The boat drove in a long sweeping circle taking Althea far out to sea and then back towards land. Her arms and legs danced with joy and she waved at me several times from her position towed behind the boat. Making a second circle, they drove away from me heading due south down the coast, and soon it was time to return. Spinning the small outboard motor at the rear of the boat, the captain headed back up the beach to where I patiently waited.
Suddenly, something went wrong—very wrong. Althea’s parachute no longer leisurely trailed behind the boat but rather rose sharply straight up into the sky. The gusty west winds gusted overfilled the parachute’s bright fabric, and lifted the helpless boat out of the water. The rope, taught between her harness and the boat, looked like an over tightened string of a guitar ready to snap.
Far below, the crewman argued with the captain and using a knife he started to cut the rope that tied Althea to the floundering boat. The captain grabbed the arm of the crewman stopping him from setting Althea free. As two yelled at each other in Spanish, I dashed down the beach to see what was going on. The captain took charge of the situation and stopped the boat. But a strong updraft wind persisted with Althea now directly overhead of the small craft. The rope still taut placed the boat and crew in peril.
Cupping his hands to his mouth, the captain screamed at Althea as loud as he could, “Pull! Pull hard! Pull with everything you’ve got!”
But Althea was now too high to hear him, caught up in the blustery breeze blowing relentlessly in her ears. She was oblivious to this serious situation developing under her dangling feet.
Althea Parasailing
Somehow sensing something was not quite right, Althea instinctively pulled on the rope, her thin arms straining against one especially formidable gust. Tugging with all her might, the soaring parachute did not respond, but then the rope to the boat abruptly slackened and Althea began to descend. Holding the rope steady in her hand, she managed to keep it in position as she moved higher and lower in the persistent Pacific winds.
The captain restarted the boat motor and as she descended he guided her back to land. I ran over to where others gathered noticing Althea’s stressful situation. Joining them at the beach edge, we could only wait for this scene to play out to its completion.
As Althea’s feet finally touched down, I grabbed her harness, and others collapsed the parachute behind her. The captain maneuvered his boat back to shore and other tourists eagerly waved money in his face wanting to savor a similar experience.
“No…no. I am closed for today,” he responded to these crazy, thrill-seeking people. “It is much too dangerous to do this anymore.”
The crewman unsnapped the harness and Althea stepped out holding on to her sore shoulder. Reaching her arms around my neck she said with sheer bliss on her face, “Now that was exciting! I could see for miles into the dense green jungle.”
“Did you know you were in trouble and they were about to cut your rope loose?”
“I knew something was going on but I was enjoying the fantastic view and I didn’t pay much attention. But I remembered I had to pull down on the rope to descend. When we went around a second time, something inside of me told me to look at the boat, and I realized they were struggling to get me down. So when the boat stopped, I did as the captain told me earlier and pulled down with all my might. It was hard and the wind was so strong; I hurt my shoulder but I kept pulling anyway. I heard his words repeating over and over in my head as if he were talking directly to me. The captain made me believe I could do it…and I did.”
Arising early to complete some work for my job, I left for the hospital from our Brooksville home quite late today. With my focus on getting my prized parking place, I pulled into it at about two o’clock and walked into Althea’s room. Althea was crying when she saw me and reached out her arms for me.
Tearfully, she explained, “Something is wrong with my arm.” She extended her arm pointing to the dime-sized bruise just below the elbow. “They said I had a blood clot and it could go into my lungs if it did not dissolve.”
Just then, Dr. DeWeese came into the room and immediately assessed the situation. Seeing Althea in tears, he grabbed her arm from me and carefully examined the bruise feeling the skin around the mark. “It looks like they are having problems finding a good vein for your I.V. That’s why they moved it to the back of your hand.”
“Someone told her that this bruising was serious and scared her,” I explained.
“Yes, there is need for concern. But these clots can appear in cases like hers and with a little extra care, most are managed without incident.” Scanning her head for its progress, Dr. DeWeese smiled at Althea and continued, “A little ice and some time and she should be fine.” And with twist of his head and a gentle wink, he walked over to the nurse’s desk.
Althea trusted Dr. DeWeese completely and her anxiety faded instantly from her face.
Soon, another nurse came in with a small ice pack and wrapped it around the bruised sight. “We’ll watch this closely to make sure that all is well. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
After the nurse left, I asked Althea, “Do you want me to do some Reiki on your arm?”
“Oh yes. Absolutely! That will work.”
Reiki, called hands on healing by some, is an eastern healing modality for which both Althea and I attended formal training. Althea achieved her Level III Reiki status and I achieved a Level II. Grasping her arm in my right hand over the ice bag, I began the simple treatment and said appropriate prayers to the Creator for her curing.
