One Week Down, a Lifetime to Go

 "I have the title for your blog this week," Mr. Ginley declared last night.

"Then perhaps you should write this week's blog," I replied. "Everything I've written about your stroke so far is from my point of view. Maybe it would be nice if you chimed in."

"I'm not the writer. But maybe you could interview me," he suggested. 

So here we go, in Stroky McStrokerson's own words. I posed the questions, he supplied the responses.

Q: What was it like to have a stroke?

A: Very frightening. I lost total control of my life. Now I have to seize it back, one day at a time.

Q: What are you grateful for?

A: I can still use my brain. I haven't lost my memories. And I remember old song lyrics and sing them for my wife. 

Q: What do you like most about being home again?

A: Being together again with my girl.

Q: How is the food compared to the last place?

A: Excellent. 

Q: Is there anything you miss about the nursing home?

A: I miss the PT team and a couple of the aides (they know who they are.)

Q: What is your short-term goal?

A: To get my left knee back.

Q: What are your long-term goals?

A: Walking hand-in-hand with my wife.

Q: How is the cat dealing with your being home?

A: Not well. She's very leery of me.

Q: Do you really call yourself Stroky McStrokerson?

A: Yes, I do.

Q: Are you working hard on your recovery?

A: As hard as I can. I push myself every day to do one more thing.

Q: How is your new chair working out?

A: It's wonderful.

Q: What have you learned from your experience?

A: There's a learning curve. I need to be patient.  

Q: Anything else you'd like to share?

A: I love you all, thanks for your visits, prayers, and kind thoughts. I have much to live for.

On the Long, Long Trail With You

As I was making my breakfast this morning, I heard a sleepy voice from the bed in the dining room say, "When I talked to [my brother] Michael on the phone yesterday, he said I should have that leftover tiramisu for breakfast and cookies for dinner. I just rolled my eyes. Nice try, Stroky McStrokerson.

Kitty Patrol

Needless to say, the eagle has landed, and Mr. Ginley is safe home. He is very happy to be here, although it has been a huge adjustment for both of us.

He is getting used to the quiet and the things he doesn't hear in the night: the guy next door with the uber-loud TV, the lady down the hall hollering "nurse" at all hours, and the disembodied voice over the PA system repeating something unintelligible three times.

Once again, he's able to eat his favorite foods. No more World War II surplus, as he called his meals at the nursing home. It's nice not to have to cajole, beg, and bribe him to eat the mystery meals that appeared twice daily on his plate. (Breakfast was always Cheerios and OJ, that was OK.)

His first dinner back was chili, his favorite meal. The house was filled with the aroma as it cooked in the crock pot. The first night back, he only had a few spoonfuls, but he's been digging into the leftovers ever since. 

Meanwhile, the cat can't figure out what to make of it all. For the first couple of days, she steered clear, but she's circling closer and closer to the bed. She almost jumped up there this morning, but she's not quite ready for that yet. But she will get there, I'm sure.

Mr. and I are trying out all of his gear, getting a better feel for the best ways to compensate for half his body being unresponsive. Some tricks we learned from the PT staff; others we are picking up by trial and error. But we will get there, I'm sure.

I've declared today as his spa day. He's going to get a shave, haircut, shampoo, and bath (of sorts). Plus, I'm going to clip his nails and soak his feet in epsom salts. I discovered they hadn't touched his feet in the nursing home, and they need some loving care.

Also on the agenda for today is a quick trip to the store for last-minute provisions. With the impending snow-la-palooza, I need to make sure I have all the essentials, including the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Even in the aftertimes, house rules must be adhered to. (That is, when we get snowed in, I bake goodies for Mr.)

As we settle in and adjust, I'm grateful for the thoughts and prayers everyone has sent our way. I'm particularly grateful for the visits, the shoulders to cry on, the willing ears that provided a sounding board, and the priceless assistance of certain family members without whom we would have struggled mightily. 

I hope you'll continue with us as we continue our journey on the comeback trail.

One step at a time. 

Sliding Into Home

As the day of Mr. Ginley's flight from his current digs draws nearer and he counts down the days, I tick things off my to-do list.

Not this kind of sliding board*

Yesterday, my sister, Diane, who's been my lifeline to sanity, arranged for movers to come and take away old furniture and rearrange the remaining pieces in preparation for Mr. Ginley's return.

It all went exceedingly well, and there's now a spot for the hospital bed in the dining room. My bed was moved downstairs so I can be close during the night in case he needs me. And his fancy new lift chair is positioned in front of the TV, so he can read, watch the tube, or snooze at will.

