The 911 operator (from what I can recall--I was now in survival mode and trying very hard not to go down myself)--was calm, reassuring and offered to stay on the line until help arrived. Meantime I had to gather the dogs to an area and block them--all while still on phone. My hysteria was the dogs' hysteria. I watched, cried, waited. Watched, cried waited. Checked on Joseph...hang on, hang on honey!
Then our local firemen arrived. Oh thank God...please fix him. I assumed he'd had taken a morning med and somehow it was impacting him...please stop the heaving. What do I know? Never, not once did "stroke" enter my mind. I've never seen one, I'm not a doctor. I have friends who have had loved ones who've suffered strokes...but for me personally, this was uncharted territory.
The paramedics loaded him onto a stretcher, I followed them into the ambulance. They were like ma'am, no...you follow us. The fireman stayed with me. I watched, trying to process all of this. I had one million questions and no one here with me. I was terrified.
Off in an ambulance goes my husband who weeks earlier helped shovel a foot of snow off our driveway, who went to the Missouri Botanical Gardens with me to view the Orchid Show, who walks 1-2 miles daily, who hikes, walks the dogs, walks with me, loves to read, solves crossword puzzles, word games, loves Lord of the Rings, loves to watch our favorite shows (some over and over again: Frasier, Doug and Carrie--King of Queens), The Lincoln Lawyer, The West Wing (becuase please Lord take us back to a Martin Sheen administration...) who eats mostly vegan diet, who works hard to take care of himself so as to not leave me...leaving me.
The hospital ER was eerily empty that Tuesday morning, until it wasn't. Chaos. Screaming. My husband. Hey, my husband is here, dammit. I remember bits and pieces of conversations and interactions I was having: tell us what happened right before, how did the morning start, what did he say? My body tremors started to emerge and I was trying 4-7-8 breathing, tried naming all of the things in front of me, trying not to pass out myself. I had no time for this right now! I needed to focus. The dogs...do they have water. Did the coffee pot get turned off. Did I bring his wallet. All of the things. My stomach began to churn, I was fighting getting sick...I could NOT pass out. I waited. Then I rushed to bathroom as a physical response set in.
He was admitted that afternoon. Still suffering from the what I would guess are the post stroke symptoms: dizziness, nausea, trouble moving his head at all. Couldn't tolerate the bright lights, mostly keeping his eyes closed, wasn't really able to even turn his head without nausea. And to top things off--only had one hearing aid in...the other having disappeared somewhere in transport. I have looked everywhere for it. I called ambulance district, "Sorry to bother, but could you ask drivers about missing hearing aid?" Hospital Lost and Found. Our driveway. Nothing.
Day two and the MRI confirmed it: ischemic stroke. Two parts of the brain impacted. His speech slurred, his right side unsteady hand and arm control...up to this point there had been no mention to me of stroke. So at three in the afternoon on the second day, we knew.
Stroke can happen to anyone.
(...and so do dog emergencies, which occurred when I came came home from the hospital on the third night.) Omg.
One Week After Stroke
He's in rehab. He survived. He's rewiring his brain, body, balance. Everything is moving through him with a child's wonderment...he's a little more Joseph every day. He's such a trooper. Such a good patient. He's my husband of nearly thirty years and we're in this fight together.
