body of water. All I knew was a feeling of immense, grateful, solitude. I paddled to roughly the middle, drifted around, fished, relaxed. I had no concept of time. It was glorious.
After awhile, I resigned to the fact that I will most likely never catch a fish big enough to bring home and eat and so headed back. Once on land, I loaded every thing up and went home to tell Dad how it was. I told him it was exactly as he had described. I said it was so thoroughly satisfying an experience I couldn't wait to go again. I downloaded my photos and showed Dad.

These are those images....

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Cross Our Fingers

Continuing the roller coaster that is life, Dad begins physical therapy again on August 4^th. In conversations with Dr. Biswas, Dad’s PCP, the receptionist and director of the rehab facility, it has been determined that the progress Dad had been making should be enough to warrant an added modifier to his claims alerting Medicare that although he reached his yearly cap, he is still making progress and physical therapy is still needed. In other words, we’re going to take a risk and cross our fingers that everything works out.
I bill Medicare claims for a living, for one the largest hospitals in Maine. This is not to be confused with Medicaid, which is state run (in Maine it’s called Mainecare). Below are three helpful hints to remember…

1.       Make a Phone Call: Call the Medicare Coordination of Benefits phone number from the moment of eligibility. Anytime, any of your information changes, call that same number and update your status. You have no idea how helpful this is for you and the people processing your bills.

2.       Stagger Appointments: While it may be more convenient for you to try and cram as many different doctor visits into one day, you are creating a nightmare. Split up your appointments. See the retinologist on a Monday and the Urologist on a Wednesday. They are two separate specialities.

3.       Do Same Day Lab Work: If you need lab work done by the cardiologist you just saw, go get the labs done that same day. Don’t go for lab work related to a gynecologist visit after you’ve been to a vascular Doctor.  

 

Things you didn't want to know until you were older...

I came home from work yesterday and as is accustomed asked how everyone’s day was. Dad still does physical therapy Mondays and Thursdays. He tried to tell me something about therapy. From what I was able to ascertain it sounded like Thursday would be his last day in therapy. I said I would call in the morning to get the scoop as Dad’s yes’s and no’s can still be confusing on occasion and I couldn’t tell if he was quitting, if they were discharging him for no improvement or it was something else. Turns out it was the something else.

As I’ve written before, how our bodies and minds can heal is incredible and mind boggling. Much like there is no time limit on grieving, so too there is no time limit to improvements we can make after something traumatic like a stroke, as Dad has proven. There is; however, apparently a time limit on when your Medicare benefits run out for therapy services. This is what has happened with Dad.

So the skinny of it is this: Medicare has a cap on the amount of money paid out for Physical, Occupational and Speech therapy. There are two gaps limits. For some unknown reason physical and speech have a combined cap of $1920.00 while occupational gets its own $1920.00 threshold. That’s the 1^st cap. After that is reached and your still showing improvement there is a second cap of $3700. Once you have reached that Medicare pulls out and requests that should therapy still be warranted, still be needed, your records be sent to them for review, because now you have to begin an appeal process. The therapist essentially has to plead and beg through progress reports that therapy is still needed, warranted and will continue to benefit the patient. This is where we are with Dad right now. He is still improving, greatly, through physical therapy to the point where he has graduated to a quad cane instead of his somewhat cumbersome hemi-cane. This is huge news for us and Dad as it demonstrates his improvements over the last year and a half.
The worse case scenario is that the Medicare caps are yearly so he can start back up January 1st with physical therapy again (even though we don't really want him going that long without some kind of therapy). There is also paying for it out of pocket (although how many people on a fixed income can afford that). There is supplemental insurance which I have to look into what options there are for them to foot the bill. Either way there are a few different options for us as we await this appeal process with Medicare (in which he could still be denied services).
All of this is a result of changes made this year by the government. What can you do? Stay informed and become an advocate my friends. Here is a link with more information about this subject. 

http://www.medicareadvocacy.org/medicare-therapy-caps-a-call-for-repeal/

     

The Gardens 2014

It was a long cold winter. As the official start to summer kicks off this weekend I wanted to share some photos I've taken of Dad's gardens this year. I will be adding to this album as the various flowers continue to bloom throughout the coming months and I encourage you to check back to this blog for updates to the album. We've made a few changes to the landscape, planted some new additions and are just in awe of how certain plants like Lupine re-seed themselves and are just stunning to look at.
This is our favorite time of year. As Dad's doctor joked with us last week, everyone is in a hurry for summer to get here, not realizing after the 21st of June the days start getting shorter and shorter as we round the half year mark. But this time right here, right now, is it. It's truly the best time of year. All things feel possible.
The photo below will take you to the album. This was Dad enjoying his backyard on Father's Day.

