Or maybe I haven’t coped?
From the time I received the phone call, fell to my knees, and felt the fear set in, there was a feeling of total numbness that came over me. My nightmare began. He was in ICU, on life support, and in a coma. My son had a stroke at 37 yrs. old. How will I deal with this?
I threw things into my overnight bag, I was given a ride to the airport, I sat through a 2 hour layover, and I finally walked into his room — 16 hours later.
He came out of the coma just minutes before I arrived.
His whole body was paralyzed.
He could only move his eyes, he couldn’t swallow, and he could not speak. As our eyes met, a tear rolled down his cheek . I kept my tears inside, as I slowly felt my heart rip apart.
I knew I had to be strong for him. God gave me the strength I needed, though the numbness was still there from the phone call. It was like he placed a shield around me, to help me cope.
For the next ten days I stayed in his hospital room and slept in a chair, while he was hooked up to a feeding tube. I needed him to know that I was there, and not leaving.
I‘d wash up in the bathroom, grab food from the cafeteria, and eat in the waiting area. The nurses always knew where I was.
I prayed — and prayed — and prayed.
It seemed to be the only way I could cope. I was constantly speaking to God. Asking him to bring him through this — trusting him to.
I had to be near him, as he remained on the tube — motionless. Finally, he was able to swallow a bit of clear liquid, and the tube was removed.
Crying became part of coping.
Hope was butchered the 1st day of rehab. The speech therapist did some testing. It involved swallowing. How much? How little? What textures?
He could not speak a word.
My heart sank, as we were told;
He would never speak again.
I tried not to react in a shocked manner, as my son showed total shock, fear, and pain — all at once in his facial expressions.
I looked at him and said, “YES — YOU — WILL”. Being unable to speak, he gave me a look of – you’re in denial, Mom.
And, again I repeated,
“YES — YOU — WILL. You have always liked a challenge, and you now have the biggest challenge of your life. Work it — show them they are wrong. You can do this. Don’t give up.”
I felt helpless, scared, and angry.
When alone — all I did was cry.
I guess I wasn’t coping. But then again, crying had to be released in order to take hold of the coping — to accept what was happening — and to give 110% focus to my son.
My heart was split in two, and the pain was unbearable.
And now, we were told he would never walk again.
COPE? I didn’t want to cope . . . I wanted to Scream!
On top of it all, they wouldn’t let me stay overnight in the rehab department.
They closed up at 8:00 pm and everybody was kicked out — as though they were a Dollar Store, a grocery store, or a K-Marts. Heck, they didn’t even close that early.
The screaming inside me was building up — but I had to cope.
I found myself some food n’ wine – two minutes from his house.
I was coping now. A glass of wine with dinner each night for the next 1.5 months. It helped me relax and sleep.
I’m not telling you to go out and get drunk. That’s not what I did. Just one or two drinks relaxed me.
If it relaxes you — then do it (unless for health reasons you shouldn’t). However, don’t over do it. You’re already facing a terrible dilemma — you don’t need to add to it.
Along with the meal and wine, I had my cell phone which rang off the hook. I ate, drank, and repeated the days events as the calls came in and out.
When I arrived at the house, the phone was shut off. I needed some quiet time to myself. I needed to get my head straight, if that was at all possible at this point.
What I did was write in my journal or watch a movie. I was relaxed, and it didn’t take much time before I would doze off.
Before I knew it, morning broke and I was back at the hospital again when the doors opened at 8:00 a.m.
Now, onto another day of coping with the recurrent 12 hours of speechlessness and life-changing body mechanics.
While dealing with the horrendous devastation, the agony, and the havoc of this nightmarish turning point, total misery kept engulfing me.
Sitting in the hospital day after day, I had to find something to do, in order to cope and not go crazy. I couldn’t concentrate on reading, I couldn’t sit idle, and I couldn’t just pace back n’ forth.
Earlier on, I was given a list of half a dozen nursing homes by the hospital social worker. I spent one morning checking them out, while my son attended his rehab sessions (I wasn’t allowed to go to them).
On this specific morning, I did not come close to coping. I went to all of them on the list, and left each of them with my eyes just gushing with tears.
He was only 37 yrs. old. He did not belong in one of these facilities. I would do whatever it took, to keep him out of these institutions.
I was told — I had to have a place for him to be discharged to, which would be 90 days after his admittance , with care provided. I told them, “He is not going to a nursing home, he will be discharged to me, and I will be the care provider”.
I wondered how many stroke survivors were in nursing homes, because they had no place to go when discharged after their stroke.
I knew keeping my mind active was key to my coping, while sitting in the hospital everyday.
I needed to occupy my time so I could remain functional.
I started journals . . . all kinds of journals . . . one for moving, one for healthy eating, one for the needs of stroke survivors, and one for everything else that came to mind.
I had to stay engaged with something I felt was future productive. I focused, my mind stayed active, and I was being effective.
The 1st year of discharge, and the daily hell of it all.
We had no warning about what was to come.
We were wished good luck upon his discharge.
He was returning home paralyzed on his right side, unable to speak, read, or write, partial memory loss, vision sensitivity, migraine headaches, and with a high possibility of seizures setting in.
It wasn’t instilled in him that, his old life was gone forever.
When he arrived home from discharge — the light bulb came on.
Reality started to set in.
Acceptance was unperceived, living was ignored, and a downward spiral was engaged.
He descended into a deep depression of not caring and wanting to die.
I didn’t have time to think about how to cope.
I was too busy making sure I didn’t overdose him — or underdose him.
I was too busy helping him up, when he fell. Half his body was dead weight and he could only help with his left hand, as his paralyzed right side would just pull the other way.
I was too busy trying to make, and keep all the doctor appointments straight — when? — why? — where? — who?
I was trying to stay positive to keep him from sliding into a dark hole — which I could see he was headed for.
I had to watch him relearn using his left hand, when he was naturally right handed as he would drop food, drinks, and all else.
I’d watch, as it took him 20 minutes to put on a shoe.
I sat with him — consuming patience I never knew I had — while he proceeded to let me know he wanted an apple, or a drink, or a certain shirt.
I needed to find an outlet for myself, so I didn’t end up in a nuthouse. It was time. I needed something to help cope with our new life.
For me, the escape hatch was writing. It was something I could do while being homebound.
It was something I’ve always loved doing.
It took some stress away. It calmed me. It empowered me.
I turned a negative into a positive, and coped with my situation.
Doing something for yourself is the answer, in order to carry on.
Getting through the day to day heartache, chaos, and unknown of it all, is the goal. Don’t look down the road at next week, next month, or next year.
Don’t even look at tomorrow.
It’s a waste of time, you’ll sit idle, and you’re probably not a psychic.
Take one day at a time.
Do something for yourself.
Don’t allow yourself to get overwhelmed with it all. Focus on the moment, and then go to the next — and focus on that. Put your focus on something that you want to do. Do something tangible — something visible.
Work a hobby — read — do some gardening.
Find something you enjoy, something you’ve always wanted to do, but didn’t have the time.
If you only have a few minutes, you can still do something for you.
Grab your camera and go outside. Snap a photo of a bird in a tree, a child skateboarding by, or a flower that just bloomed.
Plant a vegetable garden. It has great double benefits. The therapy alone can do wonders for you — and don’t forget the healthy salad plates, as you and others savor the moment.
Grab a cup of coffee, a novel that you’ve never had time to read before, and kick back in your favorite spot. Picture yourself wallowing in the moment.
Be good to yourself, slow down a little, and smell the roses.
NOT SURE 