Althea: A Story of Love

by Philip Rastocny

  Althea’s Latest Masterpiece

  This particular painting reminded me of the photograph she took in the avalanche chute many years ago. Today Althea took one more step on her long road to recovery. One more connection is now restored in her brain. I perceive her progress as slow, although in reality it is far quicker than anyone should be when recovering from such a severe trauma.

  With time, the familiar spirals will return to the canvas and her expressions will reveal the long hidden emotions of the past few weeks. By backing off on my expectations, I become more of an observer encouraging and not directing her. With time…she will return.

  Chapter 29 — March 31, 2008 — Day 39

  * * *

  There is something about the smell of freshly ground coffee early in the morning that is aromatically compelling. With every step of its preparation—from the feeling of the rough filter folding in my hands, to the last sounds of the water gurgling as it percolates—it reminds me of similar rituals from other merry times. We begin each day we can by sipping on fine cups of coffee.

  Our coffee ritual follows us wherever we travel. When backpacking, a wild form of this daily ritual is called camp coffee where grounds are tossed into a pot of boiling water. Removed from the open campfire and allowed to cool, the grounds settle to the bottom. Carefully pouring off the top yields a warm, delicious treat. While staring at stunning vistas, this ritual reminds you of sitting in the kitchen in your favorite chair.

  When motorcycle camping, a cigarette lighter outfitted to the bike’s electrical system and a trucker’s twelve-volt coffee pot produces our favorite morning brew. With the engine idling, it supplies just enough electricity for the tiny aluminum percolator. In a pinch, the night’s chill fades with each swallow.

  First introduced to quality coffee at a friend’s home in Colorado, we sat around the fireplace and chatted while he patiently hand ground Turkish coffee beans in a bright brass Greek mill. After steeping the grounds in a glass pot, he served it in the tiniest of colorfully hand pained ceramic cups, about twice the size of a sewing thimble. Sipping such strong coffee aroused our taste buds and hooked us instantly into this delightful habit.

  Greek Grinder

  Making exotic coffee is an art form we pursued with vigor. Finding that right coffee brewer proved to be a long, enjoyable process. Starting with an inexpensive plastic countertop system, when hot liquids contacted plastic surfaces—be it in the brewing machine or the cup itself—it undesirably altered the taste.

  Switching plastic cups for colorfully painted ceramic ones helped, but the taste could still be improved with a better brewing system. Espresso machines arrived on the scene but their metal holders tainted an otherwise adequate simulation of the fond hand-ground Turkish delight of our memories.

  Flavored coffees were instantly abandoned for full-bodied, hearty blends. French presses with their cylindrical glass bodies gave great results with little effort, and the proper water matched with a good bean sufficed for a while.

  Moving from store-ground bags to hand-ground beans raised the quality bar again. Even the type of grinder changed and we settled on a somewhat exotic burr-ground style that produced uniform sized particles. Swapping various types of beans created variety in taste like changing a sandwich from atop pieces of bread to a sliced croissant.

  The vast majority of roasted coffee beans in the world use higher temperatures in the roasting process to quickly and efficiently transform the virgin bean. But much like a good wine, roasting coffee beans to extract the best flavor takes time. On one trip to Telluride, Colorado, we discovered the extreme importance of the slow, low-heat roasting procedure in the San Juan Mountains at an altitude of almost nine thousand feet.

  Located in the historic main street district, this modest family-owned store housed an amazing find. High ceilings with characteristic silver metal tiles greeted us as we wandered through the massive two-inch thick wooden door. Bells tinkled on long strings as the door thudded closed behind us. Instantly, the aroma of roasting beans and brewing coffee drifted through the air and into our noses. Two large copper roasters rimmed in bright brass sat at the rear of a long serving counter. Flanked by shelves, rows of hand-roasted beans stood in small bags like soldiers at attention in a parade.

  Appearing much like an old western bar, the counter bustled with activity as customers reached for orders carrying them to the inviting tables at the large front windows next to the door. The well-worn dark wooden floor testified to the foot traffic this old shop endured. With newspapers in hand, customers gazed out the window toward the mesmerizing Bridal Veil Falls at the far distant end of town.

  The cheerful young clerk meticulously explained the value of the slow roasting process while we sipped on the finest cup of coffee we ever tasted from such a shop. “It’s all about the soil and the botanical issues of growing the perfect beans and then coaxing from that bean the prized characteristics and perfect flavor,” she began like a trained scientist would explain a chemical creation to a layman. “Slow roasting, smoking, and air cooling takes more time than mass produced beans, but you can taste the difference in just one cup.”

  So impressed by her enthusiasm, we eagerly carried back home several sample bags of fresh roasted Arabica and Robusta beans. Years later, we still buy coffee beans from this same store through the mail, switching varieties with each order and recalling that first delicious sip.

