It’s About Time? Tomorrow is The Big Day… we head home! Yippee?? Although I was more terrified a week ago (the therapists did their darndest to prep us including a home visit to teach Michael how to walk through our very small house and figure out how to get into our teeny tiny bathroom and take a shower using a tub bench), I’m still just a BIT nervous (I guess about a 5 on the hospital pain chart of smiley and frowny faces). It’s funny, I’ve been so focused on what I’m going through with Michael, what I’m learning, all these great spiritual lessons I’m reaping, I haven’t really focused on HIM, per se, and what HE might be going through. How self-centered of me! Interestingly, I had noticed shortly after his stroke that he’d gotten kinda self- centered. Now, if there’s one thing Michael is NOT, it’s selfish. He’s probably the most giving man I’ve ever met, and one of the Big Reasons I married him. (Don’t ask about some of the walking egos I’ve dated!) One of the very first skills that came back post stroke was loudly snapping his fingers. He started doing it to get my attention since he was non-verbal. Each time he did, I jumped. To his every need. Instantly. Of course. Happy to do so. But once he started getting some speech back, I would playfully inform him that he needed to ‘use his words’ when he wanted something. I would teasingly say “I’m not your slave,” “Yes sire,” and “Your kingliness desires something?” I totally understood that he felt/was pretty much helpless and confused, not able to express what he wanted or needed, so of course he was focused on himself. Who wouldn’t be? But it was so out of character for him. One of the clear signs he was getting better was when he finally stopped obsessing about himself for a minute, looked lovingly over at me, and noticed a piece of lint in my hair. He pointed, grunted and gently took it out. Sweet and endearing Michael was starting to return. Tonight was different. Maybe because he’s nervous about going home, we got into a full on argument. Now, imagine that he’s in bed with a vocabulary of about 40 words, most of them garbled or difficult for him to remember (even if he used them repeatedly five minutes ago). “Expressive Aphasia” does that. The nurse who, for whatever reason, irritates the heck out of him, put him in bed during the two hours I had gone home to drop off a bunch of stuff. I asked if he had brushed his teeth before getting into bed and he said no. He had a tooth pulled this morning and was told to make sure his mouth was clean and rinsed. Being such a loving wife, I offered to bring him his toothbrush in bed and help clean his mouth. His response was a definitive “NO! I can’t do that!” another one of his mastered phrases. I countered with, of course you can, I will do it for you. Another even stronger negative, irrational response from Michael. Irritating Nurse walked in right in the middle of this interchange and started adding her authoritative two cents. “You need to listen to your wife! She is such a wonderful wife doing all these things for you and you better appreciate her!” This stoked his fires even more. All three of us started bantering back and forth about brushing his teeth, Nurse Irritation joining in full throttle. After several minutes, she scowled in frustration and stated loudly: “Just let me do it!” Knowing that wouldn’t go over well, I thanked her and told her I would handle it. She stomped out mumbling something to herself. Probably about what a wuss I was being. After she was out of earshot, I asked Michael what was going on. “What do you want?” I asked calmly, aware that this interchange probably had nothing to do with brushing his teeth. Finally, he was able to get his wits about him and pointed frantically toward the bathroom. Do you need to go to the bathroom? “YESH!” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief. Why didn’t you just say bathroom, I asked, realizing what a stupid question that was the minute it popped out. He just can’t say the words he wants to say more often than not. Pure and simple. Quickly, I transferred him from bed into his wheelchair, speedily whisked him into the bathroom (since bodily functions are still difficult for him to control), and felt thankful we’ve mastered this routine. Relieved to be relieving, he sits on his throne. I explain that I know it’s hard for him to get words out and it’s even harder now that there are so many more words in his vocabulary, more options for error. I apologized for my confusion and he apologized for losing his patience. Unexpectedly, he got really quiet, put his head in his hands and started to cry. Allowing his tears to flow, I asked him what was wrong, and he just shook his head. These silent words were all too easy to understand. “I’m terrified about going home. My entire life has changed and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. We’re closing our store. I can’t do massage anymore. I have no idea what the future holds for us. And I might be this way for the rest of my life!” So, after I translated his loud, very clear thoughts into my own clear words, he looked up and shook his head yes. Being the positive side of the see-saw this time, I was able to self-assuredly explain that he IS going to be fine. “Michael, every single nurse and every single therapist has told me that you are going to be absolutely fine! You are going to be able to walk. You are going to be able to talk. I know you will. I absolutely know you will. And, I have never lied to you, right?” Again, he shook his head yes. We sat in silence, me in his wheelchair, him on the toilet. I stroked his arm. I dried his tears. I can only imagine what he is feeling. And, as the see-saw flies, I will probably be there tomorrow when we cross the threshold of our home. (I love your comments and all the perfect words of encouragement from each of you, even if you just “like” my posting. Keep us in your prayers as we transition home tomorrow!! BREATHE!)
Posted on: Wed, 07 Jan 2015 07:46:06 +0000
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