Return to Operation Idiot

No, it wasn't me this time. It was my mom. She has the symptoms of Crohne's Disease, and yet, they're not. See, she has rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, back surgery 2 years ago, and neck surgery this summer. Why am I telling you all this? I am trying to get you to see what shape my mom was in. Well, we're getting to be regulars with the EMT staff. Before last Friday, they never even heard of us, but now they have two Jones' in their tally books in less than a week. My mom has to use a walker around the house, and it's got a seat and large wheels. Then, a few nights ago, she was sitting on it feeding the family dog and leaned forward. Now, these brakes on the walker are older than Moses, and they were set, but they were of little use to her in this instance. Well, sir, according to my mom, the walker rolled one way and mom fell the direct opposite. We went into first response mode, well, as far as we dare. She asked for a neck pillow, Sara's (our pooch) footstool, and a towel for her knees. After many failed attempts, we got the bright idea to raise her with a car jack. Something was nagging at me, though. Anyhow, ignoring that feeling, we got that heavy-duty jack ready. I don't think we had enough surface area, 2' squared, for mom. Good thing we didn't have to find out. It was decided upon calling 911; again. After the call, I spent my time nervously awaiting the EMT's, hoping they would be different ones. No such luck. Oh, and that little thing I forgot; sliding a board down mom's back. We had done something like that, only with a sheet or plyboard and it almost worked. The sheet of plywood just needed to be more tough and little longer. We also needed more hands. Due to all her problems she claimed to being "dead weight," but she came up rather easily. One of the EMT's recognized me, and then and there, I knew I was busted. He asked about how many stitches they put in while the female EMT was caught up with our Cockatiels. Looks like the Stooges have made a curtain call.

Operation: Idiot

Okay. So you know that my physical therapy is not completed yet, right? Well, my mom's surgery turned into my dad's emergency surgery. Anywho, here I am in early November when my dad comes home, and late in the evening, when we were all shuffling off to bed, and that meant upstairs for me. I was 3/4 of the way up the stairs when my left big toe hit one of the stair step walls, and I went flying down the stairwell. For a time, I was parallel with the railing, but I just couldn't land it. --> Carpet burns, bad bruises, and lacerations on my knee, and head. Funny thing about the head, it carries a large amount of blood and I found that out as I lie there at the bottom with a 10 in. gash in my cabasa. The gash was so deep that at one point, you could see my skull. You couldn't stop my bleeding and to hold pressure on that wound, would've been impossible to do just from the volume of it. As soon as 911 was dialed, and we, or at least I, Finally, I knew what it was like to have those sirens wailing for someone, anyone but me. I wasn't scared for me, but for my family and neighbors. That ambulance must have woken them up. See, this has not been my first ambulance giddy-up. My first rodeo came in 2006 when I was volunteering for the DRMC or Denton Regional Medical Center. I was stuffing the paper recycler full of soon-to-refurbished-documents and had a grand-mal seizure with all the works. That sucker had to be 3/4 the size of me, and weighed more, but when everything was said and over with, the paper recycler was on it's side, and me with it. I had tackled it. I had also received 2-3" cut on my hand. I was epileptic, and that was all the excuse they needed to drag out the ambulance. Imagine: taking me from a medical building (already connected to the hospital) 300 ft to ER, who, bty, merely dressed my hand and dismissed me. The price of insurance! Back to the subject at hand, my fall last week, which was much worse than in 2006. As the paramedics hauled my sorry carcass out the front door, all I could see was up. That was partly due to the neck and head brace they'd put on me. So I saw a new side of things that day. The ambulance transported me across the main road to the soccer field just in front of the house. It all took place in the parking lot; a transfer from ambulance to chopper. My first. In order not to screw this one up as well, I let the nurses on board do their business i.e. temp, bp, multiple blood draws and sticks. 10-15 min later we arrived at the hospital the paramedics recommended, and they rushed me into an ER room. It is weird how the ceiling of my room looked like a real surgery room (don't ask). I don't know how long we waited, but eventually, they took me in for x-rays, and a cat scan. It was about 4:30-5 in the cock a doodle when I was released from my headgear, and was able to get a doctor to get stitched, sutured, and sewn up. 20 stitches and 1 suture later, I was released. So with that finally accomplished, it was 6 in the am, we had all missed out on good night's sleep, and maybe just a tad bit cranky? All that drama for nothing? Sounds like a really, bad movie; say, maybe the Three Stooges could pull it off. They usually play idiots.

