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My Dad, aka "Bullet"
Sep. 26th, 2011 10:05 amYou know the Jewish tradition where, when someone is gravely ill, you give them a new name, so that the Angel of Death will walk by when he comes looking for them? Well, my dad has always gone by a nickname, "Mort." I'm really starting to believe that the angel of death keeps showing up asking for "Richard Morehouse" and, only finding this "Mort" guy, leaves.
I got a call yesterday morning that my dad had a stroke.
Yes, this after successfully surviving sepsis, c-def, and months in the recovery wing of the nursing home while waiting for a hip replacement. My mom had been worried, starting Saturday, because my dad was having a really difficult time recovering from the surgery. It went into overtime by several hours, and, while my dad is clearly a really tough bird, it really seemed to have knocked him back. She said he was confused at one point and thought he was still getting ready to go into surgery. This freaked me out, but all the other signs seemed okay, so I tried to put it out of my mind.
Then, on Sunday, after I took Shawn to the airport (she's off on a work trip to a conference in Washington, D.C.), I got home to the message. I'd left my cell charging because it had run out of battery unexpectedly the night before. (For some reason it's stopped giving me the warning beeps when it's low.) Anyway, there were three fairly frantic messages from my mom. I finally was able to call her back and find out what was going on.
He'd had a stroke. The doctors said they think it was a kind of stroke called a transient ischemic attack. They'd know more in 48 hours. (Now having read the wikipedia article, I know why. Apparently the effects are reversable if they last as long as 24 hours, but fewer than 72.)
I'm still not entirely clear WHY this happened to my dad. The surgery he underwent was pretty routine, even if it did go into overtime. He's been through a LOT in the last six months, but he was in fairly good shape when they checked him in before the procedure. Though, he has had problems with blood clots in the past, it's not clear that's what caused this. The multitude of theories my mom has heard from various doctors include the absorption rate of the anesthesia during the long procedure to something messed up in his brain stem... none of which are very clear to me or make a whole lot of sense.
The important thing is that he's regained his speech as of this morning, and strength has returned to his right side. Right now, as long as things continue to be stable, the doctors are predicting a full recovery.
I tell you though, this has been a serious emotional ride for me (as I'm sure it has been ten times that for my mom and my dad's sister, Mary Ann, who has been a trouper by showing up every day during this entire saga.) Last night, I had the craziest nightmare that I know is related. I had one of those dreams where someone is trying to get into the house. I'm trying to avoid being see by this shadowy figure -- ducking down before reaching up to lock windows, avoiding answering the door. I'm in the upstairs bathroom with Shawn and I'm telling her, "for god's sake, don't tell anyone it's okay to come in," when I realize it's too late. The shadowy figure is at the landing of the stairs. I'm completely impotent against it. I try to throw a recipie book I'm holding at it, but it bounces of (or passes through, at any rate, it's useless). I'm trying to tell it that I can see it and it should go away, but my mouth won't work, I've got something stuck in my throat. I can't breathe. That moment freaks me out so much that I wake up. My heart is pounding.
I actually go up to make sure no one was on the landing, of course. And I took my asthma medicine in case I really WAS having trouble breathing, but as I laid in bed thinking about that dream. I knew it was the angel of death. I was trying, subconsciously, to keep the "wolves" from the door.
Maybe it worked. Fingers crossed.
I got a call yesterday morning that my dad had a stroke.
Yes, this after successfully surviving sepsis, c-def, and months in the recovery wing of the nursing home while waiting for a hip replacement. My mom had been worried, starting Saturday, because my dad was having a really difficult time recovering from the surgery. It went into overtime by several hours, and, while my dad is clearly a really tough bird, it really seemed to have knocked him back. She said he was confused at one point and thought he was still getting ready to go into surgery. This freaked me out, but all the other signs seemed okay, so I tried to put it out of my mind.
Then, on Sunday, after I took Shawn to the airport (she's off on a work trip to a conference in Washington, D.C.), I got home to the message. I'd left my cell charging because it had run out of battery unexpectedly the night before. (For some reason it's stopped giving me the warning beeps when it's low.) Anyway, there were three fairly frantic messages from my mom. I finally was able to call her back and find out what was going on.
He'd had a stroke. The doctors said they think it was a kind of stroke called a transient ischemic attack. They'd know more in 48 hours. (Now having read the wikipedia article, I know why. Apparently the effects are reversable if they last as long as 24 hours, but fewer than 72.)
I'm still not entirely clear WHY this happened to my dad. The surgery he underwent was pretty routine, even if it did go into overtime. He's been through a LOT in the last six months, but he was in fairly good shape when they checked him in before the procedure. Though, he has had problems with blood clots in the past, it's not clear that's what caused this. The multitude of theories my mom has heard from various doctors include the absorption rate of the anesthesia during the long procedure to something messed up in his brain stem... none of which are very clear to me or make a whole lot of sense.
The important thing is that he's regained his speech as of this morning, and strength has returned to his right side. Right now, as long as things continue to be stable, the doctors are predicting a full recovery.
I tell you though, this has been a serious emotional ride for me (as I'm sure it has been ten times that for my mom and my dad's sister, Mary Ann, who has been a trouper by showing up every day during this entire saga.) Last night, I had the craziest nightmare that I know is related. I had one of those dreams where someone is trying to get into the house. I'm trying to avoid being see by this shadowy figure -- ducking down before reaching up to lock windows, avoiding answering the door. I'm in the upstairs bathroom with Shawn and I'm telling her, "for god's sake, don't tell anyone it's okay to come in," when I realize it's too late. The shadowy figure is at the landing of the stairs. I'm completely impotent against it. I try to throw a recipie book I'm holding at it, but it bounces of (or passes through, at any rate, it's useless). I'm trying to tell it that I can see it and it should go away, but my mouth won't work, I've got something stuck in my throat. I can't breathe. That moment freaks me out so much that I wake up. My heart is pounding.
I actually go up to make sure no one was on the landing, of course. And I took my asthma medicine in case I really WAS having trouble breathing, but as I laid in bed thinking about that dream. I knew it was the angel of death. I was trying, subconsciously, to keep the "wolves" from the door.
Maybe it worked. Fingers crossed.