This morning is worse. You are very contrary. I had hoped that the mood you were in last night would have melted away by morning. It hadn’t. In fact, it got worse. Now you not only refuse the your medicines, but you don’t want me around you.
Tara tries her best to bring you out of the slump. She did an old Knock Knock joke that she made up when she was three. It always got a rise out of you. “Knock knock” “Whose there?” “Old MacDonald had a farm EIEIO.”
It didn’t work. She resorts to the internet to find jokes that might made you laugh. No luck. She gives up. Quinn starts on his approach. He lays beside you and cuddles and talks softly to you in soothing tones like a parent to their baby. “Quinn’s the only one who really loves me.” You say.
I felt desperate. I didn’t know what to do. I reached out over the phone. I though of the church and the people who have stood strong behind us all these months. I thought of them and reached out.
Within the hour, Janice and her husband, Les, were by your side. Les, a fellow baseball player from many years ago, gave you the type of pep talk that you would have loved if this were a baseball game. Janice sweet talked you into taking you medications. You rallied a little. A little while later, Hollis came to your side to try to bring you back to reality. He talked about you needing to realize that although the effects of the stroke really suck, life does go on and the sooner you comprehend this the better.
Later, in the afternoon, the minister from the church Jay and his husband, Marty, came to talk to you. After sharing thoughts and feelings with you Jay asked you to promise two things. The first was to remember that you are a member of a family. You have to let the needs of the others in the family come first. Part of your role is to be a giving person. Secondly, when you are frustrated about the things you can’t do, you should breakdown the problem and learn how you can do it in a different way that works for you.
You seemed much better after this talk. You even listen when I tell you about my worries and fears. I tell you that when you are good emotionally, I am strong and can take on the world. When you falter, I grind to a halt and cannot muster the energy to even think about the next step. I need you to be strong.
“You do have a choice … the bigger choice then anyone of us in the family can have. You can choose to be an inspiration or a burden.” These two paths are very different and they are determined by the little choices that you make. You can choose to be a smoker and a 4X4 coffee drinker and doughnut eater who refuses your medication. If you do then you will be an overweight, angry and depressed man who treats his feelings with cigarettes. No one will want to be with you. You will be a burden. OR You can made different choices that enable you to make the best recovery that you can make. You will be an inspiration.
The day ended pretty well. We talked and analyzed what happened to make the second 24 hours of your home life so hard. We both feel much better about the future and communicate and work things through.
We have to thank the outside support that came by our side today. They are the only reason that we got through it and are stronger for it.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Saturday April 24 – What are we going to be? Dominos or Pillars?
My lazy Saturday that I have been dreaming of for a long time, started out great. I had a shower and sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether to trim my toenails or not. Something that I have never ever given much thought to in the past, even before your stroke, but for some reason it seemed important to think about it today.
Today, the first day of being together again officially as a family and I’m thinking about my toe nails. Well the moment passed quickly, The phone rang. Whoever called didn’t stay on the phone to get an answer but Tara and I both picked up the phone to take the call. The result was that we were talking to each other on the phone … Rather odd since she was in the next room! She reminds me of all the things she has to do. There’s the birthday present and party as well as the choir practice this afternoon and the performance tonight. I sigh and cut the nails short as she rambles on. Then you pick up another phone and butt into the conversation. “Don’t forget I want to visit Donald, and go to the bank and the tattoo place. We need things for the fish and we have to registrat Quinn for baseball.”
The only thing I wanted to do today was to get groceries. We didn’t have time to do this.
It was a very busy day. I can’t believe we got through it. We very nearly didn’t. I started the morning by forgetting your wheelchair. When we registered Quinn for baseball, you had to walk into the building. Although it had a ramp, it wasn’t a well-designed ramp and the access to the ramp was not ‘mobility-impaired friendly’.
How crazy is that? A ramp built for the mobility impaired that the mobility impaired can’t get to. I was angry at the stupidity and wondered how often we would come across this situation.
We dropped Tara for the birthday party and Quinn at a friend’s place. When we got to Donald’s we realized that your wheelchair was broken. Your brand new wheelchair. The chair that we were forced to rent because the paperwork wasn’t done in time to get the chair that was ordered for you. Even though the staff at the NSRC had 14 weeks to make this happen. We still were forced to rent a chair.
My guess was that we had to wait for the wheels to be harvested off the wheel tree before the chair could be made. I was angry about this too. When I discovered this yesterday, I shoveled the anger under some other thoughts and tried to forget about it.
It didn’t work. When the chair broke, I couldn’t suppress my anger any more. It flew out of me. The anger that I’ve been keeping stuffed in all the corners of my mind comes springing out of my mouth.
You did what you usually do when I get stressed, you tried to make a joke of it and lighten me up. It usually works … but not today. Today, I had too much anger and even your best attempts to curtail it would have failed.
I took the chair to two local drug stores on town that deal with wheelchairs. I had hoped that someone there could fix it. Of course, it’s Saturday, the person who could fix the chair wasn’t there on a Saturdays. I tried calling the company in Halifax where the chair came from. They were closed. I left a searing hot message about the “piece of s… contraption you are renting us that you call a wheelchair”. I was still angry.
