Althea: A Story of Love

by Philip Rastocny

  After bathing, massaging, and exercising her, I sat down in a chair next to her bed and resumed our regular reading. It only took a few minutes before she grew tired and nodded off to sleep, something I really expected her to do. I continued reading for a while and then remembered it was Sunday. Each Sunday, Althea and I performed special spiritual ceremonies at home since moving so far from Tampa prevented us from regularly attending our church. I set down the book, gathered up the materials for making tobacco ties, and sang songs while I made more ties. Using all of the same prayers and songs we did at home, I brought a Native American Church Service to Althea’s bedside.

  With each prayer I said and each tobacco tie I made, I felt more and more Spirits swarm around us wanting her to heal. I felt the prayers flow down my arm and into the pinches of tobacco as I placed them into the small square cloths. I had not felt such Angelic power nor so spiritually loved since our wedding vows so long ago.

  I placed the ties over Althea’s headboard, put away my things, and sat there for a while just watching her sleep. She looks so peaceful and happy lying there. Her breathing became labored and I knew she would start coughing soon. Reaching over for the suction line, raspy noises gurgled in her trachea tube as I pulled it from behind the bed.

  Coughing is a way of life for Althea much like breathing is for the rest of us. The heavy, chronic secretions in her bronchial tubes combined with her allergic sensitivities plays havoc with her entire respiratory system. Lying down in a hospital bed aggravates this condition and naturally develops all of this phlegm. When she coughs, she does so with extreme force pushing her diaphragm up to assist in expelling the phlegm. As it appears in her trachea tube, I quickly suction it out.

  Late yesterday afternoon, she underwent a procedure that used a special articulating instrument to travel deep down into her lungs removing 750cc of trapped fluids. The nurse proudly pointed out the results in a canister attached to the same suction tube I was using now. Glancing over at its level, there was almost 800cc of fluids. This technology is aiding her to recover quickly.

  Suctioning out the tube momentarily blocks her airway and sends her into brief respiratory distress. As I suctioned out the tube, she woke herself up coughing. When she got her breath back, I asked her, “Althea. Would you like to talk to your family?”

  She eyes lit up, she nodded back at me, and smiled.

  After calling her dad and step mother, we talked with her sister Shannon and she started beaming. Shannon and Althea were always close and would often talk on the phone while watching television programs together. During a commercial, it wasn’t unusual for the phone to ring, and these two close friends to discuss what had just happened in the story. Now it’s no different. Althea was just as excited to hear her voice.

  Wrapping up the conversation, Shannon wanted to speak with me so Althea handed me the phone. “Phil, I want you to do something for me. I have an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “You know how much Althea loves Cheetos, right?”

  “Yes…”

  “Well, I want you to make a tree for me with a bunch of bags of Cheetos hanging from it. I know this will cheer her up and at the same time give her something she enjoys. She will appreciate this much more than flowers.”

  “Shannon, you’re brilliant! This is a great idea. I’ll do it today!”

  It’s true. Althea and Shannon both have a soft spot in their stomachs for Cheetos. Althea has put Cheetos on eggs, dunked them in coffee, and of course eaten them by themselves. But a tree full of them would be enchanting.

  After the calls, I went downstairs to get another cup of coffee and thought about the construction of this particular tree. I could see it in my mind’s eye already resting prominently on the table next to her bed.

  As I came back up to her room, I saw Dr. DeWeese next the nurse’s desk. “Hello doctor. Have you seen Althea today?”

  “Yes I have. I went over her chart and she is doing so well I am moving her out of ICU tomorrow. She will be in a room on this same floor just around the corner.”

  “That’s great news, doctor!” I eagerly replied.

  “People with Althea’s condition normally take much longer to get to her level of recovery. She is progressing remarkably well and I am going to start her on solid food.”

  I returned with the coffee and the good news. “Althea, you are moving tomorrow out of ICU. You have gotten better to the point you no longer need this special care. You are out of danger now.”

  She understood she was moving rooms, but had a puzzled look on her face.

  “You are also going to get a real meal.”

  Althea seemed pleased as she smiled back at me. I can only imagine what her stomach must feel like now that she is recovering so well.

  Concerned about her puzzled expression, I inquired once again trying to understand how much she remembered from day to day and how much she forgot, “Althea, do you remember what happened to you?”

  She shook her head and mouthed, “No.”

  Getting her memory back may take a while. “You had a kind of stroke called a subdural hematoma. You were taken by ambulance to a hospital in Tampa where they did surgery on your head and that’s why you are here now.”

  Looking even more puzzled than before I began, Althea felt her head with her right hand.

  “Yes. That is where they opened up your skull to fix the problem.”

  She looked at me with sad eyes and an expression of shock on her face.

  “You’re fine now. Everything is going remarkably well. Soon, we will be home together and this will be just a memory.”