  Memories of my first taste of coffee from my grandmother’s coffee siphon possessed us to try one such device. A complicated manually operated apparatus and forerunner of the contemporary percolator, making coffee in this slow, deliberate manner sheds light on one of life’s universal truths: worthwhile things take time to develop. In a society addicted to instant gratification and quick returns on investments, taking time to do things may appear foreign to us. But anything worth doing takes more time to do it right.

  Much like finding the right method to brew coffee, twists and turn, ups and downs wind their way through the choices in our lives. As we learn how to get the results that make us happy and feel loved, an occasional bitter cup passes over our tongues. This gentle reminder shows us that despite our best efforts, we are imperfect creatures and results will vary.

  But the challenge in life is not to consistently brew a great cup of coffee, but rather to make one every now and then. Without an occasional bad cup, we forget how good a well made cup of coffee can taste.

  The bustle in the house was more frantic this morning than usual. Althea dressed in something other than casual attire, and this was quite a change. She took an inordinate amount of time attending to the details of her appearance. Putting on makeup for the first time in over two months was a fun filled adventure. Her first appointment at Physical Therapy was worth celebrating and Althea wanted to look her best.

  Wheeling her out to the car and setting her down in the front seat, I realized as I put the wheel chair into the trunk this was the first time she had left home. “Now don’t go too fast,” she said as I started the engine. As she stared out the window, I could only imagine what she must be thinking. Driving past neighborhood homes, a blank expression fell from her face.

  “What do you see?” I asked curiously.

  “Nothing, I’m just taking it all in.”

  Reflecting on the changing scenes, we drove quietly together the rest of the trip. Finally arriving at the office, I grabbed the wheel chair from the trunk, Althea got in, and I wheeled it up the ramp and into the lobby.

  Althea was excited, nervous, and anxious to see what they would find. Two other patients sat in the small room waiting for their sessions to begin. We filled out the obligatory paperwork and joined the others against the wall.

  After fifteen minutes of silence, Althea became bored. Being an assertive person, she wheeled herself up to the receptionist’s desk and asked when she was going to be seen. Just then, the door opened and a therapist announced her name.

  “Althea Rose?” the voice rang through
the waiting area.

  “Here,” Althea responded spinning her wheel chair in the direction of the door.

  “Get out of the chair, put it next to the door, and follow me,” the therapist announced commandingly. “I don’t want to see that wheel chair in here ever again.”

  Althea was taken aback by this directive. Being literally the first time out of the house, she had prepared to travel with this chair at length until her strength returned. Now, that appeared not to be the case.

  Testing was on the agenda for today and Althea responded well. Although understanding everything said, she took a while to develop her responses. This unusual pause made some people feel like Althea was ignoring them or didn’t understand them, when in truth she was responding as fast as she could.

  In other tests, she struggled. Although completing them, she did not do so well. The limited range of motion in her limbs and the substandard strength of her muscles became evident by the end of the tests. When asked to turn over onto her side, she complained, “I get dizzy and disoriented.”

  Being exceptionally observant, the therapist noticed something in Althea’s expression at that moment: her left eye closed as she explained her dizziness. “I see you getting confused. We’ll have to watch that as time goes on,” the therapist relayed matter-of-factly.

  After arranging for a series of sessions twice a week, our first visit from home ended. “Let’s go right home. I’m tired,” Althea said as she slid from the wheel chair into the car seat. “That therapist was really observant. I like her.”

  It took over a month for Althea to return the wheel chair back to the rental company. Externally, Althea appeared to be progressing as scheduled but internally she needed to keep the wheel chair around in the event I was unavailable. Like a lifeboat, she needed to have it around, just in case.

  Using my arm as a crutch, she not only satisfied our continuing tactile need to touch each other but also to feel safe. “You’re my rock,” she would often say to me as we traversed curbs and up stairs.

  “I’m right here for you,” I typically replied hugging my arm and her hand tightly to my waist.

  She counted on me to get her out of bed, pick her up out of chairs, and help her when challenges were beyond her abilities. Although home, she was far from being self sufficient.

  You don’t realize how much you do every day for your own personal care until you begin completely caring for someone else who cannot. Bathing, feeding, and entertaining are obvious caring targets, but adding subtle loving assistance transforms meeting basic needs into exceeding expectations.

  Adding love to anything transforms everything. Responding lovingly—without hesitation or reservation—to every one of her requests magically transformed it from a tedious task to a joyful experience. With this approach, fears and resentments never build up and you get in touch with the unconditional love that lies within. This not only encourages healing, but also reveals to you how large you heart can be.