Reiki to the therapist feels like water flowing down their arms to the one being treated. To the recipients, Reiki is described like feeling heat, cold, or a tingling energy flowing through their body. Regardless of what the therapist or the recipient feels, Reiki is a metaphysical form of healing that can achieve remarkable results. After only thirty minutes, I removed the ice from her arm to examine the site and the bruise had shrunk to about half of its original size.
“There. You see, all is well. Between the ice and the Reiki, the clot is almost completely dissolved.”
Althea marveled at the spot whose bluish color and size both were significantly reduced. She rewrapped the ice, looked up at me with tender eyes, and said, “You have miraculous hands. Your Reiki is wonderful. Thank you. This feels a lot better.”
One cursory catastrophic comment by an insensitive phlebotomist turned Althea’s hopes completely around. In an instant she went into an emotional meltdown; a total tailspin. Words are powerful and although unintentional at times, their impact on people can be quite profound. In cases such as Althea’s where her capacity is diminished, she was highly susceptible to such suggestions. Conscious word choice by all involved is absolutely essential to maintain her positive attitude and hope for her personal recovery. Turning cavalier comments around can take far more time to “undo” than it did to “do.” Fortunately, Althea’s positive attitude helped her recover.
Compounding this incident was another. Althea spent all morning alone not recalling I would arrive late today. Even though my presence irritated her at times, making her feel smothered to some degree; once I was gone she found she missed me, terribly. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be late,” she sobbed through tearful eyes.
Instead of focusing on me being right and her wrong, I reassured her, “From now on, I will make sure you know when I am coming back. You were asleep when I left last night and instead of waking you, I just left.”
It mattered more for her to hear this than for my ego to be stroked. Although I did tell her the evening before I would be late today, it was far more important for me to demonstrate unconditional love than it was for me to “win.”
We spent the remainder of the afternoon in our rituals of stretching, bathing, reading, and talking. Later that evening, Althea had another unexpected surprise. The respiratory physician came in and removed her trachea tube showing her how to talk normally again by placing her hand over the opening i
n her throat. She was thrilled to be able to talk normally and practiced talking in short bursts forgetting every now and then to put her hand up to her throat.
“I can talk. Just like before! I can talk.”
Getting out of bed and moving to her chair, she sat up a while listening to me read. Her right leg is stronger and she stands by herself longer than before. Turning around unassisted, she plopped down into the chair. Once settled, she casually reached up and scratched the top of her head with her left hand.
“Look at what you just did!” I exclaimed.
“What?” she replied unaware of her achievement.
“You reached up and scratched your head. Yesterday, the best you could manage was to touch the top of your lips. Your left arm is moving much further. You are getting better and doing so quickly!”
I was so happy; I leaned over her chair and hugged her in joy. She held me tight as if I was about to leave. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said reassuringly.
She gathered the strength to call three friends and chat at length with them about her condition. Doing this raised her spirits and at the same time tired her out.
“You look sleepy.”
“I don’t want to go to sleep.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m afraid that when I wake up, you will be gone like you were yesterday.”
This response hit me like a ton of bricks and pulled strongly on my heart strings. I clearly see now why she was crying as I entered her room this morning. She didn’t know where I was and was worried about me. She didn’t remember I told her last night I would be late arriving today. Her memory is affected by her stroke, I thought to myself. I must be more aware of this. I must be more sensitive to her condition.
“Althea, I will tell you when I am going to be late. I will even wake you up if you are asleep and explain this to you. I want you to know where I am and that I am safe.”
“I seem to have problems remembering some things. It comes and goes.”
“We’ll work on this,” I said in a calming voice.
Being reassured and completely exhausted, Althea finally took a nap. While she slept, I made some more tobacco ties. Patience and caring is what I must pray for now. Purple is a good color for this.
A knock at the door revealed a new therapist, a middle aged woman appeared wearing casual business clothes. Her curly brown hair hid the frames of her glasses as they disappeared behind her ears. “Hello. I am Judith from Social Services. The person who was working your wife’s case had a death in the family…her husband died unexpectedly and there will be a delay in finding long term care for your wife.”
Althea awoke with the knock and heard everything Judith said. “How much of a delay?” she said holding her hand to her throat.
“This of course will put a huge burden on our small department. Another of our staff is out of the country on vacation and we will get to your case as soon as we can. After you leave the hospital, we want to place you in a facility near where you live. There, you will receive better care than your husband can provide—just for a while until you regain your strength.”