Thankfully, the lady who worked at the local Lawton’s drugstore and homecare center, has a marvelous dog who is a patient of mine. When I saw her familiar face, I tried to explain the problem and finished by bursting into tears with frustration. She jumped into action and the next thing I knew was she dug out a wheelchair, just your size, that we could use over the weekend … at no cost.
My outburst of insuppressible anger affected you. I think you felt like you failed me by not being able to rally me out of my strong emotions, like you could always did in the past. You thought that you had lost another talent because of your stroke.
The whole chair ordeal ate up the afternoon. By the time we got to the tattoo place, there wasn’t enough time to get the tattoo. You were angry now too. Angry and sad and disappointed and you felt like you weren’t important enough to get the tattoo. Even thought I explained that the broken chair was the reason for the lack of time, you were convinced that I felt it was a low priority to me.
The fact that I never did get groceries today or visit Mum, who was moved to the Colchester Hospital yesterday, my only priorities, didn’t pacify you at all.
You wanted to smoke. A ‘mulligan’ you said. You explained it by saying that you never choose not to smoke. If you smoke now … for a day … then you can choose to stop tomorrow and the choice would be yours to claim. The logic appealed to me. I swallowed hard and against my better judgement, I took you outside. I half expected you to consider the idea and then back off and keep the streak. But you didn’t, you smoked. I caught a glimpse of you smoking. A very foreign gesture to me. I had never seen you smoke before and I was struck by the impression the image left me.
The cigarette didn’t help your mood. By bedtime you were sullen and not talking. You wanted to go to get early. You don’t want to sleep with me. You want to sleep in the hospital bed in the family room. I get you into bed. You refuse to take your bedtime medications. You want to force me to accept your choice about medications.
You want desperately to control something … anything you choose to smoke. For the first time I see you with a cigarette in your hand and you sit out side smoking. I felt physically ill thinking of the image.
Earlier this week before you came home, I talked to the children about the strength that a family has as a unit. I tell them about dominos and how when dominos are stood on their ends side by side. They are only as steady as their weakest member. “When one falls so do the rest.” I said. “What we have to be as a family is to be pillars that hold up the roof.” I point to a house as we drive by it with pillars supporting the roof eave. “Pillars hold up the roof. If one goes the remaining ones support the roof and if town go, the remaining pillars continue to hold up the roof.”
“When Daddy gets home it will be great and bad moments. During the bad moments, it will be hard to us to hold up the roof. The family. But we will be pillars because that’s the only way we can survive. Survive with the strength and support from each other.”
At the time of my little talk, I wasn’t convinced that the children really understood what I was trying to say.
I was wrong. Tonight, as I tuck Tara into bed. She is saddened with the news that you refused your medications. She hung her head in her hands as she sat at the edge of the bed. “We are dominos.” She repeated sadly. “We are all dominos.”
If this is going to be how the first day goes, how am I ever going to get through the rest of our lives? I pray that tomorrow will be a better day.
Today, the first day of being together again officially as a family and I’m thinking about my toe nails. Well the moment passed quickly, The phone rang. Whoever called didn’t stay on the phone to get an answer but Tara and I both picked up the phone to take the call. The result was that we were talking to each other on the phone … Rather odd since she was in the next room! She reminds me of all the things she has to do. There’s the birthday present and party as well as the choir practice this afternoon and the performance tonight. I sigh and cut the nails short as she rambles on. Then you pick up another phone and butt into the conversation. “Don’t forget I want to visit Donald, and go to the bank and the tattoo place. We need things for the fish and we have to registrat Quinn for baseball.”
The only thing I wanted to do today was to get groceries. We didn’t have time to do this.
It was a very busy day. I can’t believe we got through it. We very nearly didn’t. I started the morning by forgetting your wheelchair. When we registered Quinn for baseball, you had to walk into the building. Although it had a ramp, it wasn’t a well-designed ramp and the access to the ramp was not ‘mobility-impaired friendly’.
How crazy is that? A ramp built for the mobility impaired that the mobility impaired can’t get to. I was angry at the stupidity and wondered how often we would come across this situation.
We dropped Tara for the birthday party and Quinn at a friend’s place. When we got to Donald’s we realized that your wheelchair was broken. Your brand new wheelchair. The chair that we were forced to rent because the paperwork wasn’t done in time to get the chair that was ordered for you. Even though the staff at the NSRC had 14 weeks to make this happen. We still were forced to rent a chair.
My guess was that we had to wait for the wheels to be harvested off the wheel tree before the chair could be made. I was angry about this too. When I discovered this yesterday, I shoveled the anger under some other thoughts and tried to forget about it.
It didn’t work. When the chair broke, I couldn’t suppress my anger any more. It flew out of me. The anger that I’ve been keeping stuffed in all the corners of my mind comes springing out of my mouth.
You did what you usually do when I get stressed, you tried to make a joke of it and lighten me up. It usually works … but not today. Today, I had too much anger and even your best attempts to curtail it would have failed.
