Week 13 Strokeaversary: Honourable Discharge

Patience, patience, patient … now hurry up and go!

After 13.5 long weeks in the stroke unit at St Martha’s Regional hospital, my discharge yesterday seemed to happen all at once.

My overall progress has been overseen by the kind and professional Dr. Mary Gorman, Lead Physician. But this week’s physician on ward was the equally empathetic and soft-spoken Dr. Aaron Bates. In the morning, he stopped by to discuss last-minute tweaks to my meds.

He passed on a warm greeting to Sara, we shook hands, and he left.

Then, in quick succession:

a/ Thursday’s nurse, whom I know less well, immediately appeared to fill out discharge forms. She insisted on asking a long list of prescribed final check questions like: “what year is this?” and “Where are we right now?” despite the fact we’d been chatting in some depth about about provincial and federal healthcare politics only moments before.

b/ Physios Lee and Lena, and occupational therapists Lori and Ria (below) entered as if on cue with a barrage of January out-patient schedules, transit options (a mobility bus for 8 dollars a trip), prescriptions for equipment (a bar for the shower, a walker, and an electric shock device), and homework. (As well as for final hugs.)

c/ The hospital pharmacist sat down with me for a long consult and prescription check. We ditched the diuretic (for swollen ankles) in favour of a tweak in blood pressure meds. I’ll be on “baby aspirin” for the rest of my life.

d/ Like clockwork, “Ed” –an 80-year old more recent stroke survivor with a dry sense of humour– was wheeled over to inspect his future private room. (I’m glad he’ll be able to start getting the rest he’ll need to recover.)

e/ The cleaning staff started lurking around my doorway with mops and rags, asking if I was done packing up. (I clearly wasn’t!)

f/ One-handed speed-packing! I wonder if I’m the only patient at St Martha’s to have stripped their own bed on discharge? Sara was detained trying to get her final grades in by the deadline. So, motivated by the sidelong looks of the cleaning team, I went into one-handed high gear. All the hard work Sara put into making my room the most serene and comfortable place in the hospital was unravelled in minutes. Framed photos of our family and cats, Christmas quilts, twinkly lights, plants, a knitted prayer blanket, extension cords, spices, local teas and honey, books, earphones, a huge Christmas wreath, all my wonderful get-well cards … everything got stuffed into big blue IKEA bags for shlepping to the car. Sara was en route, but I didn’t wait. Everything got wheeled on my walker to the lounge. The cleaners descended like a flock of sanitizing vultures.

Processing…

“The goal of healing is not a papering-over of changes in an effort to preserve or present things as normal. It is to acknowledge and wear your new life – warts, wisdom, and all – with courage.” ~Catherine Woodiwiss

By the time I caught my breath, Sara and I were speeding toward Pomquet. Home! Once over the threshold (she didn’t carry me), she declared, “no more weekend passes — this time you get to stay!” We sat and reminisced about how she ran for aspirin way back on the night of September 16 when I mentioned the funny feeling in my arm. We marvelled at how far away that feels now. We were in the same chairs as back in September, but so much had changed. I guess a person might have predicted what happened next, but I was caught by surprise. I broke down completely and wept. Big, heaving, messy sobs.

Both Sara and I have been 100% focussed on “getting through” and staying positive for each other. We haven’t had a moment to process. The reality is that a major stroke destroyed part of my brain in September. The reality is that I now have a decreased range of mobility and an increased sense of mortality. The reality is that, between a pandemic, and a slow and frankly, sneaky privatization of public services for profit, our healthcare system is weakened. If I’d had a family doctor instead of a pharmacist, whose ability to adjust my blood pressure drugs when it was soaring out of control the last couple of years was extremely limited, things might have been different. The pharmacist urged me to go to emergency if my blood pressure hit 165, but because it happened frequently and I felt okay, I didn’t. I felt I didn’t want to take resources from people in a “real emergency.”

The emotional/grief work of processing the life changes resulting from the stroke is still largely to come. For my part, once I hit bottom and got over the terror of the initial 48 hours when more and more of me was disappearing, there was no time to fret. I understood that all my energy had to go to the things that would bring about maximum recovery. I knew I had to:

a/ work as diligently and proactively as possible with the physio and OT team during the crucial early post-stroke period

b/ do everything I could to present myself to nurses, doctors, physios, and other staff as someone to speak to, not about (the latter is distressingly common). As soon as I could, I got out of my Johnny shirt and jammies, and began getting dressed “normally”. Sara instinctively sensed this concern too, and brought a collection of books to my room first thing. Just like at home.

As those of you who’ve been in hospital for any length of time know, staying focussed and advocating for one’s needs becomes its own full-time job in a hospital. Even a good one like St Martha’s.

Another thing I did was to memorize and remember the names of all the staff who worked with me. This was not only important for point b above, and for my mental discipline — it was in search of the increased health and wellbeing that comes from forming relationships and connection.

