I have written and re-written this post in my head a million times this past month. Each and every day I do, the ending changes. That's the thing about these situations, the ending is always uncertain... not ready to be written just yet.
This past month has been, by far, one of the most difficult and trying times of my life. I debated, with great difficulty, whether or not I even wanted to share something so personal here, in this little space of mine. I realize now, that life isn't always sparkly, happy and full of rainbows. So, today, I am opening myself up a little more, sharing a little glimpse of how life has been lately. Hopeful that you will understand why this little space of mine has been quiet for so long.
I guess it's best to just start at the beginning. Here it goes...
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Just shortly after Christmas, my Dad, my Daddy and best friend in this entire world, suffered a stroke. He was taken to the hospital and this month-long emotional rollercoaster ride began. Doctors, nurses, tests, medications, day in and day out for a week.
Deficit.
I learned an entirely new meaning of the word.
The stroke had left my Dad with what is referred to as a "left side" deficit. Meaning that the left side of his body was left weakened as a result of the stroke. Certain cognitive functions were affected. His vision. He had difficulty seeing the entire page when reading. Balance. Emotional instability. Frustration. The list just seemed to get longer and longer. He was fortunate in that though his left side was a little weaker, he did not lose his ability to walk, talk, eat, etc. Thankful.
That first week was a complete blur. New faces every day, doctors, nurses. After a week, my Dad was released from the hospital, with no real 'game plan' as far as where we were to go from there. It was difficult, him coming home. No one in our family felt comfortable enough to leave him there alone... 'just in case something happens', but after a week off, everyone needed to return to their jobs. Just because our world had come crashing down didn't mean that the rest of the world did. Bills need to be paid, groceries need to be bought and though I work full-time myself, I work for my Dad. It only made sense that I become his temporary caregiver. Our office is a mere hop, skip and jump away from our home and it would be easiest for me to balance my new role as caregiver with that of full-time employee.
After a week of adjusting to our new 'routine,' we had an appointment with a stroke specialist that Thursday at a local hospital. Finally. Hoping to get some much needed answers to my ever-growing list of questions. The doctors at the clinic were wonderful and extremely thorough. They agreed with the initial assessment that my Dad did, in fact, have a 'left side deficit.' It was determined that he would greatly benefit from immediate treatment in the form of occupational, speech and physical therapy. The wait lists here in Manitoba for outpatient treatment are long... too long. Time is of the essence following a stroke as far as recovery and rehabilitation. There is generally a 3 month window as far as regaining much of the abilities you had prior to your stroke. 6 month was far too long to wait. The doctor proposed a suggestion. If my Dad was willing, she could get him an in-patient bed at a first-class rehabilitation facility here within days. As hard as it was for him to make the decision, he agreed to go. By Monday, he had moved to the rehabilitation hospital to begin his recovery.
Though this transition was difficult, his recovery began progressing smoothly. So smoothly in fact, that he was immediately granted a 'weekend pass' in which he could come home on the weekends. So far, so good. That first weekend we attended a musical, and the wedding of a dear friend. Though he was still having some difficulty maneuvering about and got tuckered out pretty quickly, it was still a lovely and enjoyable weekend. Normal even. He returned to rehab on Sunday night ready to begin another full week of recovery.
Then, this past Wednesday, a setback. My Dad suffered a fall and hurt his left foot pretty badly. He had broken 4 of 5 toes on his left foot. He would need to wear a cast for several months. Crap. It's ok... we can work through this. This is just a small blip on the recovery radar.
Oh, how I wish that were the case.
The next morning, as they were transferring him to see the orthopedic surgeon for a follow up appointment, he suffered another stroke. Right there. He was admitted to a different hospital and the new tests began. An MRI concluded that my Dad had a blood vessel in his brain that was restricted by 77%. More doctors. Neurologists. Specialists.
How? How can this be? The doctors are surprised. They haven't seen this occurrence many times before.
An answer. This is what is causing all of this to happen. This teeny, tiny little blood vessel is what has been causing these strokes. Though the doctors are surprised, I am relieved. Relieved to finally be getting some answers. Relived that I now know why.This is why this is happening.
The doctors come to us and tell us that if we don't do something about this, and quick, more strokes are sure to follow. I do not want to stand by and watch my Dad, my hero, the strongest man I know, the one who I have depended on all these years, slowly slip away from me. I won't.