  

Luck of the Draw

Dad watches a myriad of TV shows. Some are much more amusing than others. To be honest my favorite show, which I actually got him hooked on, is Ancient Aliens. Just the subject matter itself, a show where "scientists" make the argument that aliens have visited our species in the past, is hysterical. As I sit and write this I'm chuckling just thinking about it. Besides the show also boasts a guy with the craziest hair style I have seen in a long time and every time he's on the screen I'm fascinated by his coif. It's like a train wreck you can't turn your eyes away from. I highly recommend it.  
There are other shows, sitcoms, local news, etc, all routine programming to keep a mind somewhat occupied and free of boredom. It was a long winter for all of us. I quite often catch myself listening to these shows from the kitchen or stopping to see snippets as I'm passing through the TV room to let's say, the garage. Dad has found some gem TV programming out there amongst the more obscure TV channels. There’s what I like to call “farm TV”, where ALL the programming is clearly geared towards farming communities in the Midwest. The shows on this channel vary from a guy showing you how to tame your horse (and even how to fire a gun while riding your horse), to farm equipment auctions (tractors are soooo expensive, no wonder we subsidize farmers), to long term weather predictions allowing you to make preparations for either selling or storing your crop based on what the market price is and will potentially be. Then there are the religious channels with their stadium sermons on Sunday mornings. Usually it's someone with a southern accent, speaking with a slow drawl about repentance and giving everything up to God, because we as humans are too weak a species to be able to do anything without God's help and it is this reason why we oftentimes fail. At least that seems to be the message preached as I understand it. They're all fascinating. Sometimes I sit and watch these shows with Dad. More often than not though I'm running around doing stuff in the house and as mentioned only hear bits and pieces of these shows. I get the biggest kick out of these shows and smile every time.  
There was one Saturday we were watching a show and they were doing a story about an Opera singer from the Met who suffered a stroke. It was heart wrenching to hear what he and his family went through. Everything they mentioned about his recovery hit home after going through it with Dad. In this instance; however, a year or so later and the guy is back to singing at the Met again. Truly inspiring, again, how our bodies can heal themselves. Always one to lighten the mood, I looked over at Dad and said, "Now, why couldn't you have had that type of stroke? Look at him, he's back to singing opera at the Met." Dad smiled and waved his hand, signalling he didn't know why. "Guess it's the luck of the draw huh?" I commented. He nodded his head and we laughed. 
All joking aside, we all know the luck of the drawn was and is on our side, because his stroke should have killed him and it didn't and that is the truth we are acutely aware of, despite his handicaps now. Besides, if you can't joke about life, well then what are you doing? It can't be much fun. 
     
   

Technology

Just as I'm about the get the phone call from Dad's speech therapist that forebodes speech therapy being cancelled for good (the therapist is out of the office until Tuesday), we decided to get Dad a Nexus tablet to use. The computer had become too cumbersome and complicated for Dad. The few times he tried using it, he was ok, until left alone with it. Then, all of a sudden he would click the wrong button, not figure out what to do and walk away frustrated. But a tablet....well PJ and I both have one and Dad has done well using ours in the past. Mine is only a 7 inch one though, too small for Dad. So we got him the bigger one like PJ's.
It got delivered last week, a day earlier than expected, the result being I didn't have time to warn them of a delivery to the house. When I got home the look of excitement on Dad's face was priceless. He knew it was for him. he had taken it out of the box and was holding it on his lap.
We set it up with a larger font, made the applications we think he's going to use as prevalent on the screen as possible and re-introduced him to Google Maps. I think, with the exception of taking breaks to watch episodes of Breaking Bad (which we have been binge, Mom and Dad love it), Dad was on that tablet all weekend long. He seems to have really gotten the hang of it too! PJ even set him up with a Facebook account. I set him up with a Google + account. If you are so inclined, check him out on either of those social media outlets, follow him, friend him, drop a note and say hi to him. He may not post things right now, preferring to get the hang of it first, but he definitely reads the news feeds of what is going on in the lives of the people he knows. Technology can be a wonderful thing, especially when miles separate.  

