What a surprise!

I got a stroke.                                                                 

Was the second stroke.
Was listened to the second debate with Jackie.

She was talking to me and I didn't answer.        
9-1-1.
Brandywine Hospital for a TPA.
Helicopter ride to Jefferson Hospital.
Surgery.
Groin to brain.
Dissolved the stroke.
My family was me: Jackie, Kevin, John, Karen, Brain--all the night.
Monday, stroke was gone.
Right sight didn't move.
Each day was an adventure.
But Thursday, I moved.
Friday, this was a move to Bryn Mawr Rehab.
Weekend, Tests.
Monday, they found a clot in my leg, and I could not move out of the bed.
There was a third stroke before the second one.
Tuesday was better, got a drug that will be there forward.
Wednesday, good for walking, 1.25 miles with a physical therapist.
Thursday, Finished with the toilet, called nurse and I broke the cord.
He came in and here I was with the cork in my hand.
Oops!
Friday, I feel I can move.
A lot of things to thing better.
One day at a time...

Two helicopters for two strokes...one team

This is Jon. He was my nurse both times.

Homemade soup from a friend.

Julius

Once upon a time, there was a boy who caught grasshoppers that were beautiful and brave, and let them go. One time, he caught one with only one hind leg. He put him in a jar and punched holes in the lid, and he called the grasshopper 'Julius.' He cared for Julius for three weeks, changing the grass often. The boy loved the creature. His mother didn't. Then Julius died. The boy loved model cars and had a model hearse with a little coffin. Julius would lie in state for an evening and then he and his coffin were inserted in the hearse. Soon, the boy grew into a teenage young man and forgot the hearse and the coffin and Julius, and the three were tucked into drawer with all the other model cars. Years later, when it was time to inspect and dispose of anything that appeared broken or unwanted, the not-so-young teenage man found the hearse, then the coffin, then Julius. The brave creature was still intact. The young man still admired him. The young man's mother did not. That was the last time I - I mean - the young man saw Julius, the coffin, and the hearse.

     

"Haven't seen a beautiful
grasshopper like this in ages!
So cool!
What a brave creature!"
~ Jackie Wasylkiw Bonanno 

Silly? I don't think so. Have you ever had a memory come to the surface? Was it hidden for a few decades? Memories are therapy. Jackie was the inspiration, though she was not there during those boy and teenage young man years. On this day in early October, Jackie was inspired by a grasshopper. A 'perfect picture' weather day, and an ordinary creature...and her photo and quote transformed into a real cool Facebook post. Her excitement in showing her 'new friend' to me...it was contagious. A simple memory; a 'boy' story; a cherished, beautiful Mom. Jackie's eulogy to Julius went like this: "St. Julius! Patron saint of one-legged grasshoppers!" I love her style! I  love memories.

Stay-Cation in Philly

  Stay-cation. My speech therapist was the first to say it in my presence. I like the word. The dictionary says that stay-cation is a vacation that is spent at home or nearby with leisurely things that one likes to do. From Sunday, August 7th, until Wednesday, August 10th, my stay-cation was in Philadelphia, and my home was in South Philadelphia.

     I've told you before, I don't like the city. I don't like too much noise. I don't like traffic. I don't like being in a car in the city. I've been avoiding being in the city for years - since my elder kin moved out of the city. Now, my children live in the city or close by. It was inevitable that one of them would be a Philadelphia homeowner. My daughter has a house in South Philly.

1

          This is the street. Look at how narrow! Look at the cars! Where are the trees?

   I was born in South Philadelphia, but was raised in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, and I remember farms, and fields, and animals, and greenhouses, and grass, and trees, and space. In the late fifties and early sixties, there were no apartment complexes, and no filled streets of cars. The boom of malls, housing development, apartment buildings, and more, created traffic and fewer farms. 

      In the late eighties, I moved from Delaware County to western Chester County. In the early stages of my time there, there was no Walmart and no light pollution. We could see the stars in the sky as if we could reach out and touch them; they were that brilliant. We could see the fields beyond the street we lived on with a million fireflies lighting. It was June, but it was like gazing at blinking clusters of Christmas lights. It was quiet, spacious, and calm.

      Now my daughter has a house on this street. Can you hear me think? Heaven help me! 