  I stayed with her reading again from her book until I started to get hungry. I went down for a late lunch and relaxed again in the courtyard outside of the cafeteria. I called family and friends and told them of the good news about Althea moving out of ICU and starting her on solid food. Everyone was surprised and elated to hear she would be leaving so soon.

  I drove off to a nearby Wal-Mart and wandered through the craft isles thinking about how to make this Cheeto tree from the things they had available. I saw some pussy willows in a jar and then got an idea. Althea loves pussy willows. These plus a vase would make a fine tree on which to hang the Cheetos. I gathered up what I needed, found twelve bags of Cheetos, and drove back to the hospital.

  I took the items out of the car and went to the cafeteria to find a place assemble Shannon’s idea. Arranging the pussy willows inside the vase, I taped each bag onto a branch fanning them out. Topping it off with a sprig of tiny purple flowers in the center of the bags, I stood back admiring this masterpiece. People started gawking at this unusual creation. Some laughed and some just stared, but I was very proud of Shannon for thinking of this.

  Shannon’s Cheeto Tree

  I carefully carried the tree back up to Althea’s room and as I turned the corner I saw her sitting up in a chair. I briskly walked into her room and excitedly said, “Look at you! You’re sitting up!”

  She smiled back at me and I leaned over and kissed her. “Shannon wanted you to have this.” I presented her with the tree and her eyes lit up like a child on her birthday. She reached immediately for a bag and tried to open it. Her left arm shook uncontrollably and she looked at it like it had a mind of its own.

  After struggling for a while I offered, “Let me help you open that.” Althea reluctantly gave me the bag and I opened it just enough for her to finish opening the top by herself.

  She used the fingers on her right hand to tear into the bag and pulled out a few mouth-watering morsels. Raising them to her lips she savored the first taste letting them rest on her tongue before biting down and crunching them in her mouth. She was in heaven.

  “This is great!” she mouthed happily chomping on her treats.

  Now that she can have solid food, it only seems appropriate that her favorite junk food be the first thing to reach her tummy.

  We talked and laughed as I tried to better read her lips. After reading s
ome more from her book, Althea wanted to sit up in the chair again for a while. She sat there so precious in her little blue clothes and I opened up the blinds so she could see outside. As long as her spirits were so high, I wanted to add other aspects to this healing trilogy.

  I spun the chair around from the edge of the bed and helped her into it. Changing her angle of view brought a refreshing perspective to her temporary home. After staring at the doors for over a week, looking in a new direction was almost like taking her to a new room. All of the things normally behind her—the monitors, trays, and equipment—were now in plain sight. She deliberately scanned everything understanding every aspect of her support system. She followed the tubing running from her neck over to the oxygen valve and paused on the digital displays. Until now, these things were always there supporting her, but her focus was elsewhere, unaware of their importance.

  Sun flooded the room as the blinds pitched open, and Althea shaded her eyes with her hand as they adjusted to the intense light. She pointed at the birds flying through the air landing in the tops of the tall trees. The green leaves were gone but the buds of spring were just popping through. Billowy clouds transformed the clear blue sky into a meandering maze. She made sharp whistling sounds with her lips and tongue imitating the songs of the birds tweeting in the treetops. Besides change, this was exactly what her heart needed. She was doing something she loved to do, something we often did on our bench.

  Time passed quickly and the sunlight widened her eyes. Even her right eye could not resist the visual feast that lay in front of her. As any bird darted by, her head spun toward it in response to its movement. Pointing to a patch of open sky, she excitedly whispered, “Blue Heron!” as a mated pair flapping carelessly together on the wind. With broad wing beats and long legs dangling behind, her eyes stayed glued to one of her favorite fowl. Disappearing over the treetops, she turned to me and gave me the thumbs up sign in complete approval.

  Keeping his word, a food tray of solid food clanked through the doorway in response to Dr. DeWeese’s orders. “Time to eat some real food,” the nutritional therapist announced. “I bet you’re hungry!”

  With a sheet over her shoulder to keep her arm warm, we sat quietly together as Althea feasted on her first meal—broiled fish, green beans, mashed potatoes, fruit, and tea. Althea’s mouth watered as she picked up the fork. Holding a piece of the tasty fish in her mouth she savored its flavors and then sampled some beans. She was understandably elated.

  But almost as soon as she had begun, another nurse came in and took away the tray. “We can’t give you this until respiratory therapy confirms your swallowing ability.”

  Althea was heartbroken as she watched her tray disappear out the door. Her eyes gawked in disbelief. The tray was gone and she had only savored a few small bites. It was cruel. Disappointed, I pulled off another bag of Cheetos and handed them to her. She sucked them down and gave me an unprompted thumbs up! If she couldn’t have solid food, at least she could enjoy something that made her happy.