Chickens

For those that remember, when we lived in Millington New Jersey, Dad had built a shed in the backyard and the side of it was attached a small fenced in vegetable garden. Fencing the garden to keep the deer and rabbits out, that’s rich. I can’t believe he had to do that. Up here neither of those critters poses a problem. Well, at one point during this time we had a goose. Her name was Suzy. To this day I don’t know what possessed Dad to bring her home but he did. All of a sudden the vegetable garden was her pen, part of the shed her coop. We had the smallest of ponds in the backyard and Lucy would sometimes venture out and go swimming in the pond. She could fly, but never really that high (to be honest I don’t know if her wings were clipped or not). Occasionally she would lay these monstrously large eggs that we would eat. A season or two is all we had with her before she went to live on a farm (and not a farm in the sky, a legit farm). I suppose in the end she was too overwhelming an animal to deal with. When you’re a kid you don’t know the why and how of much. All I knew was one day she was there, the next she wasn’t and our families somewhat bizarre foray into raising a goose was over.

Fast forward 25 plus years later. Part hobby, part moving towards some kind of sustainable living, part just me being similar to Dad, I’ve built a chicken coop inside Mom and Dad’s garage to house roughly half a dozen chickens. Honestly I think the cabin fever I had at the tail end of this winter made me delusional and I needed something to plan, design, build. If I had my way I would actually be on a small farm by now with a pig, chickens and a couple of goats. Clearly that isn’t going to happen for quite some years, so starting out with chickens is the best I can do for now and that’s ok by me.  

I’ve heard chickens are the gateway drug to farming and I have friends that hatch their own crazy varieties of chickens.  They love everything about it and they keep growing their flock by leaps and bounds. Heck, everyone I talk to says it is so much fun to raise chickens and we aren’t even talking about the fact that I could eat chicken eggs for breakfast, lunch, dinner and cooked every way imaginable. Needless to say I’m very excited for this new hobby. I showed Dad the progress I made on the coop over the weekend. To be honest I don’t think he thought I was really going to do it. Anyone who knows me knows when I put my mind to something I will do it. Always the perfectionist, Dad actually said it was coming along very well and looked good, which made me happy.

I’m hoping to get my chicks in the next week or so and hoping they are able to start laying eggs sometime late this summer. He won’t admit it, but I can guarantee Dad is going to enjoy having these chickens around as much as I will.

Below are a couple of photos of the coop. Still have a few more things to do to it, but I have a little bit of time before the chicks are big enough to be in it. I will add photos of them after I pick them up. Until then…

Loki is very excited about the chickens

Break

Getting things ready this week, for my brother PJ to come and stay with my parents for the weekend. It will be the first time, since the stroke that I will be going away. I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of looking forward to the break. As much as we all are creatures of habit, it's going to be nice to stray from the established routine we have. Even Mom and Dad will get a break with PJ helping them out versus me. PJ even lucked out because there are no Friday appointments for him to take either of them to!
Of course, the flip side to an established routine is it's established, well thought out, rarely deviated from, something everyone is used to. This is when I strangely begin worrying (about what I couldn't tell you). It's then a million scenarios pop into my head, what if this or that happens, etc. All natural reactions I'm sure everyone has when they leave their loved ones in someone else's care. I know it's just me overreacting. It happens.
Either way it's going to be a good weekend for everyone involved. The three of us get a break from one another and get to spend quality time with PJ. I cannot wait to hear how it went when I come back.
I hope you all out there have the best week ever!       

Managing Expectations

I was watching an episode of Breaking Bad where the main couple, Walt and Sklar are sitting in the Oncologists office talking about Walt’s incurable lung cancer. Sklar mentions something about the treatment Walt is going through, how his color has improved and that this must be a good sign that the cancer is going away. The Oncologist, hesitantly talks about not “curing” but “treating” the cancer and about managing expectations.

I received a call from Kazia, Dad’s Occupational Therapist this week. Since the seizure, since starting up all three therapies again, his energy level is not as it was pre-seizure and when he was only in 2 of the 3 therapies. In discussions with Dad, she said how he would like to focus on strengthening his right leg, with the hope that there comes a day where he won’t have to wear a leg e. So, as she put it, she’s pulling her therapy out to allow Dad’s energy and full attention to be with speech and physical therapy. Does she think he will be able to walk one day without a brace? She didn't say no, she didn't say yes. Managing expectations. It's all about that now.  If there is one thing I have learned through this experience and all my experiences is to manage your expectations. Not lower them, but manage them.