I took the chair to two local drug stores on town that deal with wheelchairs. I had hoped that someone there could fix it. Of course, it’s Saturday, the person who could fix the chair wasn’t there on a Saturdays. I tried calling the company in Halifax where the chair came from. They were closed. I left a searing hot message about the “piece of s… contraption you are renting us that you call a wheelchair”. I was still angry.
Thankfully, the lady who worked at the local Lawton’s drugstore and homecare center, has a marvelous dog who is a patient of mine. When I saw her familiar face, I tried to explain the problem and finished by bursting into tears with frustration. She jumped into action and the next thing I knew was she dug out a wheelchair, just your size, that we could use over the weekend … at no cost.
My outburst of insuppressible anger affected you. I think you felt like you failed me by not being able to rally me out of my strong emotions, like you could always did in the past. You thought that you had lost another talent because of your stroke.
The whole chair ordeal ate up the afternoon. By the time we got to the tattoo place, there wasn’t enough time to get the tattoo. You were angry now too. Angry and sad and disappointed and you felt like you weren’t important enough to get the tattoo. Even thought I explained that the broken chair was the reason for the lack of time, you were convinced that I felt it was a low priority to me.
The fact that I never did get groceries today or visit Mum, who was moved to the Colchester Hospital yesterday, my only priorities, didn’t pacify you at all.
You wanted to smoke. A ‘mulligan’ you said. You explained it by saying that you never choose not to smoke. If you smoke now … for a day … then you can choose to stop tomorrow and the choice would be yours to claim. The logic appealed to me. I swallowed hard and against my better judgement, I took you outside. I half expected you to consider the idea and then back off and keep the streak. But you didn’t, you smoked. I caught a glimpse of you smoking. A very foreign gesture to me. I had never seen you smoke before and I was struck by the impression the image left me.
The cigarette didn’t help your mood. By bedtime you were sullen and not talking. You wanted to go to get early. You don’t want to sleep with me. You want to sleep in the hospital bed in the family room. I get you into bed. You refuse to take your bedtime medications. You want to force me to accept your choice about medications.
You want desperately to control something … anything you choose to smoke. For the first time I see you with a cigarette in your hand and you sit out side smoking. I felt physically ill thinking of the image.
Earlier this week before you came home, I talked to the children about the strength that a family has as a unit. I tell them about dominos and how when dominos are stood on their ends side by side. They are only as steady as their weakest member. “When one falls so do the rest.” I said. “What we have to be as a family is to be pillars that hold up the roof.” I point to a house as we drive by it with pillars supporting the roof eave. “Pillars hold up the roof. If one goes the remaining ones support the roof and if town go, the remaining pillars continue to hold up the roof.”
“When Daddy gets home it will be great and bad moments. During the bad moments, it will be hard to us to hold up the roof. The family. But we will be pillars because that’s the only way we can survive. Survive with the strength and support from each other.”
At the time of my little talk, I wasn’t convinced that the children really understood what I was trying to say.
I was wrong. Tonight, as I tuck Tara into bed. She is saddened with the news that you refused your medications. She hung her head in her hands as she sat at the edge of the bed. “We are dominos.” She repeated sadly. “We are all dominos.”
If this is going to be how the first day goes, how am I ever going to get through the rest of our lives? I pray that tomorrow will be a better day.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Friday April 23 – Coming Home and Inspiring Thoughts
There you were – waiting for me at the front door of the NSRC . I had said that I would come over right after my vet meeting at five. I got there five to five and you were waiting.
“I’m going to exercise and eat healthy … like blueberries.” You said smiling and reaching out to hug me.
As I pack up your things, you show me a poster. It’s the poster that you gave your PT. The Boston Marathon poster with the phrase ‘Greatness goes by many many names.’ “I don’t know why she gave it back.” You said sounding a little sad. “I was hoping that she would give it to someone to inspire.” I hugged you and said “I think she did ... she gave it to you!”
She gave it to you but with a few small changes. Beside the poster message “Greatness goes by many many names.” She wrote “Few can hope to ever run a marathon, Many can hope for happiness. My hope for you Chris is that you will be happy.” Below, she put a photo that she took of the whole family on St Patrick’s day. We were all dressed in green. All four of our heads are huddled together in a big family hug. Smiling and loving the togetherness of our family.
You were expected to only need 7 weeks of rehab initially, but you were there for 14 weeks. Double the stay. The NSRC team managed to do more with you then they initially thought that they could. We are thankful for all that they did. You had some pretty amazing team players at the NSRC.
One of the last things that I packed was a little magnet that the cleaning lady at the NSRC gave you during your second week there. The two of you had become friends and she gave you a magnet with the word ‘Believe’ stamped into it. I threw it into the bag as an after thought. As we were getting prescriptions from the nurse you spy your PT working late. You ask me to dig out the magnet. “There is someone I want to give it to.” You say. I find the magnet and hand it to you. You wheel up to your PT and palm the small magnet and reach out to shake her hand. “What’s this?” she said. “We already hugged.” When she realizes what you are up to, she doesn’t want to accept it. You insist. She agreed to keep it. And shook your hand.
