Althea: A Story of Love

by Philip Rastocny

  The blue-white light from the nearly full moon sparkled like diamonds off of the snow-ladened trees. Her breath hung in the still, cold air as she walked along the dirt road in awe of this near two-mile-high beauty. The main road framed by ancient blue-spruce and lodgepole-pine trees wound upward to the top of the mountain like a grand green canyon. At its ridge, the main road connected with several others and Christopher Drive dropped steeply down into the valley off to her right. Our home was exactly one more mile by road from here.

  High thin clouds drifted across the star strewn sky as she walked down the remaining mile of dirt road. The earth below now deeply frozen crunched beneath her feet, her footsteps uncertain at times. Sliding and slipping along, she forged a two-rut path through the deepening snow. Pausing in a switchback with an exceptionally expansive view, she listened to the silence marveling at the extreme stillness all around her. With the dusting snow softly falling, she made her way past the row of mailboxes that signaled the entrance to the last quarter mile to our house. As the temperature dropped in the low valley, she picked up her pace anxious to get out of the biting cold.

  The last six hundred feet up our driveway was steeper than any stretch of road she encountered on her walk. Her breathing, now laborious, made her slow down this quickened pace. Finally reaching the front door, she turned before opening it, grasped the rail of our deck, and stared across the valley at the majestic eleven thousand foot mountain peak drinking in deeply these last few moments. Her decision to brave the three mile hike through the bitter cold and dusty snow blessed her with an unbelievable mini-adventure. Feeling accomplished, she walked into the warm house and closed the door leaving this breathtaking beauty behind her, but locked it forever into her memory.

  By five thirty A.M., I was sitting on the porch of Kimberly’s home watching the day unfold. Birds cackled near the tall reeds on the east end of the lake and ducks quacked nearby. Last night, Kimberly’s husband John asked me a great question, “Have you bought doughnuts for the nurses yet?”

  I thought this to be a rather strange question assuming nurses would be more health conscious and naturally resist such junk food temptations. “No, I have not,” I replied.

  “Nurses love food, especially doughnuts. Giving them doughnuts assures they will give even better care to Althea than they do now.”

  This made perfect sense to me, sort of like paying it forward. So today I stopped off at a well known doughnut shop and bought two dozen of my favorite kinds. Balancing them on one arm, I slid the boxes into the passenger seat of my Mini Cooper and headed off through the maze of early commuter headlights. I was too excited to wait until arriving to find out about Althea’s condition, so I called the hospital along the way from my cell phone.

  “Third floor ICU Nurses’ station,” a voice appeared on the other end.

  “Hi. This is Phil, Althea’s husband. How is Althea doing?”

  “Althea is doing very well today. She is mouthing words and very alert and oriented.”

  This was incredible news and precisely the words I hoped to hear. My heart pounded in anticipation of our reunion. She will soon be fully awake and we will be together again. This is such a wonderful change from being with an unconscious or semiconscious person, so much so I could barely contain my excitement. Just two days ago, all I could do was put my thumb into her hand, and yesterday I felt like I graduated. Yesterday, for the first time in over a week, we held hands.

  Her hand felt so warm in mine and I missed that feeling. When I get highly emotional, I do silly things and yesterday—by forcing her eye open to look at the sketch—was no exception. I was giddy, anticipating that today would hold more of the same. Just to see her awake and responsive—especially within this short period of time—made me even more grateful. We will soon sit on her bench, just like in that sketch, and toast some great coffee smiling at each other. With these high hopes, I sped into the parking lot and hurried to the computer room to journal.

  Arriving at about eight o’clock, I felt curious as to what today would bring. When I opened the door to the ICU, I symbolically saw a new door open to her level of recovery. I was ready for this next step. As I confidently strutted around the corner by the Nurses’ station, my eyes strained to see if she was awake. I saw her from afar with her head still tilted to her right with it resting comfortably on a raised pillow. Although asleep, I knew this was temporary and today she would be wide awake, at least some of the time.

  Handing the doughnuts to an anxiously awaiting nurse, I said, “These are for you folks. I just wanted to say ‘Thank You’ for all of the great care you have given to Althea.”

  Writing frantically on a sticky note, the nurse looked at me with grateful eyes and said, “You have no idea how much this small token is appreciated. I’ll make sure everyone gets one, and they know who it’s from.”

  I walked into the room, my eyes glued to her angelic face. Her new head bandage contrasted brightly against her skin in the morning sunlight. Walking around her bed, I repositioned the prayer ties and the piece of sweet grass above her head. Pulling the chair next to her bedrail, I leaned over and reached for her hand. She stirred and started to awake. Still mostly asleep, I whispered to her in our usual greeting to each other, “Good morning Althea. How are you today?” I raised her hand in mine, brought it to my lips, and softly kissed its back. Pulling her hand to my cheek, she peeped open both of her eyes. Smiling broadly and still squinting, she looked directly into mine and then closed them again after our hug. She lay back down and straightened her head all by herself on the pillow.