      WAIT! WOW! When I looked beyond the stop sign and the cross streets, I could see the skyline of center city!

2

     I've talked about the photo of My Space; the one that was in my childhood home in the seventies. It had all I needed and wanted. Situated in the corner of the room was a corner desk. 

   

Aww! When we took the tour of the house, there, in the basement in Her Space, was the corner desk made by my Dad so many years ago. I've seen it over the years, but this time it made me feel a sense of sentiment and promise.

3

      When we saw the house for the first time, I was attracted to the wrought iron railings. I said to my daughter, "I want to go to your house and paint the railings!" 

       "Why don't you come for a few days." I rattled off a few things I could help with: like chipping paint off mirror glass in the living room that a painter carelessly messed up, or hanging pictures and a bedroom set mirror; and any other odd and end I could think of.

      Before I knew it, I was shuttled by my wife to South Philly. I brought my tools, Rust-Oleum gloss-black paint from Home Depot, my brushes, and some cleaning products like soap pads from the Family Dollar. It's a standing joke at my home, and many other homes, I imagine, that soap pads are tampons and in French the word for tampons is pads. So, when my daughter asks for a soap pad, I bring a tampon. There should be no mix-up.

      There is no heavy labor involved in the chores in the house, and I rested appropriately. The corner hardware store was a block and a half away whenever I needed it. I have not seen one of those in years. Instantly, the hardware fragrances, the expertise, and the attention to me came to the foreground. I miss those days. I miss the walk to any corner store.

4

     

After the painting of the outside and inside wrought iron railings, and some other odds and ends were finished, I decided to go outside into the backyard and check out a broken door on a hard plastic portable closet. "I might be able to jury rig that door," I confidently proclaimed to no one. 

      I decided to get my tools from the house. I went to the door and tried to open it, and it was locked. I had no key. My pretty girl was at work. My phone was in the house. When we had seen the house the week before, my wife had opened the door to the back alley, and some kind of critter moved. That was the last time we saw the opened door. This time, there was a padlock securing the door. I didn't have the key for that one either. 

     The last time I saw the backyard, I didn't see the chicken wire above the cinder block wall. I would have been climbing and braving the critters to get to the street at the end of the alley if it wasn't for the obstacles.

      It was a hot, humid day with temperatures in the nineties, and I was stuck! The neighboring houses were closed up to keep the heat out and the air conditioned air in. There was no window or door to knock on. I stood and said to the One who hears the pleas, "Please get me out of this one..." I looked around for at least twenty-five minutes for somebody to come outside. The first minutes were bearable, but Mother Nature delivered an outside pressure cooker to the backyard. I asked again for emphasis, "Please get me out of this one..."

      ...and there she was! She had come outside in her backyard. Her home was about four or so houses down. I had seen her before when she passed by the house on one of her errands, and there she was again. I said, "Hello!"

      "Hello!" she said as she proceeded to walk to her door.

      "I'm stuck outside!"

      "What can I do?" She was kind, just like all the neighbors in that street, and she wanted to help.

     Absentminded me - with a locked door, a locked gate, no keys, no phone, no daughter at home, and no way out - got my answer to my plea. "Can you go to the house and open the front door, and go to kitchen and unlock the back door!" 

      "Okay!" In no time the back door was open. I thanked her profusely in my slow deliberate way, and I was so relieved and excited to get into the air conditioning! We introduced ourselves. She is Miss Pat. Everyone calls her Miss Pat! "How did you do this?" she laughed.

    "I DON'T KNOW, but you were the answer to my prayer!" 

    When she left, I raided the fridge and found some leftover chocolate pudding pie from a gathering at my pretty girl's work. I cut the biggest piece of pie and ate it. The dilemma of trying the door of the closet outside or napping was a no-brainer.

    We saw each other outside the next morning. She said, "Good morning Joe!"

       "Good morning Miss Pat!"

       "I hope you're having a better day today, baby."

     "Yes I am! Thanks again!" We exchanged good days. I have a new friend. 

5

      

      One of my favorite things about my stay-cation in my daughter's home was that first cup of morning coffee. There was no coffee in the house and no coffee maker yet, so I walked to 15th and Snyder every day and got my coffee at the Melrose Diner. 