I talked to Dad later that night about his goal. I told him if this is what he wants to focus on then that is what we will do and we will work as hard as we can to reach this goal. All things are still possible, with this as with everything.

What record will you leave?

In the garage, along one of the wooden beams, written in pencil, are dates when Mom and Dad’s house was painted. Leftover from the previous owners, it tells the tale of when the trim was put up, the color and when they painted the exterior of the house, along with a couple of other interesting little notations. They left their mark on things they did, a reminder for themselves, a record for anyone after them. 

I was working on something in the garage the other night when I noticed it. Dad made his mark on this house, as I know he has in all the houses he has lived in. Written on the workbench he made was a list of the trees and shrubs he planted around the house, throughout the years of residence here. Plants he was so proud of. Plants that he put so much forethought into purchasing. Plants he he designed with the knowledge that they would be living creatures blossoming long after he was gone, long after we were all gone, from this house, from this earth. He left his mark, a record of his actions in this house, just like the previous tenants. 
What record will you leave?      

 

             

The Things You Find

To echo my earlier post, about remembrance of things past, my parents leased a new car last week, a wise decision given some of the physical limitations each of them currently face. In cleaning out their car, amongst the band aids, lip balm, tire pressure gage, pen/pad and other car necessities Dad had in there, I noticed Dad’s camera, tucked away in the arm rest. We had given it to him several years earlier for Christmas. It was his first digital camera and I remember he was absolutely thrilled to get it at the time. Dad was never one for being able to figure out how to work electronics. Growing up it was always PJ who would set up TV’s, VCR’s, DVD players, stereos, computers, you name it. Then he would show Mom and Dad. Eventually Dad would get the hang of it and become quite successful at operating this various equipment. He had that camera pretty well figured out.

Why would Dad keep his camera in the car you might ask? There were many instances when he would be out and about, where he would see an animal, a tree, a scene and in describing it to us all afterwards, he would reference wishing he had a camera to capture the moment. I mentioned to him to keep it in the car, something that had never crossed his mind. Once he had the digital camera that didn’t make him a slave to the limitations traditional film has with a specific amount of exposures in each roll, the camera stayed in the car, just in case. 

I finished emptyng the car of everything that was stashed in it and brought the camera inside. Dad's eyes lit up when he saw, as if he had forgotten he ever even owned it. I reminded him how to use it and he started going through the photos he had taken that were still on the camera (we had never gotten to the tutorial on how to transfer the pictures to the computer). Six years worth of photos were on the camera, dating back to 2008. Now Dad was not as prolific as PJ and I with regards to picture taking. Neither of us would be able to keep even a years worth of photos on any of our cameras, but Dad, well, he could and did. So it was six years worth of a road trip he and Mom took to visit her sister in upstate New York, boating on the lake with our family friend Bill, hiking Great Pond Mountain, snowshoeing through the deepest snow I've ever walked through, a flock of turkeys clamoring for bird seed in the backyard, road trips, birthdays, Holidays, dogs (long before I began to live with them and would just visit with Kane and Loki my boys). I'm going to set up an album of some of the photos Dad took with his camera if anyone wants to check them out. I'm always fascinated by what other people see, so it was interesting to see his perspective through these photos. Perhaps you will find it interesting as well.

           **CLICK ON THE PHOTO FOR THE REST OF THE ALBUM**

Hiccup

Minor setback aside, I suppose normal (to which I had forgotten) is really a thin layer of eggshells underneath which our heavy feet navigate without crushing. Lulled into a false sense of security, after the seizure Dad had, that’s how it feels on occasion.   

I was watching a four part television documentary directed and narrated by Werner Herzog, whereby he was granted the rare opportunity to interview several inmates on death row. Herzog, not a proponent of the death penalty himself, does not try to humanize any of the inmates interviewed and does not try to sway the viewer in one direction or the other with regards to the moral ethics involved amidst capital punishment. It was the second episode that dealt with convicted murderer Linda Carty, a woman accused of kidnapping 25-year-old Joana Rodriguez, allegedly in order to steal her new born son that grabbed my attention. I’m not writing about this woman’s innocence or guilt, nor as an advocate for or against the death penalty myself. Instead I’m writing about a woman interviewed about this case. It was what she said that struck a chord with me.  