  After another hour or so, Althea got tired and went back to bed. I massaged her, stretched her, and read to her again. When she fell asleep, I pulled down the railing next to her bed, stretched my arms out along her blanket-wrapped legs, and we slept peacefully together for a few hours. With my head against her arm, this was as close as I could get to sleeping in bed with her. If I missed this feeling this much, I'm sure she did too.

  Waking at about nine o’clock, I decided to join Kimberly and John at their home. The thought of leaving Althea after such a wonderful day together made my heart sink and I longed to return even before I had gone. I just like talking to her and seeing her smile. This is a reward in itself. But now was the perfect time to go after what was truly a banner day.

  Chapter 14 — March 3, 2008 — Day 12

  * * *

  Any experience to Althea is an opportunity to learn and grow, and sometimes her growth involves thrilling encounters. Having grown from a few such encounters, she understands herself well enough to know when to choose “no” and when to choose “go.” To make quality choices, she gets clear and centered, rather than fearful or emotional. To get to this place, Althea detaches herself completely from her situation, stands back, and becomes an observer. She separates facts from opinions to understand both sides of a situation, and point toward reality. But once she removes any investment, bias, or agenda, the truth is more easily revealed.

  Finding the truth in every encounter can be challenging, especially when so many choices present themselves each day. Taking the time to understand every truth may not be required, but critical choices demand the effort and time. One potentially difficult truth came about when deciding on a family physician.

  Living in a remote rural community narrows options in such a selection since there is frequently only one physician. But much like picking a life partner, a certain chemistry and level of trust is essential when choosing Althea’s health care provider. After much thought, she interviewed one particular family physician and discussed his medical philosophy with him. Once determining the truth to their compatibility, Althea and this physician grew their trust for each other in every visit.

  Our family physician proved to be an ally in Althea’s holistic approach to overall patient care. Althea’s prime concern was to employ current wisdom and technologies in appropriate ways to cure people rather than treat superficial symptoms. When addressing her own personal medical care, she consciously and carefully considers which treatments to use and when to use them. She accepts the responsibility for her own healing, turning few decisions over to others.

  Althea understands the importance of preventative treatments, early detection, and diagnostic procedures. With a history of breast cancer in her family, it made sense for Althea to perform routine self examinations supplemented with an occasional mammogram. Although feeling other conditions could precipitate from tightly compressing the breast, she consented to endure this procedure feeling the diagnostic benefits outweighed this torturous technique. In the fall of 1997, after a gut feeling there was something wrong inside her body, one of these mammograms detected something in her right breast that indeed appeared anomalous.

  “Hi Althea. This is doctor’s office. Can you come in for an appointment?” a voice on the other end of the phone said.

  “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The doctor just wants to talk with you about the results of your mammogram. Are you available tomorrow at say two o’clock?”

  “Yes I am. I’ll see you then.”

  The next day we drove down to the doctor’s office in plenty of time for the appointment. Fidgeting nervously, Althea sat on the green vinyl table in the examination room. A nurse came in stuffing an X-ray into the holder on the display and flipped on its lights. Flickering at first, the display revealed an eerie, ghost-like monochromatic image of Althea’s breast in stark detail. Placing a chart in the pocket on the door, the nurse said, “The doctor will be right with you.” The door ominously clicked closed behind her and it became eerily quiet in the room like an uncomfortable pause in a conversation.

  Althea’s attention was attracted by one particular spot on the X-ray. Getting up off of the table, she scrutinized this spot in great detail and her solemn expression told me instantly what she observed was not good news. The color drained from her face.

  The nurse returned and the two looked at the display together. Althea circled one area, drawing a line with her finger and tracing the ribbons that spiraled outwards from her central area of focus. “Look at it a little differently and you’ll see it. It’s horrible.”

  I walked up behind the two of them trying to see for myself what was so evident to Althea.

  The nurse paused looking at the glowing image straining to see what was so obvious to Althea. “I see it,” I finally said. I too saw the menacing shadow embedded deep within, wrapping itself around the tissue like probing tentacles from a menacing octopus.

  “It’s canc
er. I can see the mass,” Althea said matter-of-factly. “It’s really cancer. I see why the doctor is concerned.”

  The nurse left the room and Althea’ face was somber. Her eyes looked down as she thought about the impact of what she just observed. Returning to the examination table, we sat there in silence contemplating what was to come.

  Before long, the doctor arrived and confirmed the mammogram showed a suspect condition. The recommendation was a biopsy as the next stage of diagnosis. He recommended a colleague and we scheduled an appointment with him. Without much more discussion, we left the office.

  The mood while driving back in the car was a cross between a funeral procession and being lost. Althea finally broke her silence and said, “The biopsy will give us certainty as to what this mass really is. It will give me answers and I want to do this.”