The nurse had to find some other medications and we followed her to collect the last of the medication. When we get to the elevator, we meet with your PT again. She smiles and says “I know what I’m going to do with the magnet. I’m going to put the magnet on my locker door here ... it will inspire me.”
Mission accomplished. Your magnet will not only remind her of you but also that miracles do happen.
“I’m going to exercise and eat healthy … like blueberries.” You said smiling and reaching out to hug me.
As I pack up your things, you show me a poster. It’s the poster that you gave your PT. The Boston Marathon poster with the phrase ‘Greatness goes by many many names.’ “I don’t know why she gave it back.” You said sounding a little sad. “I was hoping that she would give it to someone to inspire.” I hugged you and said “I think she did ... she gave it to you!”
She gave it to you but with a few small changes. Beside the poster message “Greatness goes by many many names.” She wrote “Few can hope to ever run a marathon, Many can hope for happiness. My hope for you Chris is that you will be happy.” Below, she put a photo that she took of the whole family on St Patrick’s day. We were all dressed in green. All four of our heads are huddled together in a big family hug. Smiling and loving the togetherness of our family.
You were expected to only need 7 weeks of rehab initially, but you were there for 14 weeks. Double the stay. The NSRC team managed to do more with you then they initially thought that they could. We are thankful for all that they did. You had some pretty amazing team players at the NSRC.
One of the last things that I packed was a little magnet that the cleaning lady at the NSRC gave you during your second week there. The two of you had become friends and she gave you a magnet with the word ‘Believe’ stamped into it. I threw it into the bag as an after thought. As we were getting prescriptions from the nurse you spy your PT working late. You ask me to dig out the magnet. “There is someone I want to give it to.” You say. I find the magnet and hand it to you. You wheel up to your PT and palm the small magnet and reach out to shake her hand. “What’s this?” she said. “We already hugged.” When she realizes what you are up to, she doesn’t want to accept it. You insist. She agreed to keep it. And shook your hand.
The nurse had to find some other medications and we followed her to collect the last of the medication. When we get to the elevator, we meet with your PT again. She smiles and says “I know what I’m going to do with the magnet. I’m going to put the magnet on my locker door here ... it will inspire me.”
Mission accomplished. Your magnet will not only remind her of you but also that miracles do happen.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday April 22 – An Old Marathon Ends and a New One Begins
Today you got a sort of booster seat for your right foot so that your left leg can swing forward easily. It’s built right into the sole of your Asaics running shoes, sort of like a lift but it doesn’t extend to your heel. It sits mostly under your toes. You can move much better with the lift. Your left leg swings a little more freely with each kick.
Tomorrow you come home. My first marathon is finishing. This journal has been a very therapeutic outlet in my life. I had vowed to make a daily entry while you were in the hospital. Tomorrow, you are home for good.
A new marathon begins. It will have a different course and I sense that it will be very challenging but in a different way. A different course with slightly different rules and the finish line is not within sight. I guess that it’s more of an ultra marathon. I feel more prepared to do this one now because your team of coaches will support me too in this race.
When you are here in our home, you will need me more then I will need the journal. I must concentrate on the day to day logistics of the day, your needs and the children needs. The demands of my time and energy will increase … I have to stay focused on the unmarked finishline.
I know, occasionally, I will need to vent to the journal. When I need to empty my head and heart, I will turn to the journal and write. In the meantime I will continue to make brief notes about our marathon experience. When you are well enough to help me write ‘the book’, we can use these notes to write our story together.
I am going to pledge to make a weekly entry about your continuing marathon and progress to date. Just as your ran for 4684 days and were committed running each day, I will make a commitment too … a commitment to write.
Tomorrow you come home. My first marathon is finishing. This journal has been a very therapeutic outlet in my life. I had vowed to make a daily entry while you were in the hospital. Tomorrow, you are home for good.
A new marathon begins. It will have a different course and I sense that it will be very challenging but in a different way. A different course with slightly different rules and the finish line is not within sight. I guess that it’s more of an ultra marathon. I feel more prepared to do this one now because your team of coaches will support me too in this race.
When you are here in our home, you will need me more then I will need the journal. I must concentrate on the day to day logistics of the day, your needs and the children needs. The demands of my time and energy will increase … I have to stay focused on the unmarked finishline.
I know, occasionally, I will need to vent to the journal. When I need to empty my head and heart, I will turn to the journal and write. In the meantime I will continue to make brief notes about our marathon experience. When you are well enough to help me write ‘the book’, we can use these notes to write our story together.
I am going to pledge to make a weekly entry about your continuing marathon and progress to date. Just as your ran for 4684 days and were committed running each day, I will make a commitment too … a commitment to write.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday April 21 - We’ll Find Our Way
Yesterday, I received a resume already. It came to me through the grapevine at work. The lady comes highly recommended as a homecare helper for you. Tomorrow, I will be meeting with the homecare coordinator and the nurse manager who get the homecare started.