She mentioned how we, as human beings, are always moving forward. It is built into our human nature, the fiber of who we are as a species and honestly, one of the reasons for our quick evolution. I can’t tell you how many friends and people in general I talk to that echo this philosophy on a daily basis. People post things about it on social networks, quotes and inspirational sayings abound about it all over the Internet. Always moving forward. I think in moving forward; however, we can also lose a sense of the past. We can forget, because a reminder is not in front of us. For example, as a viewer of this documentary, we get to know Linda Carty on death row. We get to hear her side of what happened or didn’t happen with regards to her incident. We may even feel sympathy about her position on death row as part of the humanness in all of us. The point is, in moving forward we get to hear her, period. We do not get to hear from the victim, Joana Rodriquez, because she is no longer living. She doesn’t get to tell her story. She has been forced into the pages of history, through circumstances beyond her control. She doesn’t get the luxury of moving forward along with the rest of us.   

In this atmosphere the past can become forgotten. We are so busy looking and moving forward that we forget. Yes, inevitably there will be occasions where you are going to take steps backward to continue forward. Heck, sometimes your thrown backwards, through unforeseen events (like the recent episode with Dad). But I think in moving forward, we must also continue to remember the past and not let it fall into the wastelands of history. Dad’s hiccup reminded me of this.     

Discharge

Dad was discharged from the hospital yesterday. Whew! I had yesterday off from work and stopped by the hospital early on in the afternoon. I could already tell he didn't want to be there anymore, but from what the nurse had told me they still needed a doctor to look at his MRI and EEG and so they probably wouldn't be discharging him until Tuesday. As I was getting ready to leave the doctor came in and gave us the biggest surprise by saying she was going to put in the paper work to discharge him that day. Dad was so funny, he reached out with his left hand, grabbed the doctor's hands and said, "Thank you." Several hours later he was home.
It does appear he had a seizure. Going forward it will be another med he will now have to take. The nice thing about this anti-convulsive medicine is it doesn't require regular monitoring like blood thinners and does not interact negatively with the blood thinner he is on now, something apparently most of the anti-convulsive meds do, causing liver damage. All good things, all good news. And we carry on... 

Saturday

Woke up late this morning. Late being 8:22 am to be exact. I don't know if it's being "settled" and more complacent with life or what, but I find on the weekends, none of us wake up as early as we once did. So I got up and took Loki out for a quick pee. Went down the hallway and noticed Dad was up and walking over to the commode we have set up in their bedroom (much easier than trying to get to the bathroom first thing in the morning). Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the norm. Headed back to the kitchen and began cleaning the few dishes that were left in the sink. Then I heard Dad yell in the bedroom. The best way to describe this yell, as I heard it, would be if someone stuck their hand in a electrical socket and got a shock that made them yell out. I ran into the bedroom to find him on the floor between his bed and the nightstand. His good left arm was behind his back as he lay on his left side. I turned him over and noticed a little bit of blood coming out of the side of his mouth. He was breathing out of his mouth with big puffs. His eyes were looking up and to the right. He was unresponsive to me asking him questions. Mom said he had been sitting on the bed putting his shoes on when this happened.
I never ran so quickly through that house to grab the phone to call 911. I used the house phone, knowing my cell can be notoriously slow at times. What I didn't know was that by using the house phone I had 911 on speakerphone. During the course of the conversation the gentleman on the other side said to me, "Mame, you don't have to yell." I replied, "I'm sorry I'm not trying to yell but I have you on speaker phone and I don't know how to turn it off!" After all was said and done, this was actually a funny sidenote story to the rest of the day.
Dad was transferred once again to EMMC. By the time PJ, Mom and I got there, Dad had improved greatly. They did a CT scan and there was no additional bleeding, something all of us were worried about. With Dad not remembering what happened they ascertained that he either had a ischemic stroke or a seizure. They wanted him to have an MRI because a CT scan will only show so much. To get a really good image of what's going on in your brain or anywhere else in your body an MRI is the way to go; however, as the admitting physician said, "Tomorrow is Sunday." So they had to admit him and keep him for an MRI on Monday. She assured us he will most likely be discharged on Tuesday, based on how well he was doing. They want to rule out everything else to narrow it down to what they think happened, which was a seizure. Currently they have him on anti-convulsive meds. Apparently after a stroke seizures are not uncommon no matter how long it's been since you have had a stroke. We did not know this. It is something I won't ever forget going forward though. 
Dad is doing well. Mom and I are back home. Tomorrow morning I will head up to the hospital I never wanted to visit again to deliver his hemi-cane, ankle brace, arm sling and arm/wrist brace. I will also be bringing him some streusel cupcakes I made last night for the sweet tooth Dad has. I make different cupcakes each weekend so he can have one every morning with his coffee. He can finish the rest of them when he comes home.
Always remember to tell the people you cherish how much you love them, because you never know when they could be gone. We are fortunate beyond belief, I hope you are as well.  

