Chapter 3: In the Fog

Sunday, February 28, 2010

I awoke Sunday morning in the fog—or at least that’s how it felt. Everything was surreal. Here’s how my new reality started: going to the bathroom first thing in the morning. I had to beep for the nurse to come in and detach me from all my many wires. Then, she helped me walk to the bathroom and showed me the little bar I could hold on to. I definitely wanted to do this by myself. But, what an ordeal!

Imagine trying to pull down your undies when you think both arms are pushing, but one isn’t; imagine trying to unroll the TP with the left arm, believing you are doing it, and then finding that nothing at all is happening. You’re trying to do it; you think you’re doing it; and then you look down to find there is no TP in your hand and your hand is just hanging there doing nothing. This was the first of many times I instinctively tried to do something and found my left side not cooperating! Still, I was less frustrated than you might think. My “brain fog” kept everything at a distance and I kind of just watched the show. Thank goodness, probably. I think I would have freaked out had I realized how bad things were at this point.

Extended family members arrived at my hospital room first thing in the morning, followed shortly by the worried and loving face of my husband. It was so good to see him! I didn’t realize how much I depended on his emotional strength until he wasn’t there when I needed him. Just having him there was a huge comfort.

Unfortunately, Larry told me later that he couldn’t really tell how glad I was to see him. The left side of my face was paralyzed and drooping; my left arm and left leg were nearly as paralyzed; and most of all, I was lost in the fog. So while I was happy and relieved to have Larry there, as far as he could tell I took it for granted. The Cathy he left a few days before wasn’t “all there.”

Devin arrived at the hospital shortly after Larry. All my boys were by my side. Boys aren’t always the best at showing they love you and care. But now they were so supportive and loving! It’s at times like these: unexpected, uncertain, scary, when we realize how important family is. I am so grateful that I was living near family when all of this happened.

Family was just the start. I had been worried that nobody would care that I was in the hospital. Nobody would even miss me! Larz had brought me my cell phone the night before. So, struggling with my right hand, I had been able to text a few people. The word spread. Instead of nobody … Wow! I felt overwhelmed and thankful for all the love and support I received from all my family and many, many friends. I have debated whether to post everyone’s names that came to see me. I don’t want to forget. But I also don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable … those who came and those who didn’t know, couldn’t come, etc.

So, for those who came, please know how much it meant to me. THANK YOU! I was feeling so lost and frightened. Your love and concern was a big boost to my spirits. Thank you for the flowers, for the gifts to help with my therapy, for the treats, for the chocolate, for the food, for helping me look pretty, for everything! And for those of you couldn’t come, please know how much your expressions of concern and sympathy meant later on. I love you all!

In between visits from loved ones, I had visits from doctors. And more doctors. And more doctors. I had an ER doctor, an internist, a neurologist, and a few others; I couldn’t keep them all straight. I had another CT scan and an MRI. Basically their news confirmed my stroke. Also, the brain bleeding was stopping; YAY!! Wonderful news, what a blessing. But still there were no answers: Why me? Why now? What happens next?

For the next few days in the hospital the tests seemed endless. The doctors didn’t know why I had the stroke in the first place. No, I didn’t have high blood pressure. No, I wasn’t overweight or out of shape. No, I don’t smoke. No, I’m not old and suffering from poor health. So, their conclusion: a fluke or bad genetics. Oh thanks; how comforting!

To confirm their preliminary diagnosis, they administered tests to see if I had any other weak veins that might rupture and bleed. They had decided that I might have an AVM (arterio-venal malformation.) Basically, a weak blood vessel that ruptured. And if there was one of these, there might be more.

The post-stroke therapy was almost as intense as the testing. Stroke victims need to start working on developing new patterns right away and the hospital didn’t waste any time.

I was visited by a speech therapist. My slurred speech was rapidly improving, but thinking was difficult in my fog, and trying to speak was challenging.

I was visited by physical therapists. Two of them helped me out of bed and tried to get me to walk around the nurses’ station. This was so hard! I wasn’t able to do it without help and I would tire and start to cry about half way along their sixty-foot route. I “got” to do this about 3-4 times a day.