      The last time I could remember going there was in 1967, after my dear late sister's graduation from high school. When I saw the inside of the diner, I could see the family from my past gathered around the table. The layout was the same as it was nearly fifty years ago. More memories of sentiment at the changes in life, and the promise that some things have never changed, gave me a peaceful feeling.  

      Every morning, I said good morning to the skyline. I never really appreciated the city view in a car, but I loved my walk and the spectacle. One morning, the sky had a hazy fog that helped fade the top of the skyscrapers. Magnificent!

      On one of the evenings, I was treated to a dinner with my young kin members at the Melrose. I think I've seen too much food on Facebook. Some folks just whip out their phone and snap a picture of their food and post it. Disgusting!

      WAIT! LOOK! I haven't tasted a cheese steak sandwich with a Philly roll in years. Delicious! SNAP! POST!

      There is nothing like it, and those Melrose fries were crisp!    

6

     Each day, I could hear church bells. I knew that St. Monica was nearby, so during one of my walks I found it just a few blocks from the corner of 'our' street...and I saw a tree! The church was beautiful and the bells were calming on this scorching day.

     On the last day of my stay-cation, my honey and my pretty girl and I went to dinner on Broad Street. On the front of the restaurant hanged a sign with the words Pesto Ristorante Italiano. The name Pesto was in bold red letters, just like Italian gravy. Like the Melrose Diner, the Italian restaurant was to die for. On the sidewalk near the street hanged an Italian flag on a streetlamp pole. I looked down the street, and there, between the Italian flag and the restaurant's sign, was another tree! In the distance, I could see the city skyline below the flag. It was a pretty picture. I love trees. I love the skyline in the distance. My favorite food to order in an Italian restaurant is gnocchi, those puffs of cheese or potato smothered in marinara. I wasn't disappointed!

      It was time to go home...my home. Saying goodbye for now is always melancholy. I think I really enjoyed myself. The ride home was uneventful, except for the majestic skyline from the Expressway! This time I liked it. I stared at it and thought, Heaven help me, I've got to do this again! I hope that this experience is the first of many stay-cations in South Philly.

Pay It Forward; My Lenten Sacrifice

Well look at me now...and look at You-know-who, too! We're on our way to a healthy life. It wasn't so good for us in 2015. Our household was turned upside down. From October of 2014 on, it was chaos and then recovery. You-know-who got a new knee; then she sprung a leak in the incision; then in January of 2015 I had a big stroke (Yadda-yadda-yadda...); then You-know-who had her second surgery in March of 2015 after the leg was infected, and spacers were inserted instead of a knee; then she needed to be in a short-term nursing home to get the infection out and the therapy in; meanwhile, I couldn't live by myself, so my sister took me in and she and kind and generous family members took me to therapy sessions; then we had our Easter dinner (a la my daughter) at the nursing home; then You-know-who was allowed to go home and get stronger; then in May of 2015, the third surgery on the same leg revealed that the infection was gone and new spacers were put in, and she was ready for a new knee; finally in June of  2015, the fourth and final surgery was done and the new knee was in. (Eureka!)

Writing? I can't lie. I haven't written a word in six months - most of 2016. I used every trick in the book for making excuses. I had the biggest writing block ever. Writing is slow for me. I have things to do, and I can't fit in everything I want to do. I get tired, etc. They are excuses, and they are legitimate, but I want to fill the gap during the dormant time so I can go back to what I love to do...After the excuses.

I have been blessed. I would estimate that I have recovered about 85 percent from my illness. I have an abundance of stamina and a wealth of information and wisdom in my little injured brain. Words have trouble travelling from the brain to my mouth, but if I search I can find them. We've been helped by doctors and nurses, therapists, family, friends, work friends, church friends...the list goes on. (Yadda-yadda-yadda...)

So, we must pay it forward and sacrifice. I'm not a good Catholic. I'm not good at sacrificing. I've not practiced this thing called Lenten sacrifice.

This year, someone we'll call you-know-who-in-law, fell on unfortunate times. First, she had a sick cat, and she used her own money to care for it with medicines and love. Then, the blizzard of 2016 struck. Soon, she needed to get hygiene supplies from her car at midnight in the dark in the cold and in her underwear. She fell and broke her leg and ankle. She was transported by ambulance to the hospital. Surgery followed. The surgery was done, and a rehab facility stay was necessary. Then, you-know-who let the forces know that you-know-who-in-law would be released to MY house to recover. She would not be able to walk for weeks, and a bed would be set up in MY family room that overlooks MY kitchen. Then, the cat died. On February 10th, 2016, you-know-who-in-law came to MY home to recover.

