After breakfast
2 days ago, my father suddenly lost his ability to walk, was breathing rapidly,
and looked odd to a sharp-eyed aide at his facility. One hour later my brother
alerted me that Dad was on the way to the Scripps Hospital ER. Then things got weird.
Despite
being within the 3 hour window to receive TPA, a clot buster that reverses
damage, Dad refused treatment due to potential side effects such as brain bleed.
A neurologist called to ask if I wanted to overrule his decision since I had healthcare
proxy privileges. We agreed that despite his age and condition, he was mentally
competent, so I respected his choice. That was hard - if it were me I would
have taken it. He was stabilized and I felt comfortable taking a flight later
in the day. (Side note: once again, Alaska Air waived all fees and upgraded my
seat. That’s their policy for a family medical crisis.)
I talked to
my father at 6 pm and noticed a slight vocal slur. Arriving at 11 pm, I was
greeted by a full code alert with a medical team rushing in to treat what they
thought was a second, potentially fatal stroke. His words were garbled nonsense
and all systems were failing. I slept in his room and watched the team in
action, while convincing Dad not to rip out his catheter. After more CT scans,
MRIs and cognitive testing throughout the night, they determined it was temporary
brain swelling and would resolve. It did. By 8 am Sid was ready for a meal,
talking a blue streak, wondering why everyone looked so concerned. However, his
right leg was paralyzed from the knee down. I started planning for wheelchairs.
Fast forward
to this morning, 48 hours post stroke. I found Dad raising and lowering his
leg, wiggling his toes, saying “look, everything works again!” Huh? Well his
body doesn’t quite function like it should, but he made incredible progress.
The man is a 95-year old diabetic with cardiac, orthopedic and pulmonary
issues. What happened?
Sid is stubborn,
he’s a survivor of many challenges, and was born a leftie. As a child he was
whacked (not by nuns) and forced to write with his right hand. That was a common
practice for his generation to “fix” a defect. He became ambidextrous; his
brain practiced “neural plasticity” for decades to follow. I know that left-handed
people, about 13% of the population, are over-represented among musicians,
creative types, and chess players. I was stunned to learn that lefties recover from
stroke damage faster and better. And lefties trained to be righties may have
special brain powers that no one understands. I’m a leftie, by the way - feeling
pretty lucky about that right now. While this factor may be irrelevant to my dad’s
evolving recovery, I’m concluding it isn’t all due to excellent medical care,
high dose aspirin and prayer.
I knew that
Sid was back on track when I got a call from the speech therapist this
afternoon. I was at Costco chasing down lost hearing aid parts. Dad made her reach
me to request a hot dog delivery, extra sauerkraut. She had to whisper as it obviously
didn’t meet nutritional criteria. He got extra insulin and a wink from the nursing
staff.
One of the
hardest parts of this surreal chapter was telling my father that Harry, one of
his dining room buddies, died during surgery a few days ago. He teared up and
we talked about the pain of watching loved ones die with no logic. That conversation
was extremely difficult for me.