Why do you have to go to the Doctor?

No Different Than You

We didn’t do the dump run this week until Sunday morning. Afterwards we stopped at the supermarket, because inevitably no matter how many lists I take with me, I always forget something. In the course of three days, this was probably the fifth or sixth time I had been in there. So I asked Dad if it would be alright for me to just run in and get what I needed. He didn’t have a problem with that (I think he was just happy to be out of the house). I went in, grabbed what I needed to get and headed for the checkout. Without knowing my name, everyone there knows me now, just like they know Dad. The woman at the register asked me, “No Dad today?” I laughed, wondering if they get nervous when we come in, because there have been a couple of occasions when there’s been a close call as Dad is turning an aisle (luckily he hasn’t knocked anything over). I replied, “He’s actually sitting in the car right now. I said I was going to run in real quick and grab a couple of things.” She laughed and then said to me, “Well, I have to tell you I just recently lost my father and you and your Dad put a smile on my face every time I see the two of you in here. It’s something my sister and I would have done with and for our father.” And boom, just like that my heart sank just a little, filled with empathy for her loss. We chatted for a few moments about her dad, who he was, what he was like. I love to hear stories about people’s lives. Eventually I left and when I got back into the car, related the story to Dad. For such a brief encounter it was very humbling for me. I don’t think about what I do for or with either of my parents, so I am constantly caught off guard when someone mentions it, acknowledges it. I just do it, as I argue any of you would do for your parents, siblings, loved ones, the people you cherish in your life. I’m no different than you. And hey, if I can put a smile on your face, well it doesn't get any better than that.        

Time is on our side

Monday was a holiday for me so I got to sit in on Occupational Therapy with Dad. Currently they are working on balancing without his arm brace in the hopes that he won’t have to wear it forever. They have also been actively strengthening his right arm, through rigorous exercises. I say rigorous because it is for him. To the casual observer it looks like simple exercises of raising your arm, pushing your arm, bringing your arm in. And Dad can do it with a little help. The best way to describe it is “tricking” your arm to do what you want it to do through manipulation and repetition. For example, the therapist will tap repeatedly on specific muscles and then slowly raise Dad’s arm. She will do this several times until she feels his muscles reacting and then tell Dad on the next run it’s all him and to raise his arm. He is to raise it, not only a certain way (depending on if he’s lying or standing), but also to a certain point (usually locking the elbow), hold it for 3 seconds and then bring it back. The range of exercises using this technique are multiple. The thought process is that by tapping certain muscles continuously you are kick starting them to work. If those muscles aren’t worked on a daily basis they sort of “go to sleep”. For you and me, well we don’t even think about this, because our limbs just move seemingly on their own, our minds seamlessly keeping everything going. The fascination with how a damaged mind learns anew continues. As for his right hand, I described an arm brace he has that splays his fingers out and keeps his wrist straight. This helps to fix a two-fold problem I found out. If he were not to wear that for several hours each day, eventually his wrist would continue to bend inward and his fingers, already curled in, would curl in even more. If you only stretch out the fingers but not work the wrist, the wrist will bend inward as soon as you straighten the fingers. The reverse is true with the wrist. If you straighten the wrist the fingers automatically will curl inwards. Once that happens with either the wrist or fingers, they can’t be fixed. Since these are so intertwined with one another they need to be worked together in order for a successful recovery.    
Dad did really well, albeit very exhausted when the session was done. His therapist joked they would be arm wrestling next week. I subscribe to a email service of daily motivations. What can I say, we all need a cheerleader on our side once in a while. I rarely read it though; however, I happened to check it out on Monday. It read, “Time is on your side. So are all the angels. And ‘no’ is never forever.” Well time is and has been most definitely on Dad’s side and seeing the improvements he’s still making in therapy highlight what I’ve known all along and what I’ve written on here over and over again like the broken record I sometimes can be. Time is on our side

After therapy, driving around in the car

Ankle Brace

We finally started working with Dad on the new ankle brace he received, oh I don’t know, a couple of months ago. With some of the health issues we had regarding my mother being diagnosed with congestive heart failure and the holidays, there just had not been time to do it prior. Now that we have Mom’s health back under control (she is doing very well) and the holidays are a memory, we can begin to continue strengthening Dad’s right leg. We have to. I keep telling him he’s going to snowshoe with me next winter. The whole reason for the new brace, recommended by therapy, was because his right leg was improving and getting stronger.  