  With each therapy session, Althea’s confidence grew and one day she agreed to let go of her wheel chair. Although reluctant to do so, she realized this symbol of her recovery was holding her back. She literally had not used it since that first day in physical therapy and it was time for her to move on. This stage of her recovery process was behind her and a new set of challenges lie ahead.

  Althea’s Best Buddy

  Over the next eight weeks, I watched Althea’s abilities slowly return. With each session, well-planned muscle toning and coordination exercises helped her regain mobility and confidence. Graduating from a walker to a cane came quickly, and soon even this trusty walker found itself in the trunk of the car gathering dust.

  I was concerned that such rapid progress was overly stressful and Althea may be pushing herself too hard. But her enthusiasm and focus were relentless forces and her personal patience was exemplary. I was more nervous about attempting strenuous activities than she was, so I followed her closely from behind whenever she attempted new and untested feats.

  Walking unaided from the living room to the bathroom was a major accomplishment, one where I again followed closely behind ready to catch her if she faltered. But she never did. Resting at strategic places along the route, she regained her strength and composure. Then, redoubling her efforts, she continued on until she achieved what she set out to do.

  This pattern repeated itself over and over while she stretched her abilities. Althea saw the vision of the bench and she firmly believed everything would return to normal. With such commitment and dedication, she accomplished amazing things—things I believed would take months to master. The whole time, she rarely complained. When something went awry, she stopped and rethought her steps. Analyzing what went right and what did not, she quickly developed alternatives and made whatever adjustments were needed to complete her task.

  Once she mastered walking unaided, her next task challenge was to speed up her verbal responses. Speech therapy was just not working. Althea’s dyslexia introduced challenges to standard treatment protocols resulting in personal frustration. She, being better off than the therapist presumed, quickly lost interest in this type of therapy.

  But on a follow-up visit with Dr. DeWeese, she mentioned this challenge to him. “Read aloud,” he said without hesitation. “I recall you like to read, so just start reading aloud.”

  Sometimes simple things work miracles. Upon returning home, Althea grabbed one of her half-finished books and sat in her favorite living room chair. With her feet resting comfortably on the ottoman, she opened the book and began reading aloud. Huge trails of tears streamed from her eyes as the pages turned. Her voice cracked.

  “This appears to be quite emotional for you,” I said.

  “I don’t know why I am so tearful, I just cannot stop crying.”

  “Keep reading and I will get you some tissues.”

  Althea cried herself through several chapters and a lofty pile of tissues collected in the trashcan next to her. Clearly, this was a moving experience for her at many levels.

  With each visit to physical therapy, Althea’s strength grew. Pushing herself became commonplace. The day I stopped following behind her was an emotional experience I recall well. We were watching television in our usual chairs and Althea decided to go to the bathroom, and this time I decided not to follow. Getting up from her chair, I nervously watched her teeter across the room zigzagging from table to chair as usual. She paused to regain her strength and then continued once it returned.

  The concern I had during her parasailing experience in Mexico was nothing compared to the intensity of the feelings I had watching her at this moment. Then, I was concerned about her safety; here I was concerned about her life. This same feeling of letting her try something I considered to be risky returned at that moment as I watched her determination transform her wobbly steps. Suppressing the fears of falling and reinjuring herself, I swallowed hard and released whatever control I thought I had. As I watched her— my eyes fixed on her every move— the further she walked the greater I released this presumed control.

  When she returned, I was completely worn out as if I had been watching a scary movie. Getting up abruptly, I strolled briskly to the bathroom trying to expel the adrenalin accumulated in my body. Pacing around the kitchen, walking into the bedroom, and checking the lock on the back door gave time for my pounding heart to calm down. When I returned, Althea’s closed eyes and calm composure showed she was resting comfortably in her chair oblivious to my reaction. Small steps…this is one of those small steps we make together.

  A few sessions later, the physical therapist introduced Althea to a stationary elliptical trainer. With her feet on the pedals, she leaned back and felt the machine work the stiff muscles in her legs. When finishing her session, she came out to the lobby where I sat waiting for her. As she approached, her eyes grew wide with excitement. “I worked out on an elliptical trainer today and I really like it.”

  Her enthusiasm transferred to my arm as I got up and
grabbed hers. Walking arm in arm down the hall to the car she said, “I must try that some day on our trainer at home.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I replied supportively. “It can supplement the other homework exercises you already do.”

  When we returned home, we went inside and Althea sat down in the living room and turned on the television. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check the mail. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’ll just sit here until you get back.”

  I walked across the street to our mailbox when a neighbor joined me. After relaying to her Althea’s progress, she asked if she could visit for a while and I agreed.

  As we walked back to the house, I flung open the door to the lanai and there lay Althea sprawled out on the floor with her feet tangled in the pedals of her elliptical trainer. My heart stopped and I rushed to her side. I saw she was unharmed and just resting on her back while trying to figure out how to get up.