‘Helper’ isn’t the right word. The people who are going to be in your life as your ‘support help’ aren’t babysitters, as you called them. I see them as a ‘Team of Coaches’. Their job is to coach you to make the best recovery that you can. Like any athlete or person undertaking a major event in their life, we all need coaches and mentors to help us along the way.
Your journey is no different except instead of one coach … you get to have a team of coaches. A team of people who work together to facilitate your recovery.
This team is going to be big. Many people with different specialties. There are the obvious areas like: physio and occupational therapists, psychologists and doctors. But the bigger and the most important coaches on your team are the people who coach you every day. The homecare workers and the people from the community will coach you in some of the finer details of your recovery.
There is no professional service that can do this type of coaching because it comes with a heart.
Annie was full of energy this morning. It is very uncharacteristic for her. She acted more like a Jack Russell Terrier then a Good Ol’ Cape Breton Farm Dog. She chased the cats relentlessly. They had slipped outside at 3 am this morning when I had to go in to the animal hospital for an emergency. They probably smelled like they were hunting.
Poor Annie, she has been so ripped off lately, forgetting her birthday, being taken out for token poop and pee walks – some birthday yesterday. She needed a real walk …a long birthday walk.
It was a beautiful day. When I realized that I didn’t start work until a little later in the day, I looked at Annie and Annie looked at me and we decided to go for a good long walk … just like in the old days.
It was great walk. My energy was good. I even ran for a little way. I haven’t run in a long time. Today the air was just right and the warm sunlight in my eyes made me feel little running. Some people are not designed to run. I’m one of them. But today I didn’t feel like a prisoner of my body, I felt free to run and I did.
Last year when I ran with the children in the fun run, my knees hurt for a week. So don’t get excited …let’s see how I’m holding up in 24 and 48 hours before I make any commitment to run again.
We even found our favorite type of path … one less traveled by. Annie found good smells and tracks and I found fresh air and clarity in my mind. Annie even spied some deer, but she resisted the urge to chase the deer and stayed by my side. What a good civilized dog.
I am recharged for the rest of the day.
Tara had another music festival competition today. She did well and sang beautifully. She didn’t seem as nervous as she used to sound in the past. I think she is growing up.
You sound good on the phone today too. You joke and praise Tara for her accomplishments at the music festival. She giggles and laughs and acts a little ‘nutso’, as you call it, on the phone. Both Tara and Quinn squeal with delight at the thought of you being home in two days.
You had another good day with your therapists. Tomorrow is your OT’s last day with her. You are going to give her something to remember you by. You want it to be your ring with the ‘Unforgiven minute’ inscribed on it. But you are prepared with a back up plan if she refuses it … a Boston marathon running hat.
Today you got her to read the inscription on the ring. Her young eyes can read it. The two of you discussed the meaning. She suggests it means if you are dealt a raw deal, you play the cards anyway and make the best of it. You heartily agree. Now you really want to give her the ring. We will have to see if she will accept it or not.
You said, “Tomorrow is my last shower!” “Hopefully, it’s not your last shower because I’m not sure I want you home if you don’t plan on staying clean!” I correct you. “Right, well, it’s the last shower with my male OT!” This has been the hardest part of your therapy. You hate shower day. I hope that you come to like it more when you get home.
A fellow lady patient, a smoker, who is next door to your room, asked you for a cigarette today. You gave her a cigarette. Not just one, but you gave her the whole unopened pack of the du Maurier. I think you could hear my smile over the phone line when you told me.
You confess to me that you are a little worried about your life at home and how it will be. I confess that I’m worried too. “We’ll find our way … we have so far … We will have challenges for sure but we will over come them – We just have to believe.“ Giving away half of your smokes is a big step.
‘Helper’ isn’t the right word. The people who are going to be in your life as your ‘support help’ aren’t babysitters, as you called them. I see them as a ‘Team of Coaches’. Their job is to coach you to make the best recovery that you can. Like any athlete or person undertaking a major event in their life, we all need coaches and mentors to help us along the way.
Your journey is no different except instead of one coach … you get to have a team of coaches. A team of people who work together to facilitate your recovery.
This team is going to be big. Many people with different specialties. There are the obvious areas like: physio and occupational therapists, psychologists and doctors. But the bigger and the most important coaches on your team are the people who coach you every day. The homecare workers and the people from the community will coach you in some of the finer details of your recovery.
There is no professional service that can do this type of coaching because it comes with a heart.
Annie was full of energy this morning. It is very uncharacteristic for her. She acted more like a Jack Russell Terrier then a Good Ol’ Cape Breton Farm Dog. She chased the cats relentlessly. They had slipped outside at 3 am this morning when I had to go in to the animal hospital for an emergency. They probably smelled like they were hunting.
Poor Annie, she has been so ripped off lately, forgetting her birthday, being taken out for token poop and pee walks – some birthday yesterday. She needed a real walk …a long birthday walk.
It was a beautiful day. When I realized that I didn’t start work until a little later in the day, I looked at Annie and Annie looked at me and we decided to go for a good long walk … just like in the old days.
