As Althea’s mortar board glowed in the darkness, a wondrous thing happened. News crews began to flock to her like moths to a flame wanting to interview her even before she received her diploma. This made quite a stir in the ceremony and fortunately, sitting near the back minimized the commotion. Microphones, flashes from cameras, and lights from video tapes all converged on Althea’s chair. This was more than she had hoped for.
With her name finally called out over the public address system, Althea made her way to the stage with the lights on her cap flashing away. As she reached the podium, the engineering class cheered as did others in the audience, myself and our friends included. No one was more proud of Althea’s achievement that night than I, and certainly no one in her class knew or expected such a bold statement to be made.
As Althea stepped down from the stage returning to her seat, still more media people pulled her aside and interviewed her at the back of the hall. With her diploma in hand, she waved at me in delight and I waved back as proud as any husband could be. Her cap was a hit and her ostentatious sunglasses proved to be the crème-de-la-crème of this amazing and memorable evening. She was a star of stage, screen, and my heart.
A Flamboyant Graduation
Staring at the large red digital clock numbers on the darkened ceiling in our bedroom, it reminded me just how early in the morning it was—2:57…2:58…2:59. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was whirring with thoughts of Althea. At three A.M., I decided I could be doing better things than watching the clock tick down the minutes, so I got of bed, took a shower, and got dressed. Standing in front of the mirror brushing my teeth, I looked hopefully into my own eyes and thought, Today, we might come home.
Wandering into the kitchen and heating up some old coffee, I passed the time writing in my journal and listening to the early morning birds chirping just outside the window. Dawn was just breaking with thin bands of deep purple and red clouds on the eastern horizon. Every now and then, brief lightning flashes appeared from the tops of the billowy clouds. It rained last night and the end of this storm was steadily moving northeast.
I took Althea’s car today, a 2007 red Toyota Yaris Sedan. She named her car Galadriel. Althea gives all of our cars names. Galadriel has comfy custom bucket seats that allowed her to travel better than the stiff leather Recaro seats in the Mini. It’s an hour’s drive from the hospital to Brooksville and she hasn’t been in a car for over three weeks. This drive had better be easy on her, and easy for her to get into and out of. I twisted the key, started the engine, turned on the lights, and sped off down the road while focusing on getting my favorite parking spot. This may be the last time I need to do this. I thought hopefully.
I got to the hospital at seven o’clock and yes, I got my favorite parking spot. Including today, this makes it eighteen out of twenty times I got this same parking place (it took a few days for me figure out which spot was my favorite). Of those two times I did not get it, I forgot to focus on getting it beforehand.
There is something to be said about asking the Creator for what you want. The chances of getting this same public parking space eighteen times at one of the busiest hospitals in Tampa are just mathematically impossible for this to have happened by coincidence. No matter what time I showed up, when I set my intention to get this space, I got it. Metaphysics 101.
In this simple parking demonstration, I convinced myself that what some consider hocus pocus or random chance events are not. There is no coincidence involved in such staggering statistics. As with Althea’s continued progress while focusing on what she wanted—using the sketch of the bench to anchor her complete recovery—this too actually happened.
For us, this practice of focusing on what we want while in prayerful meditation is what brings our desires to us. We have numerous other examples of this working in our life but her recovery and my favorite parking spots are the best and longest running examples.
There is a life lesson in this. If you believe the Creator wants to give you what you ask for, the Creator will do this. With these two things I wanted—Althea’s recovery and this parking place—I have received exactly that. In each instance, the probability was strongly against achieving what I desired, but yet they happened. In each case, I received exactly what I focused on. In given the opportunity to understand this life lesson, I felt truly blessed and highly favored by the Creator.
Following the morning routine, I stopped in the coffee shop and ordered two large cups. Making my way up to Althea’s room, I waved the aroma of the fresh hot coffee under her sleeping nose. She responded exactly as I had hoped, yawning and stretching as best she could. “Good morning, darling. How are you today? Did you sleep well?”
Althea’s beautiful hazel eyes peeped out from thin eye slits, smiling at the same time. Yawning and rolling her head around in a circle, she responded, “Good morning. Yes, I slept very well.”
“I need to call the facility you found to see if they can provide in-home assistance. Going to a rehabilitation facility is not possible.”
Althea smiled raising her cup in a toast, “To going home soon.”
Our paper cups touched each other and I imitated a clinking sound as they did. We sipped together and chatted about what might happen today. Just talking about leaving the hospital boosted her spirits.
As we talked I could see her recalling mental pictures of our home—the cuddly blankets on her bed, the colors of our living room, the birds chirping in the garden—and all of these memories brought calmness and joy to her struggling spirit. “I want to go home,” she said.