So, the family room had a bed with You-know-how-in-law in it. There were medications; supplies; a wheelchair; a walker; her snacks; WIFI; and, of course, a phone...and on weekends, her 8 year-old son came to stay. I learned a lot during this period of time, and necessity has changed me for the better.

I sacrificed my quiet time, and I re-learned tuning out noise. Countless children played, fought, screamed, cried, and one-upped each other in my family room from the late 1980's through the 2000's. In 2016, I first listened, then tuned out countless phone conversations about the cat, the injury, and her life with who ever she talked to. As I recovered from my illness, my stamina grew, and the hours worked at my job grew. Coincidentally, it was around the time that You-know-who-in-law was staying at my home that I was able to stay at work for the whole school day.  It's a comfort that she has many friends and contacts, and is loved. I am blessed that the children have grown well, and You-know-who-in-law is stronger.

I sacrificed my favorite bathroom to her. Several years ago we updated our kitchen and powder room, and it has one of those new toilets with a button with three dots for number one, and an another with nine dots for number two. It saves water, and Cheap Me could push my own buttons anytime. I have known You-know-who-in-law  for more than three decades, and I know she has always spent time in the bathroom. She has painful hemorrhoids, and Preparation H should be the anecdote, but it has something in it that makes her uncomfortable. So, she sent me to Walmart to buy some generic lube. I didn't know what she was talking about, so she explained what lube was. 

She said, "You know, like K-Y." I thought maybe it was something made in Kentucky; or maybe it was loosely named after a television show called Kyle XY. Or maybe, the show was named after the product. I didn't know; but now I got it, and I went to get it. I didn't know how do buy it. Should I have been carrying it in my hand through the store. Should I have been clenching it in my grip so nobody would see? Or, should I have been proud, flaunting it and depositing it onto the register conveyor with a smile? I said nothing, nobody else said anything, and there were no guffaws. You-know-who-in-law was more comfortable. I sacrificed my bathroom, my dignity, and gained strength and guts.

I sacrificed my slow progress of getting back into driving for longer trips. You-know-who-in-law's surgeon was forty-five minutes away, and there were no highways, thank God! My record post-stroke for driving was twenty to twenty-five minutes. It was a Monday, President's Day, and I was off from work. I thought I'd take her there and back in three hours. But no, there were crowds of patients in the waiting room. Then there was paperwork. Then there were X-rays. Then there was the visit with the surgeon. I was the keeper of the wheelchair...from the trunk to the pavement, and from the pavement to the trunk. Did I forget to mention that our nephew was with me during the angst filled journey? Did I forget to mention that it was snowing...hard? Did I forget to mention that I do not like snow? What was supposed to be a three hour excursion wound up being five and a half.

There were more trips to the surgeon during You-know-who-in-law's stay. There were no more trips with snow. I became stronger and more confident as a 'new' driver, but I will never get over my loathing of snow and cars together. I've returned to being a curmudgeon! The surgeon was a funny man, and picked on her about her situation, and how she got hurt.  The last visit to the surgeon gave us the news that she would be able to go home. He said, "Leave these people alone!" Then, he turned to me and said, "I expect flowers and Flyers tickets!" We laughed. We were relieved and happy. You-know-who-in-law and I left the office and entered the elevator whose walls were covered in mirrors. I looked at myself in the mirror and did the happy dance...spontaneously and excitedly. We laughed again.

I am still not a good Catholic, and I still don't know about mandated sacrifice, but You-know-who and I have paid it forward. From February 10th, Ash Wednesday, until March 24th, Holy Thursday, You-know-who-in-law was ours. She has always been ours, and she will always be ours too. She turned 50 while she was with us, and some of her oldest and dearest friends came to surprise her at our home. They love her, and she is theirs too! She was cared for, and we were the caregivers, like it or not. We checked that You-know-who-in-law was medicated, fed, watered, and nurtured. We love her even more than ever - like one of our kids, and if that isn't a Lenten sacrifice, I don't know what is!