It was great walk. My energy was good. I even ran for a little way. I haven’t run in a long time. Today the air was just right and the warm sunlight in my eyes made me feel little running. Some people are not designed to run. I’m one of them. But today I didn’t feel like a prisoner of my body, I felt free to run and I did.
Last year when I ran with the children in the fun run, my knees hurt for a week. So don’t get excited …let’s see how I’m holding up in 24 and 48 hours before I make any commitment to run again.
We even found our favorite type of path … one less traveled by. Annie found good smells and tracks and I found fresh air and clarity in my mind. Annie even spied some deer, but she resisted the urge to chase the deer and stayed by my side. What a good civilized dog.
I am recharged for the rest of the day.
Tara had another music festival competition today. She did well and sang beautifully. She didn’t seem as nervous as she used to sound in the past. I think she is growing up.
You sound good on the phone today too. You joke and praise Tara for her accomplishments at the music festival. She giggles and laughs and acts a little ‘nutso’, as you call it, on the phone. Both Tara and Quinn squeal with delight at the thought of you being home in two days.
You had another good day with your therapists. Tomorrow is your OT’s last day with her. You are going to give her something to remember you by. You want it to be your ring with the ‘Unforgiven minute’ inscribed on it. But you are prepared with a back up plan if she refuses it … a Boston marathon running hat.
Today you got her to read the inscription on the ring. Her young eyes can read it. The two of you discussed the meaning. She suggests it means if you are dealt a raw deal, you play the cards anyway and make the best of it. You heartily agree. Now you really want to give her the ring. We will have to see if she will accept it or not.
You said, “Tomorrow is my last shower!” “Hopefully, it’s not your last shower because I’m not sure I want you home if you don’t plan on staying clean!” I correct you. “Right, well, it’s the last shower with my male OT!” This has been the hardest part of your therapy. You hate shower day. I hope that you come to like it more when you get home.
A fellow lady patient, a smoker, who is next door to your room, asked you for a cigarette today. You gave her a cigarette. Not just one, but you gave her the whole unopened pack of the du Maurier. I think you could hear my smile over the phone line when you told me.
You confess to me that you are a little worried about your life at home and how it will be. I confess that I’m worried too. “We’ll find our way … we have so far … We will have challenges for sure but we will over come them – We just have to believe.“ Giving away half of your smokes is a big step.
Tuesday April 20 – Heroes You Haven’t met Yet
This morning, I wake to the sound of the radio. Don Connolly is interviewing Rev. Diane Tingley and her daughter. I sleepily lay in bed and let the words drift in my foggy head. They are marathon runners and did Boston yesterday. They share some of their experience with Don.
I smiled to myself and thought ‘How nice… another ‘If you believe then you can’ story. I didn’t really take the interview in - I just let it drift over me … until I heard the words ‘Organ Donor’. Diane is an organ donor. Part of her message was that one can give significant gifts of oneself and still go on to have a full and fulfilling life.
I was hooked and bolted out of bed. I found Diane’s email address on the internet. She is a minister at a United Church in Bedford. This is too much of a coincidence. Tonight, I emailed her to see if she would come and visit you and share her story and personal insights with you. Insights that come from a fellow runner have a lot more credibility.
Maybe I’m crazy but I sense that she has a message for you.
After work I picked up the children and got them to the pool for their swimming lesson. As I settle at the poolside, I exchange waves with Quinn as he goes about his class. Tara, on the other hand, grabs my attention a different way. “These goggles don’t fit – they leak all the time!” I think she expected me to wave my magic wand and make them work instantly. When I explained that she would have to put up with them as they are for now, she turns sharply on her heel and stomped away.
“That’s my oldest … my daughter the ‘Sun’. Thinks everything revolves around her.” I explain to the parent sitting beside me. It turns out that the lady beside me is actually a grandparent … we look the same age. She was there with her granddaughter who is a loving cuddly child like Quinn. “This is my second family.” She explains. We compare notes on raising children and how different they can be.
Cindy is a breast cancer survivor … no…a thrivor. She tells me of her struggles and her resolve to keep going. I think her grandchildren are a strong motivation for her. They counted on her and she needed to be needed. She has a strong sense of purpose.
It’s been four years now and no cancer. She is a little nervous of the future but she is living, for now, in the now.
Next week you probably will meet her because you will be needed to exchange waves with Quinn and listen to Tara rant about something. That’s what parents do and you can do that too.
I want you to meet her. She has a message for you too. There are so many heros in your life … many of them, you haven’t met yet.
You called today. You sound great on the phone. Strong and confident. You had a good day. I still want to come home and I haven’t smoked.” You said. Tara is very keen to tell all about her piano piece at the music festival. It went well and she was pleased and when we got home there was an email inviting her to participate in the summer musical ‘Suessical’. She is beaming with pride and I can hear you beam on the other end of the phone.
