CAREGIVER DIARIES: STROKE AWARENESS

My Dad and I had finished dinner, Tuesday evening, and were sitting at the kitchen table watching one of his favorites, “Family Feud”. 

(He has a habit of watching something funny at the end of every day; he says it’s a good way to wind down. I’ve noticed how it really does help his disposition.)

He decided he'd turn in early, but before he did, he said he was going to phone his sisters. 

I shook my head when he berated one of them as soon as she said, "Hello?". 

"Well hello", he said sarcastically. "Did you forget my phone number? I mean, I haven't heard from you." 

Part way through the call, he mumbled what sounded like, "Why don't you go into the other room?" 

His voice was deeper, and sounded strange—not strong and sharp the way it had been. He sounded as if he was falling asleep; drunk even. His speech was slurred. He was mumbling. 

He had yawned a few times during the call, and I thought to myself that his decision to turn in early had been a good idea. 

Then, he said, "No. I don't have nothin' in my mouth." 

That too, sounded strange. 

My aunt must have been thinking what I was thinking. Something was wrong. 

I looked at him. His lip was hanging down. Apparently, she thought there was something wrong with the telephone connection, suggested they hang up, and said she'd call him back. 

I told him to look at me. I was shouting, "Dad! Dad! Look at me! Look at me! Dad!" 

He was looking past me. 

He could hear me, but was responding as if in slow motion. 

I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
The operator suggested sentences for him to say. He couldn't repeat them. She told me to have him raise his arms. He could only raise them slightly. One arm was raised higher than the other. 

His right leg was shaking. She told me to put all of his medications in a ziploc bag, and turn on the porch light. 

The paramedics arrived in minutes. 

Seconds after they’d begun attending to him, he started speaking clearly as if nothing had happened. 

He asked why they were there, and insisted nothing was wrong.

The whole scene seemed miraculous. 

Minutes before, one side of his face looked as if it was straight out of a Salvador Dali painting. He'd been drooling, and incoherent.

The EMT's were taking no chances. They'd seen his condition before, and explained that it was quite common. 

One of them, Bobby, took me aside to get more information, while the other three attended to Dad. 

I realized how adept I've become at rattling off the names of the drugs Dad’s taking, and his medical history. The quality of attention Dad received wasn’t lost on me, either.

What saddened me, was the tense discussion the EMT's had about which hospital they would transport him to. 

I wondered what was there to discuss? Shouldn't he go to the nearest hospital? 

They knew their business, though. They also seemed frustrated. One of the problems, they said, was available beds. 

They assured me that they were determined to take him to an emergency room somewhere, but debated which hospital would accept him. 

It wasn’t because of inability to pay (he's a Navy veteran, and a federal government retiree), but based on a hospital’s capability to deal with patients who'd exhibited signs of stroke. 

The dilemma of where to go, had happened before. (When Dad fell, and was scalded in June 2015, Fort Washington Hospital wasn't equipped to treat his burns the way Washington Hospital Center could, and did.) 

The EMT's decided to take him to Fort Washington Hospital. If he had to be transported elsewhere, they'd cross that bridge when they got to it. 

I was dumbfounded. There's a huge hotel and casino-building project obscuring the horizon near National Harbor. Soon, no one will have to wonder where to go to gamble, shop, eat, hold conferences, or spend vacations. 

Based on what I heard today from the EMTs, there should be a state-of-the-art hospital being erected, too. 

No one should have to gamble or guess in life or death situations--certainly not first responders.

Fortunately, the hospital admitted Dad. 

Late Tuesday night, he was assigned a room. He was treated very well. 

Echocardiogram. 

Sonogram. 

Oxygen. 

The works.

The house phones rang a little after 7 this morning and startled me. It was Dad. 

"Ness! Are you there? They're gonna let me out of here today." 

He told me what had been on the hospital's breakfast menu. I knew what that meant. He was hungry.
I knew it would be several hours before they'd discharge him, but he was more than anxious to come home. 

He was released a little after 1:00 PM, given a prescription (Why they didn't call it in so it would be ready for pick up, I do not know.), and a discharge instructions packet that looked like a PhD dissertation. 

I wondered what seasoned citizens do when they have no one to advocate for them? 

I can only imagine. They're released from the hospital, then they have to go and stand in a line, drop off a prescription, and wait an hour or more before going home to sift through pages and pages of instructions, summaries, and explanations printed in 10 point type, (or smaller) laden with medical terms, drug information, abbreviations, and lousy penmanship.

Dad had what’s commonly called a “mini stroke”. 

I had never heard of “T.I.A.”. 

I read at mayoclinic.org that Transient Ischemic Attacks "usually last a few minutes. 

Most signs and symptoms disappear within an hour. 

The signs and symptoms of TIA resemble those found early in a stroke, and may include sudden onset of: 

weakness, 

numbness or paralysis in your face, arm or leg, typically on one side of your body, 

slurred or garbled speech, or 

difficulty understanding others, 

blindness in one or both eyes or double vision, dizziness or loss of balance or coordination."

That's precisely what happened. I'm just relieved I was sitting close by him when it did. 

I was told that time is an important factor when dealing with a stroke.

As unnerving as it was, there was a moment of humor in it all. 

The comedian Sinbad’s, “Where You Been?" DVD has been my go-to stress reliever many times, at the end of difficult days. 

In his routine, he talks about delusional older men, and their interest in younger women. 

I remembered him saying, "You want a woman that understands the signs of stroke...she'll get you to a hospital and save your life".

I laughed to myself. 

Then I laughed out loud. 

I was so glad that I could. 

Things could have been so much worse. Sinbad may have inadvertently saved a life! 

I remembered telling Dad, "Look at me! Look at me!", and laughed out loud again. 

In his stand-up, Sinbad argued, "See, if you go to dinner with a woman that's 55 years old, and your little lip curls up, she knows what to do. “Hey, hey, hey! Jamaal, Jamaal! Look at me. Jamaal! Look at me!"

Saturday, ironically, was my 55th birthday.

Dad is resting.

Thank God. 

You too, Sinbad, wherever you are.

Now. About that “dissertation”....