  This was perfect. Althea’s reaction to my interaction was exactly as we had done time and time before. She was starting to recall things and respond again in familiar ways. All I needed to do now was to encourage her even more, to keep bringing these familiar scenarios to her, to help her feel like nothing had changed. She is still the same person, just temporarily lying in a hospital bed. One day soon, she would be back in her own bed sleeping peacefully with the covers tucked under her chin and I would wake her in the morning with a gentle kiss.

  When she lazily opened her right eye, I mouthed to her that I loved her. She smiled.

  Once Althea became aware of her surroundings, she got a perplexed look on her face. She appeared confused and disoriented trying to make sense of what she saw. She looked at her arms noticing the tubes, wires, and bandages tilting her head and analyzing each one. She was particularly troubled by the oxygen monitor on her left finger. Using her right fingers she traced out the source of the cable, following it up her arm, and back to the monitor. Looking down into her shirt she saw heart monitor wires hooked up to her chest. She grabbed them in a bundle as if she wanted to rip them off, but gently I touched her hand and said, “Althea. These monitor your heartbeat and let the nurses know if you are still alive.” She paused and looked at me as if I stopped her from doing something she really wanted to do. But she finally let them go and continued taking inventory of her new surroundings.

  She took specific issue with the unwieldy breathing tube attached to her tracheotomy pipe. This essential tube kept her lungs humidified. She wanted to take it all off and go home. But once I explained it—and she had satisfied her own curiosity—she seemed alright with everything.

  Then like someone annoyed by a bothersome gadfly, she abruptly grabbed the breathing tube in her right hand and started to pull it and the tracheotomy pipe out of her throat. I quickly reached for her hand and firmly said, “Althea. I know you want to take this out. But it’s saving your life.” She looked up at me, her jaw dropped, and her eyes bugged out. She heard and understood what I said and, for the moment, stopped scrutinizing her surroundings.

  Althea’s affect appeared a bit off. She processed information slowly, almost childlike. It was as if her mind were much younger and inquisitive from what her fifty plus years of experience would suggest. This must be how the stroke affected her, I thought to myself. Her innocent personality, much like a six-year ol
d, marveled at the mysteries all around. I found it intriguing to watch her raise her arm and look at it as if it were for the first time.

  Although Althea’s subdural hematoma was on the left side of her brain, the right side of her body—her eye, leg, arm, and hand—worked just fine. Usually, an injury to one side of the brain affects the control of the opposite side of the body. But Althea’s injury was different. It affected the control of the same side of her body. As a dyslexic, I should have expected no less.

  She grabbed her left fingers with her right and stroked them their full length. I watched in amazement as her face contorted, puzzled by what she was seeing. In trying to make her unresponsive left hand and fingers move, her expression changed from interest to concern, frustration, confusion, and then to love. I believe she encouraged them to respond—visualizing them moving rather than demanding that they do so. This simple change of tactics demonstrated Althea’s resourcefulness and core beliefs and assured me these parts of her personality were unaffected. Only time would tell what other characteristics and traits were impacted by her stroke.

  “Althea, we should start working on a better way to communicate. I want to get some paper and a pencil so you can write me notes and tell me what you need.” Without warning, Althea grabbed my cup of coffee out of my hand and put it to her mouth. She told me exactly what she wanted and didn’t need paper and pencil to do that! I laughed so hard I could hardly stand it. It felt good to see her decisiveness still there.

  Raising the cup to her lips and taking a drink was more of a challenge. Her coordination was a bit off, probably due to her muscles atrophying. After all, she had laid there motionless for over a week and her body was not used to performing even the simplest of routine tasks. The half-full cup wobbled and the coffee started to slosh around inside. I stood back and watched as she tried to drink understanding she still wanted to do everything herself. She finally got the cup to her lips and eventually remembered how to tip it up. This otherwise automatic operation took close to thirty seconds for her to complete. This too will improve, I thought watching her enjoy herself.

  Just as when a young child drinks from a cup the first time and spills most of it onto the floor, Althea did much the same with this cup of coffee. Brown fluid seeped from the edges of her lips and down her cheeks. Feeling the warmth against her skin, she quickly tilted the cup back stopping its flow. Just like a young person’s face lights up when finally grasping a new concept, so did Althea’s face at this moment. She connected one more piece of everyday mechanics. Oh yes, I remember now. This is how I drink from a cup.

  With perfect timing, the therapy coordinator came into the room. She introduced herself to me while Althea was still struggling with her coffee.

  “My name is Diana and I will be working with…” she paused momentarily trying to pronounce Althea’s name and then got it correct the first time, “…with Althea. It looks like she is already taking charge and working out some of the fundamentals right now.” Diana reached over and helped Althea drink her coffee before she managed to drown herself with her good intentions. “How about we put this into a smaller cup so you can drink it more easily?” she inquired.