Currently the brace he has been wearing, for almost a year, comes up under his foot and wraps around the front of his shin. When he walks it provides support as he leans forward with his leg. The new brace is a molded plastic that comes under his heel and up the back end of his calf. The balance needed to use this brace is completely different than the other one, because you can’t rely on support being in the front of the shin. We learned this the hard way when he first brought it home and I stupidly put it on him before going to work one day, only to get a phone call a couple of hours later saying he had fallen in the TV room. Luckily he was not hurt, although it freaked him out enough that he hasn’t wanted to have anything to do with the new brace since then. After speaking with his Occupational therapist though, we agreed as long as I’m around to watch him, he should start using the brace at home. So we started this past weekend. It’s going to take him several weeks to get used to it as we are only doing this intermittently on the weekends, but he’ll get there. I’m sure it won’t be long before we can get rid of the old one. We are still working towards the goal of being able to walk one day without the use of the hemi-cane. Always the eternal optimist, I know it’s in the realm of possibilities with time. Happy Friday everyone!         

Out and About

Friday afternoons, specifically the last three months, has been a combination of Doctor visits for not only Mom and Dad, but also my dog (we are trying to get rid of a pesky corneal ulcer in his eye). In between the carefully staggered afternoon appointments; however, the usual chores are still executed, namely going to the dump and weekly food shopping. There is no garbage pickup in Bucksport, resulting in hauling your trash to the dump a couple of miles outside of town. Dad has been taking the ride with me to the dump pretty much since he had returned home last spring. For the last three months or more he has also been going with me to do the weekly food shopping. It takes a little longer, food shopping, and sometimes he doesn’t swing as wide as he should when turning a corner in those little electric carts (resulting in getting “stuck” on an end display), but it’s good for him to be out and about. I think back to last spring when he first came home. He really didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything and he was tired all the time. Now, almost from the moment I walk into the house on Friday I typically hear from him, “So what are we going to do this afternoon?” I like to joke with him to give me a second to take off my jacket first, but still, the eagerness to do something, go somewhere is there and a good thing. I would rather have him eager and looking forward to something, than sitting there depressed, something that has not ever really taken over since the stroke. They say attitude and a positive outlook are the modes by which people overcome tragic events.  No truer statement could be made and Dad still has a great attitude.  

I always like to think of the sing songwriter Beck and a line in his song Strange Apparition, “Anything should make you happy.” Sometimes it doesn’t always, but you know what? It should.    

Emails and Waffles

It’s no secret Dad has a sweet tooth. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with regards to this as my Oma had a wicked sweet tooth. We got Dad a waffle maker for Christmas. More a kitchen gadget for me to play with than anything else, it allows me to prepare a different sweet breakfast that’s not pancakes or French toast.

As is my daily workday routine, I typically call Mom and Dad in the morning, around lunchtime and then again in the afternoon. What can I say, I like to make sure everything runs smoothly. Today I called around lunchtime to make sure, well, that they were having lunch. Mom answered and told me Dad had already eaten. He had made waffles for himself. I was ecstatic! When he was at Stillwater, in the skilled nursing facility last year, they tried to get him to cook right before he was discharged. It didn’t work out so well. Since he’s been home, he hasn’t really had the desire or ambition to want to cook, although he has managed to help out with keeping an eye on things heating up on the stovetop.

Now who would think something like making waffles would be such a great feat to marvel at, but it is in my opinion. Think of all the steps involved. Dad had to move the waffle maker from one counter to another, get out a mixing bowl and all the ingredients, mix it all together, figure out how to use the machine, make the waffles and not burn them. He did all of that with a limp and the use of his left arm only.

I cannot stress enough how hearing things like this make every day new, exciting and filled with boundless hope.

PJ had taken Dad to speech therapy last week and mentioned to his newest therapist Kate, that Dad had become quite proficient on the computer prior to his stroke. It was something we tried to get him to use in the early months after the stroke to no avail. Kate was very enthusiastic about getting Dad to use the computer again after hearing this and they were to try it this week.

