Dad's Stroke.

So much has happened.

Friday, we went over to the neighbor's house for some Christmas merriment. The "official" party hours were 6:30 - 8:30. We TOTALLY overstayed our welcome (hehehe!) and left at around 1:30! It was so much fun, and it really is great to have friends right next door. We settled into bed, and the last thing I remember thinking is "Wow, I don't have that much to do tomorrow!"

Then the phone rang at 4:30 am. That's never a good thing. Marshall answered and as soon as I heard the words "Did you call 911?" I jumped out of bed and into my clothes. We got to Mom and Dad's house as the police and paramedics were there. Mom had been awakened by Dad snoring and hiccuping at about 3:00. She rolled him over to get him to stop, but at 4:00 she felt like there was something definitely wrong. She couldn't wake him up at all.

The ambulance got there and we went to North Memorial. Dad was in the ER for about 3 hours, and we were told that he'd had a stroke, and they thought that it was in the brain stem, but they'd do an MRI to confirm it.

The prognosis with a brain stem stroke is pretty grim. The first doc we saw didn't hold out much hope for any meaningful cognitive recovery. We started having snippets of those kinds of conversations that you don't ever want to have. "What about the house.. Do we have all the passwords.."

(Here's one thing to always remember: If you have a health care directive - or any important papers that your spouse needs to put their hands on in the event of an emergency - make sure that they can EASILY locate things. No hiding keys in spots that they don't know about, no weird secret codes, nothing. Hide it from the rest of the world, but not your spouse. Because when they need to find it and they can't, it really really sucks.)

Saturday afternoon at about 3pm or so, we came back to the house to wash up (brushing teeth has rarely felt so good) and catch a quick nap. We brought mom home, and were back at the hospital by 7pm, and we took the night watch while dad was in the ICU. Every single hour, going in to his room, holding his hand, checking his vitals, talking to the nurses. At the 3am check I was so sad.. I really thought that was the end.

Then came the 4:30am check.. 24 hours after it happened. Ann, the night nurse, said that she'd gotten him to open his eyes a little bit for her. So I got right up next to his face, and in the big old loud Italian voice I said "HEY DAD, IT'S CHELE. I LOVE YOU!" and he opened his eyes and mumble/whispered "I love you too." It was faint, but it was there!

The nurse and I hugged and did the happy dance.

And from that point on, he started to come back a little bit. One of the nurses told him he had beautiful eyelashes and he smiled. He opened his eyes when Mom came in and said "This is your sweetheart!"

At around 10am Marshall and I were about ready to topple over. We went home, showered, and gloriously slept until about 4pm. Then we headed back to the hospital and hung out there until around midnight.

Now we're up to.. Monday. Right? Right. All the days were just running together at this point. It had been snowing on and off through this entire time, and our driveway was a mess. Because I know my ragazz', I knew he'd be fretting about this. So I took matters into my own hands and called in some reinforcements (AKA his racing buddies) and asked if they would please come over and shovel for us. BAM! Done. I love those guys.

We got to the hospital and were faced with a couple of hard questions right off the bat. If it came to the point where Dad needed a permanent feeding tube, and he couldn't do anything for himself, what would we do? Did we want to consider doing a temporary feeding tube first? When we got to the point where he'd be discharged (which could potentially be in the next few days), to which care center do we want him to go? It was overwhelming. And the first big test before all of this started was the Swallow Test. We needed to see if Dad was going to be able to eat.

Dad was even more alert on Monday morning. His eyes were often open, and he was looking around, taking us all in. He knew, intermittently, who we were. He said he didn't recognize Marshall at first, but later, when he'd left the room for a moment, Dad clearly asked, "Where did Marshall go?" The speech pathologist came in and asked him his first and last name, which he knew. She asked him the days of the week, and he knew those too. Then she asked him to count from 1 to 10. He did that, stopped and smiled, and the proceeded to count backwards from 10 to 1 without being asked to do so. YAY! He was pretty proud of himself.

Then she brought in some applesauce, to see if he was able to swallow. She held the spoon up to his mouth and he almost pounced on it. She fed him almost an entire cup of applesauce. She asked if he wanted some water or juice, and clear as a bell, he said "Cranberry juice."

That was the turning point.

Once he started eating a little more, his energy started coming back full strength. We went home Monday night at 9pm.

Yesterday was Tuesday, Christmas Eve. The family was supposed to gather at KB's house for dinnI ser and presents, but she called in the morning, down with the flu. We swung into action at the Chateau. From 8am until 11am, there were cookies baked, presents shopped for and wrapped, and groceries (and beverages) purchased. Then Marshall and I headed to the hospital to see Dad.

He was alert and responsive, and full of mischief. I asked him if he wanted some water. He said "I'm thirsty... FOR YOU!" Oh my! I told him he was a big flirt and he grinned from ear to ear. He noticed that Marshall was wearing a "bright sweatshirt." It was light blue, a color Marshall rarely wears. The TV was on, and the remote was on the bed next to him. I asked if he wanted me to turn the volume down and he said "No. Make it UN-quiet."

He was also doing more talking on his own (rather than just answering questions). It's hard to understand that, because he's still pretty mumbly. We can make out some words here and there. At one point he clearly said "I need to adjust this," as he was moving the splint on his arm which helps keep his IV in place. And we can also tell that it's frustrating for him, sometimes, when we have to ask him to repeat what he says. He's in there. He's DEFINITELY in there.

He's eating pureed foods now. Yesterday for lunch he ate pureed corn, turkey and gravy, and applesauce. He ate every last bite.

Then we came home to make with the Christmas Eve celebrations. Mom, Buc, and Dayna were here, and we had noodles and gravy, meatballs, garlic bread, salad and cookies. Not too bad for throwing something together at the last second. Mom has discovered the joy that is Amaretto and Coke... and she mixes it 95% Amaretto, 5% Coke. She was pretty happy by the end of the evening. Gray the French Bulldog came along as well. For a couple of hours, we felt almost normal again. Everyone cleared out around 9pm, and I tackled the messy kitchen. Then it was time to just SIT.

So that brings us up to today, Christmas morning. We'll head to the hospital as soon as we're sufficiently caffeinated, and we'll spend a good chunk of the day with Dad. I still think he's a little at the point where he doesn't miss us if we're not there... that he only remembers us when he SEES us.. but that's okay. There are a bunch of new paths in his brain that have to be made.

The doctor let us see the MRI images of his brain. There's a big chunk on the left side that's damaged. I wonder - what was IN there? Are there memories that are gone forever? Can other cells take over and bring him all the way back again?

But, hey, on Saturday night we were convinced that he was going to die. Now he's eating and flirting and joking with us. Whatever we get back, we'll consider it a blessing.