Into The Next Car

(Based on Elvis Presley's "In The Ghetto" and Paul Shanklin's "In A Yugo") As the rain falls/ On a hot and humid afternoon/ A truck's brakes locked up and went kaboom/ Into the next car/ And his mama's sad/ Cause if there's one thing that she don't need/ Its a son who has multiple offensives to heed/ Into the next car./ People, don't you understand/ The boy'll need a helping hand/ Or he'll grow to be an angry adult some day/ Take a look at you and me,/ Are we too mad at him to see,/ Do we simply turn our heads/ And look the other way/ Well as those large tires turn/ And a depressed young man drove that car/ On the way to get gas/ But he did't get far/ Into the next car/ And his anger shows/ So he calls the police just like he should/ And figures out the insurance as he could/ Into the next car/ Then a cop shows up./ Takes all the stories down about what recurred/ Finds the young man innocent about what occurred/ Into the next car/ EXCEPT I  WAS RIDING SHOTGUN!!!

Stroking Out (Literally) (Pt 5)

So I'm ready for TIRR Kirby Glen (Outpatient). Two or three weeks in, I got a surprise visit from Christy, who was subbing for an OT who was out for a week or so. The same day, the person who was in charge of Ch. 13 News sports came in.  He had had a stroke too. It's incredible the humanity that passes through there. Strokes and heart attacks don't discriminate the people they happen to. No, they can happen to anyone, anytime. The secret to dealing with them is not letting them rule your life. Of course, strokes vary due to each patient    My ST is a former opera singer, and yes in the Italian vernacular. Opera is the one thing both she and I have in common, and I'm supposed to learn this Aria by Handel's "Rinaldo." "Lascia Ch'io Pianga," or "I cry," in the English language; which we both sung at my many of my early appointments with her. She wants me to find certain opera pieces that allow me to move my tongue dexterously. Well have I got one for her! 'Largo Al Factotum' from "The Barber Of Seville." 'Make way for the jack-of-all-trades,' is a literal translation. You've heard it in the cartoons and movies. It's another thing to sing it, and in the original Italian. It is fast, and built for baritones, which I am. I've tried  to give her all the help she should need. Tell you how it turns out.  My  signature and writing has suffered with the Ataxia, or involuntary movement.  It had gotten some better since the hospital, but that's just the departure of the ataxia and a lot of intense therapy in the hospital. Well, I didn't have that anymore, so OT at TIRR outpatient worked with me on my writing, especially my signature.  Walking has gotten to the point that I no longer needed a wheelchair, was just coming off the walker, and onto a walking pole, and now I use it only for stability. Pretty good for a guy who six months ago who couldn't cross the room to take care of business and was bound to his bed and the bedpan. Anyhoo, after nearly graduating all my classes, my mom had to have neck surgery, and right away so we took a month off. That was in July. I am still in limbo, that and it was my mom who drove me back and forth from outpatient. Ah, well, that's the life of a star, that is, so far.

Stroking Out (Literally) (Pt 4)

 I'll tell you the truth, folks: The soul is willing, but the body is weak. That's for sure and for certain. Those therapists were there to fix that. I'll start off with ST or Speech Therapy. Michelle did tongue exercises with me 'till I got rid of my proverbial third cheek that sometimes develops after a stroke. She also helped me with enunciation, speaking louder, and slowing down.     Then there was Christy. She reminded me of two friends in one. She worked in OT or Occupational Therapy. You'd a thunk she'd be enforcing life skills, but noooo. She had me do stretches most of the time, throw a ball around, and play games, but mostly painful stretches. The bonus was she was pleasing in appearance and demeanor, but she tried to keep her distance from the patients for that very reason.     Not so with my PT or Physical Therapy. No. It got so bad I tried to knock her off while I was practicing walking with a walker. Her name was  Marie. She was the terror of the Louisiana swamps with red hair to match. See, anything Christy could put me through, she could put me through more. Stretches were the name of the game with her too, and visiting the care dogs on Thursdays. Pit temper on temper, and that's how we got along so well. Yeah, right. See, I'm part Scotch-Irish and have a temper that I consider to be the most dangerous in the world, and I gave as good as I got. I'm was pretty sure Marie from was up North somewhere, and yet she loved crawdads. Go figure. A red-head from Louisiana. Still, a sort of weird respect grew between us. There's a reason why the "T" following "O" (Occupational), and "P" (Physical) stood for terrorist. I spent 58 days there, day in, and day out, working on the same things over and over, focusing on different body parts, like the arms, legs, etc.. I was getting things straightened out so my body could function once more when almighty insurance decided to kick me out two days early. I was furious. Who wouldn't be if you were uprooted the next afternoon? I was all settled in and I knew I had two days to pack up my stuff. The point is, I knew I had a definite departure date and somebody ripped the rug right out from under me. I want to meet the guy that made the decision to let me go early. We should meet and switch positions. See how he likes it. A bunch of $ signs and not people are being dealt with. So we packed up, picked up, and I bid a loud goodbye to floor 3W (3rd floor West). Next stop: TIRR Outpatient rehab!  