This afternoon I received an email from PJ, forwarded from Dad.

Always remember, when you think you can’t, you can.  

The Number

“What’s the number Rudi?” Dr. Biswas, his PCP asked.

“1.8,” replied Dad.

It’s still not high enough. For someone like Dad, on blood thinners, Dr. Biswas would like his number to be between 2 and 3. The higher the number the thinner the blood and Dad’s blood is still too thick. Pre blood thinners, Dad’s number was 1.4. Once he went back on, it slowly increased to 1.5, then 1.8 and then, much like his fluctuating weight, back to 1.5. We have increased his dosage in increments over this last month, being cautious not to increase it too much (and the fluke lower number is attributed to the cream of broccoli soup that Dad ate all week for lunch, apparently broccoli can lower the number). You don’t realize how important blood flow and thickness is until you need to monitor it weekly. I’ve come to realize that pulmonologists really are the glue that hold all the other physicians together. If you don’t have an understanding of how blood moves through our bodies and what prevents it from doing so, you are just paddling against the current, trying to figure this or that out after say a stroke, heart attack, embolism, anything inside of us. So every Friday we go to the doctor for what’s called his pro-time test and we get a number. We will continue these appointments until the number is within a range Dr. Biswas is comfortable with. Slowly but steadily we will get there because slow and steady always wins out in the end.   

Addendum: As of Dad's visit Friday 1/17/14, his pro-time number is 2, exactly where we want it for now. He was approved for bi-weekly blood checks and monthly PCP visits. All good things do come to those who wait.

One Year Ago Today

In a galaxy far far away…

Big Star Wars fan, so please forgive the reference, but today marks one year since Dad had his stroke.

This morning I overslept and it was Dad who woke me up by calling my name as he exited his bedroom. I’m up before him every morning and with few exceptions, he follows suit and gets up after hearing me start to get ready for the day. He meanders into the TV room with his hemi-cane (now always a dead give- away he’s moving around the house), sits down and turns on the TV to check out the local news. I get him his pills and a cup of coffee before heading out to work. This is the morning routine now.

I rarely oversleep, but much like the weather last January 2, it is bitter cold out. It’s the kind of weather that makes you subconsciously not hear your alarm going off during the dark hours of the early morning. One year. It’s almost hard to imagine life before, yet it did exist and for a long long time. Still, the daily reminder now is, this is the way it is and while different than what it was, this is all there is. Yet the events of a year ago today still echo in my mind. The fall in the house, the call to 911, the ambulance arrival, the unsettling ER visit where Dad was spastically moving around on the bed, seeing him strapped in as he was readied for the helicopter ride to Portland, mom and I driving the 2 plus hours to meet him and eventually my brother PJ at the hospital down there, all of it. The only difference is I now know how the events of the last year played out, whereas this moment last January I had no clue what was going to happen. I had no clue as to the severity of his stroke. I don’t think any of us did.   

Dad will never be the same, this we all know and have accepted. But a comparison as to how he was last year and now can only be described as miraculous. At the time, after being given the news about the damage done to his brain, I was unsure if he was going to be able to swallow food or drink, go to the bathroom without a catheter, bathe himself, dress himself, walk or talk at all (let alone makes sense). None of us had an idea what his mental facilities would be like, we had not a clue about any of it. I never gave up hope; however, every once in a while that pesky devil doubt would creep up almost without warning. Sneaky skunk doubt can be.   

Fortunately, despite some limitations, Dad is able to do all of the things I just mentioned today. Even his right arm, which has been the slowest to show any signs of improvement, has improved greatly over the last few months. The sling that he wears now hangs more on his side (in case he needs it), the muscles in his arm giving more strength to his limb enabling him to hold it up on his own instead of just hanging by his side like dead weight. All three therapies, physical, occupational and speech show that improvements can be made long after a debilitating event like this and continue to highlight what an amazing organ the brain is in its ability to relearn and find new ways to do things.  

Dad still doesn’t see it on some days. That’s when we have to remind him of how bad it was a year ago and how much better it can be a year from now. For the rest of us, my Mom, PJ and I, well we remember for Dad. We remember all too well how it was that awful day last January. We remember how he was then versus how he is now and that fact is like the difference between night and day. What a difference a day makes? How about what a difference a year makes.