At about seven thirty, I called the one in-home care facility Althea selected from the list provided by our insurance company. The answer was this: nothing is available for at least two months. This news changed things. The help I had hoped to get was there, just not now. I quickly realized the rest of Althea’s recovery would be my responsibility. I know this may be challenging, but I am the best person to provide ongoing care and home is where she feels the most peace. It would be nice to have her home—actually I really want her home too. This will work out.
After making this call, I went back up to Althea’s room and we slept together until just after ten o’clock. I awoke first from a noise in the hallway. Althea felt my arm leave her side and awoke also.
“You still look tired,” she said pointing to my droopy eyes.
“I was too excited to sleep last night so I’ve been up since three o’clock. I’m tired but energized at the same time.”
Just then, there was a knock at the half-opened door and it swung open. Dr. DeWeese came in scribbling some notes into her chart. “Hello Althea. How is my star patient today?”
“Fine doctor,” she replied barely able to contain her hopeful excitement.
He leaned over and scanned her surgical site parting her hair with his thumbs. “This looks good. You are being discharged today.”
A broad smile came across Althea’s face and she said, “Thank you doctor. I’m ready.”
Dr. DeWeese continued scribbling in her chart and said, “I’m writing some prescriptions for Physical, Occupational, and Speech therapies for the next six weeks. You need to continue making the stellar progress at home that you have here. You’ll need a wheel chair and some other things too, and I’ll write orders for them also.”
Althea looked at me with her mouth wide open. My chin dropped, half in disbelief at what we just heard. The tight lips in her broad grin showed me how happy this announcement had made her. With tearful eyes, shook her head slowly back and forth gazing out the window with joy written all over her face. This is exactly what she had wanted. She was going home today.
Dr. DeWeese walked over to the nurse’s desk explaining Althea’s discharge and handing paperwork to the person behind the counter. Althea looked at me and coughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yay!” she exclaimed raising her arms with clenched fists.
“It won’t be long now,” I said to her holding her hands. “I need to tell everyone abou
t this. I need to make some calls. Let’s call your dad first.”
As I dialed the number and handed the phone to Althea, she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and started talking with her dad. She is far more excited about leaving than I had anticipated.
After the call, a Physical Therapist came into the room wielding a walker. Scooting it next to the bed, she said, “I’m here to show you how to use this. Swing your legs off the bed and dangle your feet. Hold onto the rails of the walker and slide out of bed. The walker will give you something to balance on while you stand up.”
Althea slowly complied deliberately making each move as if in slow motion. Although a bit unsteady, she managed with minor assistance to walk across the room and back to bed.
The therapist continued, “Now, turn around and sit back down onto the edge of the bed. Roll back and swing your legs up at the same time.”
Althea fell back into her pillow almost exhausted by this brief exercise.
“You’ll get stronger as time goes on. You did real well for your first try,” the therapist said encouraging her. “This is your walker. Take it home with you and use it until you no longer need it.”
“How long will that take?” Althea inquired.
“Don’t worry about that. Some people take longer than others. When you are ready to let it go, you will know.”
“It was pretty easy, easier than I thought it would be.”
“Just keep your balance and everything will be fine. You did better than most of the folks the first time they try.”
The therapist left us alone and I went over to look at the walker. It folded in thirds making it easy to store and set it next to the bed. “We can put this in the back seat of the car whenever we go somewhere. You’ll always have it close by.”
Althea touched the walker with her hand and looked at what would soon become a very important tool in her life. “It was easy,” she whispered.
“Well, let’s start getting you ready to leave. I’ll take down the cards and gather things up.” With that said, I carefully pulled down each card taking care not to rip the paint off of the walls or tear the edge of the card. I wanted to take them all home for her to look at and remind her of this experience.
As I started taking the tobacco ties down from around her bed and monitors, I realized I had forgotten something important. “Althea, I forgot your clothes at home. I forgot to bring them along. Boy, I guess I really was tired.”
In my mind’s eye, I could see the things I had laid out for her to wear lying on our bed, just where I left them. Neatly arranged and folded were her off-white socks, beige shoes, and a light purple sun dress. “We’ll have to figure something out.”
“Oh, just get me another gown and I’ll put it on backwards over this one,” she said without skipping a beat.
I found two new clean gowns and we put them on front-to-back. As we were finishing up, another nurse came in the door.
“So you’re going to leave us today. I bet you’re happy to leave.”
Althea nodded in reply.
“You must do one thing before you go. You must show me you can go to the bathroom by yourself and void.”
“Okay. I’ll try right now.”