~Dedicated to You-know-who-in-law, with love...

The Anniversary

I know...
You have heard enough about the medical term, stroke. You have indulged me. You have listened to my story. I have shared. I didn't ask for anything. I got a curve ball. You caught it! I have been helped. You have used the information from my journey to help yourselves, those you service, those you love, and me.

Now it is a year later. I am different. I am the same. Things that affect a person's curve ball can lead to adaptation, strategy, and accommodation. Indulge me in the next couple of blogs, one more time, to tell you about the state of me - a year later.

The first blog will be about the new challenges that can arise on an ordinary, as Judith Viorst writes, "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" in the life of an aging curmudgeon, and as a result of that day a year ago. Now I have had my own specialist - my neurologist!

I made the January 20th appointment at the neurologist's office. A few weeks later, the phone rang and I checked the Caller ID. It said 'Number Unavailable', and I never answer unknown calls. After a moment, I saw that a message was indicated on my voicemail. I listened to it. The woman said that the doctor couldn't see me on the appointment date. She asked me to please call to reschedule, and she recited the phone number.

As I see it, most neurology patients can not comprehend a lightning fast series of numbers like a 10-digit phone number. Luckily, I could comprehend the contents of the message, but my brain couldn't think and write that quickly. It's an adjustment, and the strategy is there. First try of listening and writing: two numbers. Second try: two more. Third try: three more. You get the gist. After six or seven tries, I had a complete phone number on my paper, and I was on my way to a new appointment

on January 26th. Like all happenings in life - like a new marriage, a new baby, a new house - recovery from illness means adjustment and strategy.

The day of neurology arrived . My son John, works in Philadelphia near where I needed to go. He guided me as we trekked to the 5:54 AM train. I had the cash to pay the conductor, but he didn't have enough change, so he told me to buy the ticket at the station when I get off the train. It sounded good to me, so John and I went to the ticket office. The ticket seller checked my driver's license, and said she charged me the senior rate...no questions asked...and thanked me for paying for the ticket! It was a good day, and I was an honest, cheap, happy curmudgeon...until...!

Anyway, John got me situated in a Starbucks, and he left for work. My daughter Karen, who lives in Philadelphia, wanted to go to the appointment with me, and a snow day for her made it convenient for us all to have her there. I told her that I was in Starbucks near the Hospital. How was I to know that there were more than one Starbucks near the Hospital? She was looking for me, and I was safe...in a different Starbucks near the Hospital. I finally told her the intersection of my Starbucks, and she told me to walk and she would find me. I was calm. I enjoyed my electronic device with WIFI. I enjoyed my coffee. Everything was fine...until...!

Karen and I arrived at the neurology offices and I used one of those things where I typed my name to check in. Of course, she asked if I needed help to type my name. Expressions say more than words,

and the look on my face said it all! I thought, Really? I'm not that gone, girl!

  

When I was called to the reception desk, and we were doing the question and answer part of getting me to see the doctor, it was realized that they cancelled the January 20th appointment, but there was no rescheduled appointment. I wrote the date and time down during the phone call from the office, and I read it every day, but there was no appointment on the schedule. There were no patients scheduled for my doctor. Frustration, yes! This is where accommodation kicks in. The office manager was there quickly, and the five hours' angst getting to this point was alleviated. I had a new appointment in a new office with a new attendant! Accommodation, like adjustment and strategy, is the key to moving forward.

Karen took the notes of the hour, and I would like to share some of the facts...in another blog. Blogging is tiring and takes time, but I still love it. I am comfortable with missing a couple of errors or typos. And...I am slowly getting to a place where I can type as fast as the words come out. I don't know when or if it will be like before, but it will be! 

I can tell you that my blood pressure was high at the beginning of the hour. I can tell you that this world is too fast paced. This world can provoke pressure and emotion. This world is synonymous with stress. Ordinary days are good ones. Most days and happy ones. I am striving to get to a better place. I think I am there some, if not most, of the time. I have the tools and the supplies taught to me - the strategy, the adjustment, and the accommodation - and I can communicate and make it through another "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." By the ending of the hour, my blood pressure was, as the attendant said, perfect!

So, Happy Anniversary to you who have shared this terrible curve ball, and the positivity that went with it!