  Althea nodded and reluctantly let go of the cup. Diana poured some of the coffee into a small medicine cup, took a foam-tipped brush dipping it into the coffee, and placed the brush on her lips. Althea sucked down the coffee with fervor and desire. She sucked down about five or six of these swabs full of coffee and then stopped resting her head back onto the pillow. Althea’s neck was covered with coffee spills but the smile on her face told me she was happy and quite content.

  Leaning in over the bed rails, Diana looked long into Althea’s eyes and said, “Later today, you will go for an MRI to see how your brain is doing. I also want to see how well you speak and how you’re doing breathing through your trachea.”

  Althea stared at Diana as if she were speaking a foreign language, but trusted her to do the right thing. Althea’s face assumed a flat affect as if she were waiting for her mind to catch up to the words she had just heard. And in fact this was so. Soon, she appeared at ease with Diana’s schedule and surrendered to this course of events.

  “We will also start your physical therapy today,” Diana said. Althea’s face turned a bit solemn. I could imagine what she was thinking, something like I suppose they expect me to do all of this exercise stuff. I’ll do what I can, but I know right now I can’t do much.

  I left the room after a few minutes as Althea and Diana began working together. As I departed, Diana drilled her with words and phrases, encouraging her to respond. I saw Althea stimulated by this interaction and I thought it would be best if I were not there during such times allowing her privacy for her process.

  As I left Althea’s room, I glanced again at the lone man in the room next to hers. There were still no visitors and his eyes were closed obviously struggling to survive. I was desensitized to his condition and not as emotional as was my first impression. This seemed odd to me. My repeated exposure somehow softened my reaction to him. I felt less sorry he was alone and more accepting of his own situation. Standing back from a distance, I observed my reactions from a perspective uninvolved in the situation. As Althea would explain it to me, I was no longer observing from my mind or ego, but rather from my spiritual self—that same self one perceives when meditating. Turning my head toward the hallway immediately brought me back into my mind and into performing those necessary mental routines and motor skills required for my body to move. But the thoughts of making this mental connection to my spiritual self lingered as I turned the corner and walked down the hall.

  I walked to the large window overlooking the receiving dock, tapped out some obscure beat on the glass, and waited for Diana to finish. Now that Althea is awake, nebulizer treatments joined her regular schedule.

  I looked out at the bustling activity in the parking lot below. Forklifts filled with pallets of plastic wrapped boxes were scurrying around restocking medical supplies and bringing in food. Trucks moved like ants in a well choreographed parade and people shuffled about moving dollies and making notes on clip boards. It was as if the hospital were alive, like the blood pumping through our veins. Still observing life from my spiritual self, things were a bit surreal. In this state, I felt like I was in touch with whom I really was. I paused gazing at the trees blowing in the breeze and sighed. Everything was perfect.

  After a few minutes, I called all of the family again explaining how awake she was and how her routine was changing. These conversations quickly pulled me back into my mind and so I took one last look at the trucks below and headed back to Althea’s room.

  Diana was gone and Althea was sitting up, eyes scanning her surroundings. As I walked into her room, another nurse came in announcing they were taking her to the MRI. As the nurse disconnected her wires and tubes, I leaned over to Althea and said, “Althea. They are going to take you for an MRI. This will tell them how your brain is doing.” The nurse pushed the doors open to her room and started wheeling her bed down the hall. I joined her, holding her hand until they reached the service elevators. As the doors opened, I kissed her and said, “I’ll be right here. Don’t worry. It won’t be long. I love you.” And with that, I kissed her hand and watched her disappear into the elevator. Things were changing quickly now for Althea and she welcomed them.

  I waited downstairs and walked around to the lobby exercising my stiff joints. When I got back to her room, she already returned from the MRI. Asleep again and resting peacefully, I pulled up the chair, pulled down the railing to her bed, and grasped her right forearm in my hand. Resting my head on the mattress, I closed my eyes and slept. This was the first time we slept together in over a week and her arm in my hand felt especially good.

  Just before lunch, the speech therapist came in and woke us up. “Good morning!” she said. “How is Althea doing?”

  I blinked my eyes and shook my head while yawning, then swallowing and wiping my teeth with my tongue.
“Good morning!” I replied wearily.

  Althea stirred and then she too opened her right eye and yawned quietly, not making a single sound.

  The nurse approached Althea’s left side and grabbed her left hand holding it with both of hers. “Let’s see how well you can talk. Try saying something. Say ‘Hello’ to me.”

  Althea mouthed the word and then mouthed, “I can’t.” Althea’s lips moved and she was indeed forming words, but she was unable to push air through her vocal cords. Something appeared to be obstructing her airway and keeping this from happening.

  “Can you whisper to me?” the nurse asked.

  Althea tried to comply but the same strained response came from her now elongated neck. She was trying to move her throat thinking a different position may help her, but she found no such position. Moving her right hand to her throat, she grabbed it between her fingers and thumb, stroking each side. No words came out but Althea acted like there was no discomfort. Everything was fine.