There is hope. An operation. An extremely risky and not oft performed procedure. There are only 2 doctors in the entire province of Manitoba who are skilled enough to perform it. The procedure that could potentially save his life. The doctors are extremely hesitant. More testing. Consulting with other neurologists all over the country. Meetings. Consultations. "We're still not sure..."
On Sunday, my brother and I decided to take a last minute trip to the hospital to visit my Dad. As soon as we arrived, I knew something wasn't right. He doesn't look right. His face looks droopy. He's slurring. He asks for a drink of water. I give it to him. He chokes. He's turning red, now purple. Coughing, coughing, trying in vain to clear his throat. I hold on to him... all while praying "Please God... not yet. Not now. Please." With one big cough, he finally clears his throat...he is ok. My heart is pounding. I am terrified. He has just suffered another stroke, right before my very eyes. I am completely stunned. Doctors, nurses, running in and out. We stay with him a little longer, and he seems to be getting better. He is tired now, so I tell him we will go now, to get some rest.
Monday. Another meeting with the neurologists. A decision. Surgery is a go. Up until last night, they were not convinced that this was the route to take. After seeing the terror in mine and my brothers eyes, the decision was made. Based on that one fact alone. Deep breath. Thank you God... thank you. Tomorrow is the day, let's try to get some sleep. Easier said than done. I spend the night talking to Him, praying to Him, thanking Him. By His grace alone, we will get through this.
Tuesday. Surgery day. We spend the morning together in my Dad's hospital room. Chatting. Joking. Listening to music. Nervous. Anxious. The nurses come, it's time to go downstairs to the waiting area. Hugs. Kisses. Tears. "Don't cry baby..."
We go downstairs. Now, the doctors come. Asking all the questions that doctors ask before a procedure. I have questions of my own. How long will it take? What if? What if? What if? I try to keep things light. A few half-hearted jokes. Nervous smiles. Reassurances. It is time.
As they wheel my Dad away, I smile through my tears...
"We'll see you in a few hours..."
"Your new nosejob is going to look great!"
Now... we wait...
and wait... and wait... and wait.
One hour passes. We sit in virtual silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I talk to Him, pray to Him, thank Him. Still no word. We go get something to eat. None of us are hungry, but it is something to pass the time.
We go through the motions of eating and return to the waiting room. With every little creak and footstep in the hall, my heart skips a beat. Maybe two. What is taking so long? I can see worry on the faces of my Mom, brother and Little Miss. A nurse comes out of the OR, "Everything is going ok... these things just take time." I try to read her expression. Wait... I try to remember. Did she say "ok" or did she say "good?" I analyze this one sentence over and over again in my head, desperate for any indication of what is going on just 10 feet away from me, on the other side of that wall.
More time passes. My anxiety is making it difficult to breathe. We talk. About nothing and everything. I pray. I cuddle Little Miss. Finally... footsteps. It is the doctor.
My heart stops. Waiting. Anticipating.
"Everything went fine. He is going to be ok." I'm sure that he said so much more but those were the only words I heard. He is going to be ok. He is going to be ok.
Thank you Lord, thank you.
I later found out, once my brain was able to process things again, that my Dad suffered 3 strokes on the operating table. Once the doctors were inside the vessel, they were shocked to discover that it was not, in fact, restricted by 77% as they originally thought, but it was 99% restricted. They told us that if my Dad had so much tried to get out of bed that Sunday night, he would have died immediately. He was surely with us that night. Blessed. Thankful.
That was last Tuesday. Since then, my Dad has returned to his rehabilitation facility and is doing amazing. No new side effects from the operation or previous strokes. The doctors can't understand it. I got a phone call this afternoon from my Dad, I could hear excitement in his voice... "The doctors cannot find any long term deficits or disabilities. I'll be coming home soon!"
Thank you Lord, thank you.
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To all of you, my sweet blog readers and friends, I thank you. Thank you for sticking with me and thank you for understanding.
Thank you for the constant phone calls, texts, emails and visits.
Thank you for all of your kind words of encouragement.
Most of all, thank you for your continued prayers.
Though this has been the hardest time in my life, I am at peace knowing that this was all a part of His plan.
At the end of the day, somehow thank you just doesn't seem like enough. I truly have no words to express my gratitude to all of the doctors, nurses, therapists, specialists and surgeons, who probably don't even know that this little blog exists. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. For your constant kind care and compassion towards my Dad, myself and our entire family, thank you.
For giving me my Dad back,
THANK YOU.
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