Stroking Out (Literally) (Pt 3)

There's some pretty interesting staff there. Both nurses and doctors have some pretty different 'tudes. Their's a nurse that does your dirty work (I think you know what I mean) for you, gives you sponge bathes and chair baths and afterwards manage to carry on funny conversation each time she showered me, even through  my shower. We were constantly cracking each other up and  humor feeds humor! That nurses's name is Chandra.   There's a chief nurse that has a shift Sunday and Monday that smothers you with kindness. I once asked her she didn't go to church on her off Sundays. Her reply: 'This is my church,.... Giving help to the sick." I thought that was pretty good answer. Her name was Betty, and she treated you like one of her own.   And then's there the nurse who woke me. Big mistake. I don't do mornings, and that goes double for Mondays. Tracy had to fight me tooth and nail, even down to the last pillow to get me  out of bed. If mom hadn't interceded, we'd probably still  be there now. I'm not blowing smoke here, folks.     Then there's the  "Pill Fairy." She took care of my medicines and tracked me down we for those appointments and she was pretty good at it. She had a nice demeanor, and kind of looked like my aunt, at least to me, and she was named, Rebecca.     As for the intern, her name was Rachael and she was from Venezuela. She brought me some of her mom's Argentinean chocolate (and boy, is it different from our stuff!) She just came in the first few days of the week on the night shift, and her soft accent made her a welcome visitor in my room.    So those were the major players, nursing wise. I'd like to thank all of the nurses and staff at the TIRR hospital. I'll introduce you to my therapists in my next post.       

Stroking Out (Literally) (Pt 2)

   So it was Saturday, and I was in what turned out to be a very long, long hospital stay February to April. I'm trying to think of the early days in that stay,  but It turns out that I can't.  Mom told me that that Sunday, when they came in,  dad and her saw the side effects of the stroke had finally taken their toll. They said I was pale, had low blood pressure, the inability to walk, and complete numbness on my left side. I don't remember much after that,  so typical of hospitals and their medicines, right? They make you sleep. I was there for six days and don't remember a one, except for the ambulance transfer. I made the trip over there, TIRR inpatient, kinda' like 10 years before. There were a lot of similarities in the extended visit, like a weeks' worth of a visit in the hospital, little memory of it, and even the mode of transportation to the rehab hospital! Weird huh?      Now TIRR stands for The Institute for Rehabilitation and Research. Yeah, I was a bit disappointed. I thought it stood for Texas Institute for Rest and Recreation, and it's in the  middle of the medical district of downtown Houston, not far from my neurologist's office as I found out later. My first day was hardly memorable, sleeping through all of my classes.  I guess I needed to get all those medicines from the first hospital out of my system. I remember saying that I missed my first day. I also stymied my teachers by saying that. I guess they hadn't heard that a stroke was merely an inconvenience to my life, and to many others as well. As an uncontrolled epileptic, I've had seizures worse than this. This particular stroke was just an inconvenience to me, but just with a longer recovery time.      Back to the subject at hand, my first week. Apparently, I couldn't stay in a regular hospital bed, sprawling out all over the place, constantly moving about, so they brought in something new. It looked like a backpacking tent which was elevated to the height of regular hospital  bed. As a former backpacker, I felt instantly at home.  Apparently, that involuntary movment is called Ataxia, and I had my stroke in the Pons are of my brain. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pons ; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ataxia. I finally was fully conscious by the second week at TIRR inpatient, and the reason was they had put me on a certain drug that didn't interact with my personal meds very well even though they tried their darnedest to make it make it match. The second drug was much better and that's what brought me to, and that's when I met my nurses and therapists. I've changed their names for privacy. I'll mention a few of the notable ones in my next post

Stroking Out (Literally) (Pt 1)

   Well, you know it had to happen eventually. I stroked out in the literal sense. Being a champion of over 16,000 seizures in 10 years, you just had to  know that something or other was going to spill over into the  rest of the brain. It was bound my head had to miss a day of work without warning.    Yes I had a stroke. After my visit with the neurologist,  he found out that he  hasn't run an MRI on me in two years, so he ordered one. Boy, if only he knew the mess he was getting into!    So the MRI was over, and we were in the parking garage trying to fix a broken jeep. We gave that car a thorough physical, and finally deduced that the fuses must be at fault. So, my dad unhooked the fuse, cleaned it off,  and re-installed it. Miracle of miracles, it worked! The jeep had been having problems to that date, but that was the most inconvenient. Turned out, it wasn't the only time the fuses would conk out. 3/4 of the way home, something went out In that motor again. Not knowing what was wrong THIS time, we had to pull over onto a street in a business district, push the car most of the way up said street, and into a companies' parking lot. All this was after I was informed via cell phone that I had had a minor stroke.    We were picked up by my brother and he took dad and I to the Memorial Sugar Land Hospital emergency room. After filling out the necessary forms, we sat down again, and a few hours later, we were called back into one of the rooms. Now, if only we knew how late it was that I would get a room at the inn, as it were. It was afternoon when I got the call  about the problem, early evening at the hospital when I  was called back at the emergency room, and 9pm when I finally got dinner; a sandwich and chips plus an apple. I really don't remember much after that except that I finally got a room- very late in the night.