I was also supposed to be visited by an occupational therapist. I had no idea what an occupational therapist was, so when he didn’t show up at first, I wasn’t too concerned. It turns out this particular therapist helps with your hands and arms and learning to do fine motor skills again. My arm was my most damaged part of my body from the stroke. So, yes, I needed my occupational therapist! Luckily, my doctors were great advocates in making sure I finally started this therapy too.

All of these people coming in and out was a blessing. It was a wonderful distraction that helped me start to see through the fog. I visited, I did my therapy, I went for tests… I just responded to all that was happening. It was hard to think and scary to think, so I mostly didn’t. And through all of this, for all the days in the hospital, Larry stayed by my side. He was my fog light and I can’t imagine what it would have been like without him.

On Monday, after only two full days in the hospital, I got the “good news.” The doctors felt I was functioning well enough to go home. I could leave that day. They thought I’d be pleased.

I felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Are you kidding me? Go home? I wasn’t all better! I wasn’t even close! I couldn’t walk on my own! I couldn’t even comb my own hair! I could barely even think through the fog! They didn’t even know yet if I’d have another stroke! I thought I’d go home walking. I thought I would go home healed, or at least mostly so. I thought I’d have answers that would help me feel confident that I would never go through this again. I thought I would go home when I was ready. I DIDN’T FEEL READY!! I cried again as I had so many times in the hospital. This was so overwhelming!

Larry was with me but I felt scared and very alone. I wasn’t ready to face the world outside the hospital. I wasn’t ready to be at home and try to live life again. They had been telling me I would be in the hospital for at least a week. I was mentally set for that. No! I don’t want to go, yet!

I was such an emotional mess that the doctors agreed to have me stay one more day. For a day-and-a-half the physical therapy continued and I finally started the occupational therapy. Larry kept telling me this was good news, that I’m healing quicker than expected. Larry helped me think about the future, shining the light through the fog.

By Tuesday evening I had just enough courage to gather myself together emotionally and step from a wheelchair into our car to go home. I still didn’t feel in any condition to go home and pretend I could handle “real life.” But now I had grasped the awful truth: life as I knew it was over. A new life lay ahead and it was time to live it. All I could do was turn to my Heavenly Father, “Please help!”

Chapter 2: Down the Rabbit Hole

Saturday, Feb. 27, 2010

If you ever want fast attention at the ER, tell them you think you’ve had a stroke. I’ve been to the ER before so I went in assuming I would be sitting for a while. Nope. They had me meet with a nurse who took my blood pressure, asked me to smile (I guess my left side wasn’t working), asked a few questions, and that was it. I was put in a wheel chair and they literally ran down the hall with me. I was taken to a room where they helped me get into one of those lovely hospital gowns as fast as they could and then I was put on a gurney. Again, it was a race down the hall.

Apparently when you have a stroke, they need to diagnose it very quickly to determine whether the stroke is caused by a blood clot (an ischemic stroke) or bleeding into the brain (a hemorrhagic stroke.) Getting the right medicine quickly can mean the difference between a lifelong handicap and a full recovery. Treating the wrong problem can cause death! Thank goodness I didn’t know that while all the commotion was happening. All I could think was: they’re going to fix me.

I ended up getting a CT scan first. Since I got to the hospital quickly after the stroke they kind of hoped to find a blood clot in my brain. There is medicine that can help break up a clot and reduce or even completely avoid damage to the brain—but only if taken within the first few hours.

So, I had my scan and waited for the verdict. After reviewing the scans and talking to a neurosurgeon, the ER doctor came in with the news. Yes, I had experienced a stroke. No, it wasn’t a blood clot. 85% of stoke victims have blood clot strokes, but not me. I had a hemorrhagic stroke. Basically this means that a blood vessel in my brain ruptured and was bleeding. The neurosurgeon said that the rupture was deep in the right side of my brain—too deep to operate without causing permanent brain damage or death. All we could do was wait and hope for the bleeding to stop soon.

Seriously? All we could do is wait?! I burst into tears.

But that wasn’t really all they could do. They could also make sure my blood pressure wasn’t so high that I was making the bleeding worse. I might have been hyperventilating just a bit. I felt like totally freaking out!