Quinn gets on the phone. As he talks to you he flips upside down and stands on his head … on the stairs! I’m glad you can’t see this … you would freak and scream something like “Stop that. That’s how someone gets hurt!” Instead, you happily play with Quinn on the phone. “Three more sleeps!” Quinn sings to me as he hands me back the phone.
That’s right it’s only three more sleeps and as I write this I realize it’s Annie’s second birthday today… Oops, I forgot it.
I smiled to myself and thought ‘How nice… another ‘If you believe then you can’ story. I didn’t really take the interview in - I just let it drift over me … until I heard the words ‘Organ Donor’. Diane is an organ donor. Part of her message was that one can give significant gifts of oneself and still go on to have a full and fulfilling life.
I was hooked and bolted out of bed. I found Diane’s email address on the internet. She is a minister at a United Church in Bedford. This is too much of a coincidence. Tonight, I emailed her to see if she would come and visit you and share her story and personal insights with you. Insights that come from a fellow runner have a lot more credibility.
Maybe I’m crazy but I sense that she has a message for you.
After work I picked up the children and got them to the pool for their swimming lesson. As I settle at the poolside, I exchange waves with Quinn as he goes about his class. Tara, on the other hand, grabs my attention a different way. “These goggles don’t fit – they leak all the time!” I think she expected me to wave my magic wand and make them work instantly. When I explained that she would have to put up with them as they are for now, she turns sharply on her heel and stomped away.
“That’s my oldest … my daughter the ‘Sun’. Thinks everything revolves around her.” I explain to the parent sitting beside me. It turns out that the lady beside me is actually a grandparent … we look the same age. She was there with her granddaughter who is a loving cuddly child like Quinn. “This is my second family.” She explains. We compare notes on raising children and how different they can be.
Cindy is a breast cancer survivor … no…a thrivor. She tells me of her struggles and her resolve to keep going. I think her grandchildren are a strong motivation for her. They counted on her and she needed to be needed. She has a strong sense of purpose.
It’s been four years now and no cancer. She is a little nervous of the future but she is living, for now, in the now.
Next week you probably will meet her because you will be needed to exchange waves with Quinn and listen to Tara rant about something. That’s what parents do and you can do that too.
I want you to meet her. She has a message for you too. There are so many heros in your life … many of them, you haven’t met yet.
You called today. You sound great on the phone. Strong and confident. You had a good day. I still want to come home and I haven’t smoked.” You said. Tara is very keen to tell all about her piano piece at the music festival. It went well and she was pleased and when we got home there was an email inviting her to participate in the summer musical ‘Suessical’. She is beaming with pride and I can hear you beam on the other end of the phone.
Quinn gets on the phone. As he talks to you he flips upside down and stands on his head … on the stairs! I’m glad you can’t see this … you would freak and scream something like “Stop that. That’s how someone gets hurt!” Instead, you happily play with Quinn on the phone. “Three more sleeps!” Quinn sings to me as he hands me back the phone.
That’s right it’s only three more sleeps and as I write this I realize it’s Annie’s second birthday today… Oops, I forgot it.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Monday April 19 - The Boston Marathon Day
Today is the day you have been waiting for. I have mixed feeling about the marathon. I worry that it will drive you into a deeper depression. A reminder of what was and will never be again.
You don’t see it that way, You are very excited about the possibility of running again in the mobility impaired class.
Tara is the first one up and dressed. She is wearing her Boston Marathon T-shirt. You dig out your BM shirt and then Quinn finds his. Finally Tara uncovers mine in my closet and hands me it to wear. We are the Official Cashen Boston marathon team.
The home based OT came to meet with you this morning. She wants to trouble shoot before you are discharged from the hospital and make sure that the house is safe for you. I think that you will get along with her very well. She is very keen to make your recovery as complete as possible.
The home based PT will help us develop an exercise program for you so that you are able to have a physical outlet as well as improve your current skills.
The race started at ten. Two running friends, Laura and Sandy, come over to watch the race. Later John, Jennifer and Norris share the experience with you.
You loved the attention … and the 4X4 coffee … and four Boston donuts (your new addiction). You were having so much fun, we lost track of time and left too late to make it to the psychologist appointment. Oh well, you weren’t that keen on seeing him anyway.
We had a great talk in the car. You explained to me that if you started training next week, you might be able to qualify for the Boston Marathon as a mobility impaired runner by next spring.
I wanted to believe this but I thought the time line is a little off. “Take it slow and steady.” I said. “First you could try to walk to the school and then to the school and back then around the neighborhood then 5 km and 10 km walks. Then a slow hop-skip jog. After that anything is possible –you have to be patient and determined.
You got weepy at the thought of the reality that I painted for you.
We talked about SMART goal setting. Goals should be: S = Specific, M = Measureable, A = Attainable, R = Realistic and T = Timely. Making some smart goals now will help you see success sooner and the reward of success feeds more determination.
You are fixated on returning to Boston to race. “I’d give anything to close the finish line in Boston … I’d even die.” How could you think this? The stroke still has a strong hold on your rational brain.