Althea looked dazed hearing these words. I bet she thought she would go home. “What do you mean? She is not to go home when released?” I said somewhat confused.
“We have found that placing a loved one back in the home puts a huge strain on the caregiver during the first few days after leaving the hospital. There is so much that must be done and so many special considerations to make in caring for someone recovering from a stroke. It would be better for both of you if she got professional help at this time and her recovery will most likely quicken as a result.”
I could see in Althea’s face this was as much of a surprise to her as it was to me. I had not thought out what would happen next until now. I understood intellectually that professional help would be good, but emotionally I was torn with this decision as was Althea.
“What would it take for me to bring Althea home with me instead of going to such a facility?”
“We highly recommend against that decision. There is a high risk of reinjuring her head if she were to fall. She would end up right back here in surgery again.”
“Maybe we should look into this,” I said from a fearful perspective. If she fell and hurt herself I don’t know if I could live with that.
With that, Judith set her task at hand. “This will take a while being short handed. Can we meet tomorrow morning, say at seven thirty here in her room to discuss this further?”
“Of course. We’ll be here,” I said thinking of the logistics in making it here at that early of an hour.
“Good. I’ll see you then.” And with that, Judith left.
“Maybe it’s for the best that you go into one of these nearby facilities—just for a while,” I said to Althea. “I’m not sure I could properly care for you and I know I would feel hugely guilty if anything happened to you under my care at home.”
Althea looked at me with nearly dead eyes but reluctantly shook her head in an affirming manner. “Maybe it would be best,” she said trying to convince herself this was a good idea.
Getting back into bed, Althea got quiet at the thought of not coming home right away. She fussed with her blankets and stared at the wall. She really did not want to do this but was trying to convince herself it would be for her highest good.
We talked for a while about this decision and soon I too got tired. I need some sleep. Staying at John and Kimberly’s cut off a lot of my commuting time but the quality of my sleep at their home wasn’t as good as it was at ours. Already tired, I considered leaving early. “Althea, I’m going to leave you now. This has been a tough day on me and I haven’t had the rest I need.”
She nodded in agreement and we kissed goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning some time after seven A.M. You may not even be awake yet when I arrive.”
Her eyes sparkled at this thought of me being there as she awoke. “Good night,” she said holding her hand up to her throat.
I went downstairs to the public computers and decided to check my email before leaving for John and Kimberly’s house. Flipping through the well wishes from friends and relatives, a new message appeared from Dr. Taub. I read it and dashed back upstairs to Althea’s room.
As I opened the door to her room, I saw that Althea had already gone to sleep. “Althea…wake up honey! I heard from Dr. Taub!”
Althea’s eyes grew wide as she hung on my next words.
“He emailed me while I was here with you today and said a prerequisite for admission to his clinic required you to walk at least twenty five feet either with a walker or on your own.”
Althea’s attitude once again reverted into disappointment. She wanted to believe she could spring from her bed and into Dr Taub’s clinic. But she couldn’t fathom walking that far anytime soon. After all, she struggled just to walk from her bed to the bathroom, a distance of less than ten feet.
In response to her saddened eyes, I interjected, “He did say it sounded like you were progressing remarkably well and you are improving far above average for someone recovering from an acute subdural hematoma.”
Althea was unimpressed by my words. “Remember, only two days ago you were in the ICU connected to feeding tubes and a catheter. Today, you are eating on your own and walking by yourself unaided to the restroom. And after being off of the anti-seizure medication for just a few days, your arms have stopped shaking completely.”
“Yes, I remember now. But I still feel like I am graying out when I stand.”
“This too will pass. Just be patient and give yourself time. Remember, the best physician in the stroke rehabilitation business just said you were doing remarkably well.”
I can only imagine what Althea truly thought behind her sad eyes. I know she wanted things to be different. I know she wanted to come home or go right into Dr. Taub’s clinic. But with this news, both options now dissolved in front of her eyes like sugar in a glass of water.
“Al
thea, this experience of helping you recover from your stroke has changed me. It has made me better human being. For instance, there were times before when I would deliberately not answer the phone, not wanting to interrupt what I was doing. Now, I answer all of my phone calls instead of letting them go to voice mail. I really want to talk with people and share all of my feelings and news with them. I feel like I am becoming more of a human being and less of a human doing. This feels really good.”
Althea cocked her head and looked back at me in amazement. My preoccupation with things typically took priority over what she wanted in our relationship. Hearing me say these words made a huge impact on her. She smiled at me and said, “This journey has changed me too. I see your strength and I often took it for granted. I won’t do that anymore.”
Althea: A Story of Love Page 32