They hooked me up to an IV and attached electrode wires all over my body. They put an oxygen tube in my nose. And they wrapped a blood pressure cuff on my arm. I was a mess of wires. They gave me some blood pressure medicine as a precaution. Then the terrible waiting began.

Unbeknownst to me, Larry (husband), out of town in Mexico City, was from time to time getting updates on my condition from his dad (also Larry). Since I last spoke with him on the phone from home he’d cancelled all his commitments and started trying to get home to me. It was late in the afternoon in Mexico but he still hoped that maybe, somehow, he could get home by late tonight. Larry grabbed a colleague with a car to drive him from his meetings back to his hotel. He crammed everything into his suitcase, and raced for the airport, talking non-stop to travel agents, airlines, and private jet companies. He was still looking for his best option when his colleague dropped him at the airport, stranded and feeling as alone as he’d ever been.

Eventually Larry had to accept two pieces of bad news: First, despite all his efforts, he couldn’t get home today. His best option was to take the last flight to the US tonight, flying through Los Angeles with a five hour layover that wouldn’t allow him to get to the hospital until 9am tomorrow. Second, he learned what I hadn’t fully understood. If the bleeding stopped, he’d be holding me in the morning. If it didn’t…

My in-laws were there with me all this time. The nurses came and checked on me and on all the monitors to make sure I wasn’t getting worse. I’m so grateful to Larry and Nancy. They were great help emotionally and asked all the questions that I wanted answered but couldn’t think to ask myself.

I was fully into what I would call my “foggy brain” stage of the stroke—a stage that would last for months. I just couldn’t think well. I had a hard time saying the things I felt hovering in the back of my brain or responding to questions. Verbalizing my fears or needs was difficult. I was starting to feel like I was observing everything, including myself, rather than directly experiencing it all. I was still scared, but a little detached, like it wasn’t real.

I finally thought to have Nancy give me my cell phone to call my mom. Earlier I mentioned that Larry called me at home on the landline. This turned out to be significant. When I was at home gathering the things I needed for the hospital, I grabbed my cell phone; or I thought I did. I actually put our cordless phone in my purse! That didn’t work so well in the hospital.

Actually, it probably was better that I didn’t have my phone. Between my foggy brain and my tendency to cry frequently, talking was difficult. So, I had my father-in-law, Larry, call family. Besides keeping husband Larry informed, he called Tiffany, and all my siblings and Larry’s brothers.

He called Tiffany because he couldn’t get hold of my mom. I hadn’t wanted to worry my kids. What could they do? Kyle was at BYU going to a girl’s choice dance that night and I didn’t want to interrupt that. Devin was at a ballroom competition in Idaho. Larz was in Logan attending Utah State. I thought I was sparing them all needless worry. I should have known that my hubby would call all our kids to let them know what was happening and calm their fears.

Since Kyle was the closest, a few blocks away from the hospital in the dorms at BYU, he showed up quickly having cancelled his date. I felt bad about that. When he arrived, we now had two priesthood holders present. Kyle had recently been ordained an elder before going to college. He gave his first priesthood blessing to his sick mom. It was beautiful and very comforting—and powerful. He was so calm and collected as he gave this blessing; he’d had plenty of experience watching his dad do this at home. What a wonderful experience in the middle of all this uncertainty! Afterwards, I wasn’t as fearful of what was to come.

At the hospital, my sister Cherie arrived as well as my son, Larz, who had driven down from Logan to be with me! I was so grateful and so humbled that everyone would stop their busy lives and run to the hospital. It was just a little stroke, after all (thought my foggy brain). What a wonderful family I have.

After about five hours in the ER room, the doctors finally decided it was safe to move me to an intermediate care room. I was starting to feel like everything might turn out alright (foggy brain) despite having slurred speech, trouble moving my left arm and leg, and difficulty thinking. After all, I’ve got my family and I’m in the hospital where everything gets fixed, right? In my new room, with my new hope, I fell asleep, exhausted, foggy, worried but at peace.

While I slept, Larz spent the night on a chair in my room ready to comfort me. And somewhere far away Larry sat on an airplane in the dark, and later in a cold, deserted LAX airport wondering what he might find when he arrived back home.