Carers

“Safety is not the absence of threat … it is the presence of connection.” ~Gabor Maté

It worked. I soon came to feel like part of a wonderful team. Many of them are pictured below, but many others I’ll have to remember only in my heart, not my camera. The staff goodbyes actually went on for a few days. I presented each of my four physios with an acrostic poem of their name. There may or may not have been some tears. I gave the nursing and physio teams boxes of handsome ball-point pens. (Sara’s brilliant idea; good pens are coveted currency for hospital staff!)

I lost track of how many nurses and aides stopped by in my last two days in hospital to wish me well. Each of these folks became special to me. I learned to identify their voices at a distance, even tell who they were from the sound of their footsteps in the hall (as I’ve learned to walk again I’ve been paying a lot of attention to gait and stride).

Old Friends

“encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing.” ~Paul, in 1 Thessalonians 5:11

Through this journey, I have never felt alone. I’ve been encouraged and built up by all of your cards, letters, emails, flowers, prayers, candles, gifts, and visits.

Just a couple of days before discharge, my very last visitors were LCBI high school friend Brenda and her husband Alan. They drove up from their Nova Scotia farm to wish me well. What a pleasure it was to catch up! They were early Santas, leaving a gift bag of exquisite dried flowers, honey, craft beer, and more, all from their own Meander Farm and Brewery (a must-see on any visit to NS). What’s more, they ALSO brought Norwegian Christmas treats of lefse and krumkake (tastes of my childhood) from their neighbour and friend Deb, another LCBI friend and classmate who ended up in Nova Scotia. Wow!

Family

“Siblings: children of the same parents, each of whom is perfectly normal until they get together.” ~Sam Levenson

As if that wasn’t enough good fortune, my brother Mark and sister-in-law Barbara flew out from Regina, Saskatchewan for the whole week prior to my transition. Their goal was to take some of the ferrying, appointment-ing, cooking, and visiting load off of Sara during her end-of-term exams and grading crunch. They also rolled up their sleeves and took on the chores I’d intended for the fall and either half-finished or never got to. They helped me with some preparatory tasks, like getting a handicapped parking tag, picking up a shower seat from the Red Cross, and helping put non-slip stickers in the bathtub. I was completely spoiled. I’m fortunate to have siblings I so enjoy spending time with (even when they’re not cleaning air exchange filters and organizing the garage).

It takes a village

“Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean.” ~Ryunosuke Satoro

So: after 14 weeks in hospital, I’m posting this blog from home! I don’t know if I will continue stroke-update blog posts (at least not weekly). I’ll ease back into to blogging about pilgrimage, decolonization, or writing. But my personal strokeaversaries will go on. For example, this week the biggest change I’ve noticed is that without thinking, I find myself reaching out with my left hand to do things more and more. Even when it’s slow, I’m flipping more light switches with my left hand, and opening more doors, trying to avoid the pitfalls of “learned non-use.” Today a first was managing to undo my seat belt with my left hand. This practice of reflecting weekly so I could share updates with loved ones has been good for seeing the big picture and celebrating each success. My friends Greg and Ingrid Gust just sent me the book Stronger after Stroke: Your Roadmap to Recovery. I take hope from this line: “stroke survivors can continue to make progress years, even decades, after their stroke.”

In coming weeks I’ll remember what the physio Lee said to me: “it was good working with you. You’re a survivor.” Or Makenna, yesterday, who held me up that first day as my leg stopped working, and wiped my bum when I couldn’t: “You never stopped trying, and that made all the difference. Some folks give up. You never gave up.” What Lee and Makenna may NOT know is that I had so many of you praying, lighting candles, meditating, walking, and sending me thoughts and cards reinforcing that message: “don’t give up. You can do it” that I really felt that all my efforts simply floated atop a river of love and support.

“I’ll be home for Christmas”

“Christmas reminds us to be grateful for the gift of life and to express our gratitude through acts of kindness…” ~Deepak Chopra

So: thank you. I’m home for Christmas. Here with Sara and Sweet Pea. My youngest, Gabe, will arrive Christmas Eve. We’ll all go make a festive dinner for Sara’s family. There wasn’t time for many presents this year. Nobody minds. We know how fortunate we are.

I’ll keep working toward recovery, bouncing forward toward whatever my new normal turns out to be. If I haven’t had the chance to thank you personally, please know what a tangible difference you’ve made to my recovery. There’s a lot of emphasis these days on individual effort, “bootstraps,” and success – my recovery is a reminder that instead, what’s really important is cooperation and relationality. Each of us can do incredible things only when we’re rich with relational support.

From Pomquet, Mi’kmaki, Merry Christmas — or whatever reminder of light in the face of winter, love in the face of hatred, and salvation in the face of impossible odds that you and yours may celebrate.