I was blunt with my reply. “How could you sacrifice your family to cross an imaginary line in Boston.” I lecture. ”We need you. Tara really needs her Dad more then ever to help her through her puberty years. Quinn needs you to love and to mentor him in his developing sense of humour and athletics. I need you to love me and keep me sane with your amazing gift of humour.”
You came to the conclusion that there was a twisted irony to your position. Your addiction of gambling lead you to smoking, and running enabled you to smoke, so in a way smoking lead to running. Now, your stroke, which was caused by the unknown, has taken running away from you. “Now smoking won’t let go of me.” You said. “What is really bad it that I didn’t cuddle with you at all this weekend, How stupid am I. That’s because I was so busy thinking of ways to get mad at you so I would have a reason to go out and smoke.”
Just before my call to you at bedtime, you played the – ‘I want to smoke’ game with Janice over the phone. Logic and reason have no place in your decision to cave to your whims. Janice called me to let me know that you were on the verge of smoking.
I call you immediately. I skirt around the topic of smoking and talk about the children instead. “Yes … I’ve been thinking about Tara.” You said. “I think when I get home, I should just hang out with her and get to know her again … be a friend and let her share with me.” I smile at the thought of being a friend to Tara.
You are a great friend to your friends, I think Tara would love this attention. It’s probably just what she needs now. I know that Tara and I will have our conflicts to deal with. Having you in the middle, refereeing, will be a very good buffer.
I ask you how the day has been. “It’s been a good day ... Still no smoking.” As we say good night, you add, “When I get home, I want to be the man you and the kids need me to be.” Wow! I think my blast of rational thinking about putting the family’s needs first, has helped you see the big picture ... both sides of the picture … right and left.
You don’t see it that way, You are very excited about the possibility of running again in the mobility impaired class.
Tara is the first one up and dressed. She is wearing her Boston Marathon T-shirt. You dig out your BM shirt and then Quinn finds his. Finally Tara uncovers mine in my closet and hands me it to wear. We are the Official Cashen Boston marathon team.
The home based OT came to meet with you this morning. She wants to trouble shoot before you are discharged from the hospital and make sure that the house is safe for you. I think that you will get along with her very well. She is very keen to make your recovery as complete as possible.
The home based PT will help us develop an exercise program for you so that you are able to have a physical outlet as well as improve your current skills.
The race started at ten. Two running friends, Laura and Sandy, come over to watch the race. Later John, Jennifer and Norris share the experience with you.
You loved the attention … and the 4X4 coffee … and four Boston donuts (your new addiction). You were having so much fun, we lost track of time and left too late to make it to the psychologist appointment. Oh well, you weren’t that keen on seeing him anyway.
We had a great talk in the car. You explained to me that if you started training next week, you might be able to qualify for the Boston Marathon as a mobility impaired runner by next spring.
I wanted to believe this but I thought the time line is a little off. “Take it slow and steady.” I said. “First you could try to walk to the school and then to the school and back then around the neighborhood then 5 km and 10 km walks. Then a slow hop-skip jog. After that anything is possible –you have to be patient and determined.
You got weepy at the thought of the reality that I painted for you.
We talked about SMART goal setting. Goals should be: S = Specific, M = Measureable, A = Attainable, R = Realistic and T = Timely. Making some smart goals now will help you see success sooner and the reward of success feeds more determination.
You are fixated on returning to Boston to race. “I’d give anything to close the finish line in Boston … I’d even die.” How could you think this? The stroke still has a strong hold on your rational brain.
I was blunt with my reply. “How could you sacrifice your family to cross an imaginary line in Boston.” I lecture. ”We need you. Tara really needs her Dad more then ever to help her through her puberty years. Quinn needs you to love and to mentor him in his developing sense of humour and athletics. I need you to love me and keep me sane with your amazing gift of humour.”
You came to the conclusion that there was a twisted irony to your position. Your addiction of gambling lead you to smoking, and running enabled you to smoke, so in a way smoking lead to running. Now, your stroke, which was caused by the unknown, has taken running away from you. “Now smoking won’t let go of me.” You said. “What is really bad it that I didn’t cuddle with you at all this weekend, How stupid am I. That’s because I was so busy thinking of ways to get mad at you so I would have a reason to go out and smoke.”
Just before my call to you at bedtime, you played the – ‘I want to smoke’ game with Janice over the phone. Logic and reason have no place in your decision to cave to your whims. Janice called me to let me know that you were on the verge of smoking.
I call you immediately. I skirt around the topic of smoking and talk about the children instead. “Yes … I’ve been thinking about Tara.” You said. “I think when I get home, I should just hang out with her and get to know her again … be a friend and let her share with me.” I smile at the thought of being a friend to Tara.
You are a great friend to your friends, I think Tara would love this attention. It’s probably just what she needs now. I know that Tara and I will have our conflicts to deal with. Having you in the middle, refereeing, will be a very good buffer.
I ask you how the day has been. “It’s been a good day ... Still no smoking.” As we say good night, you add, “When I get home, I want to be the man you and the kids need me to be.” Wow! I think my blast of rational thinking about putting the family’s needs first, has helped you see the big picture ... both sides of the picture … right and left.
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