Althea flopped her legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed the walker, and unfolded it with her right hand. Slowly making her way to the restroom, she closed the door and sat down on the toilet. After five minutes alone, she emerged and said, “I don’t need to go. Get me some water, quick!”
As I did, she went back to bed and the nurse spoke with us about her aftercare plan. “Physical therapy is important, so start it as soon as possible.” She reminded us of taking things slowly at first and doing only what was comfortable. As she left, she said, “Call me when you think you are ready to void.”
One cup of water wasn’t enough. After another thirty minutes and four full cups of water later, Althea said, “Go get the nurse. It’s time.”
After Althea proved that voiding was not a problem, the nurse said, “Okay. I’ll let everyone know you are ready. It will be a little while and someone will come up with a wheelchair to take you out.”
I took two loads of her things down to the car and put a pad and blanket over the seat so she would be more comfortable on the ride home. At three thirty, I drove the car up to the entrance, parked it in the patient loading zone, and went back to Althea’s room.
When I arrived, someone was there with a wheelchair talking with Althea. “I’m the Discharge Nurse. If you are ready to go, then let’s get you out of here. Are you parked by the lobby entrance?”
“Yes I am. I think we’re ready.”
This nurse helped Althea into the chair and wheeled her down the hall. Althea waved goodbye to the nurses at the desk and soon we were at the car. I opened the door and the Discharge Nurse helped Althea in.
“Here, take this wheelchair with you and bring it back to the hospital when yours arrives.”
“Thank you, thank you for everything,” I said shaking her hand.
“Just take your time and go slowly. She’ll be fine.”
I put the wheelchair in the trunk and got into the car. Glancing over at Althea I said, “Well, here we go.”
Althea looked over at me tearfully and said, “It feels really good to go home. Just promise me that you will drive slowly.”
As we turned out of the parking lot, Althea glanced back at the large beige building she called home for the past twenty three days. Watching it disappear from view, we drove down an unfamiliar road and she asked, “Where are we?”
“You’re in Tampa near Bob and Linda’s house. We’ll take the Interstate back home and drive through Brooksville. Just relax and you’ll be in your own bed before you know it.”
Althea settled into the seat, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.
I can breathe a bit easier now that she is coming home. This seemed like such a short time to be in the hospital for such a big problem. How am I going to get her in the house?
Driving north of town and getting out into the country, Althea awoke and watched the trees pass by along the road’s edge. It was a sunny day with light puffy clouds and brilliantly blue skies. Passing some cows at a farm, she turned to me and said, “It is a long way to our house.” Her sentences are short and the strength in her voice weak, but her mind is sharp and she notices the small things around her.
“Yes it is. This is why I stayed with Kimberly and John. The commute became just too much for me to bear.”
When we finally got home, our statue of Neptune greeted her in the front yard, his trident pointing proudly to the sky. “I had forgotten how nice that looked,” she said staring at this life-sized figure.
Pulling to a stop, Althea marveled at the activity of the animals in our yard. Rabbits burrowed in the cedar bushes, squirrels sprinted in the trees, mocking birds sang on the fence, mourning doves bathed in the water garden, ravens squawked flying overhead, and butterflies fluttered over the lavender plant. There was so much life going on, highly contrasted to the vantage point of her hospital bed. She opened the car door and paused to drink in all of these sights and sounds. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them.
I opened the trunk and pulled out the wheelchair. Driving it around to her, I parked it nearby, and helped her get in. “We’ll get up to the stairs with this and I’ll bring you inside from there,” I said trying to plan out how I would get her into bed. Without help, this could be a challenge.
Locking the wheels in place, Althea stood up and easily climbed the three steps into the Lanai. Walking through the door, she said, “Let’s see if I can make it to bed.”
Without the use of the wheelchair or walker, she held on to my arm and we walked past the kitchen, through the bedroom, and into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, I gathered her favorite pajamas. “Let’s put on these and get you into bed. I’ve already turned down the sheets.”
Lifting her up was much like a fireman lifting the “dead” weight of an unconsc
ious person. Her strength dwindled from the effort to get into the house. We managed to make it back into the bedroom where she collapsed onto the bed from this unusual exertion.
Laying her head onto her pillow, Althea sighed, “Oh, this feels so soft.” Pulling the covers over her shoulders, she drowsily remarked, “It feels so good to finally be home.”
“I’ll let you rest for now and get the rest of your things out of the car. Do you need anything before I go?”
“No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
I lingered at the doorway watching her curl up under her favorite six hundred thread count sheets. The sights, smells, and sounds brought peace to what could only have been a surrealistic drive home. Twenty four days ago, she last felt these sheets. It must have been like a dream come true finally cuddling back into them after this prolonged ordeal.
Althea: A Story of Love Page 36