The bed and wheelchair are due to be delivered Monday. I was also promised a slide board, but I just found out yesterday that I have to get one myself (Amazon to the rescue). The other supplies, such as sheets, chux pads, and "briefs" are in the office and ready for duty.

Oh, and the walkie-talkies arrived this week. Mr. Ginley has already chosen his "handle" – "Strokie McStrokerson." I have to choose one for myself. I'm taking suggestions, so if you have something clever, please let me know.

Today, I'll run a few errands – to the bank, the library (there's one book of his that I hadn't returned yet and they want it back), and a trip to Savers to dispense with some articles that hopefully others can use. 

I also need to vacuum the carpet, which, when the furniture was moved, provided a panorama of dust bunnies and a few pet stains. 

A trip to the grocery store is in my near future. I'll have to start cooking again, so I need to stock up and make sure I have Mr. Ginley's favorites. (But big bags of chips and six-packs of pop are not on the list, sorry, dear.)

So, I'm getting there. Fortunately, I'm off from work Monday for MLK Day, and I took a vacation day Tuesday. That will help.

I'm looking forward to having Mr. around the house again. It will be nice to shift my daily routine and not to have to go out in the cold and drive on dicey roads to visit him. 

There will be many challenges here, I know that. But the two of us will work together to triumph. 

And we will triumph. 

*For those of you wondering why I didn't do a photo attribution, it's because this one came from the family archives. That's me, Denise and Paul preparing for descent.

Flying the Coop

 "I did warn you," my sister, Diane, chirped. "We only got two days' notice."

photo attribution below

Well, she was right, of course. While I had been plotting my husband's return to the Casa de Ginley in my head for weeks, I hadn't taken a whole lot of action. 

Now the chickens are coming home to roost. Or rather, Mr. Ginley is being released from captivity in 10 days. We're both excited, of course. I just needed to figure out how we were getting him home. (He'd offered to ride the 22 RTA bus, if that's what it took, but I assured him that wouldn't be necessary.) 

Fortunately, I have help. So, while the news sent me into a tailspin early yesterday, by the end of the day, my wingmen (and women) had come to the rescue. Now I have a reasonably solid plan on how to proceed. I also know the next chapter will write itself, and in many ways, I'm going to be a passenger on the Speed bus. 

So. Much. To. Do.

Including shopping for an easy chair that will enable Mr. Ginley to rise without the use of a Hoyer lift. (No relation to Axel. Is that joke getting stale yet?)

Also in my near future, I'll be learning how to help him use a hemi walker. Just think, three months ago we'd never heard of the contraption. 

Strange days, indeed.

I'll be heading off to the La-Z-Boy store in a bit, hoping there is something in stock that can be delivered before the big day.

Wish me luck!

photo attribution: Lt. Col. John Hall, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Wringing in the New Year

When the ball dropped to usher in the new year, I was fast asleep. 

Photo attribution below

You may observe that this is no different than any other year. Mr. Ginley and I typically eat chips and watch TV. I fall asleep, he wakes me up at midnight, we drink a toast to the new year, then hit the rack.

This year, I spent the early eve with my honey quarantined in his room, both of us having tested positive for COVID (along with several others in the facility). I snuck in some contraband (chips and Vanilla Coke) and we watched the last half of the Marx Brothers' A Night at the Opera (although I was bummed that we missed the stateroom scene). 

I tried not to watch the snow falling outside his window. It would be a dicey drive home.

The ill-fated Buckeyes' game was on at 7:30. I would be heading home to feed the cat before that, but I made sure Mr. had his trusty radio close at hand so he could listen to Paul Keels and Jim Lachey calling the game, which, sadly, turned out to be a stinker.

Mr. continues working hard at his PT, although it's in his room. His PT crew, donned in hazmat gear, walk him through his paces as best they can in the small space without equipment. Afterward, he's exhausted and sleeps.

His progress moves forward in the form of small steps. We continue to hope. And this week, Mr. Ginley's brother, Michael, came to visit. It's been a much-needed boost to Bill's sagging spirits.

Yesterday, I returned to my job. The cat was happy to have me at home in my office. I could pretend Bill was downstairs doing the laundry or working a crossword or surfing the internet. 

And someday soon, I hope, he will be.  

Photo attribution: Coalfields Local History Association Inc., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons. 

A Weary Little Christmas

Christmas Eve found me in the aisles of Giant Eagle, picking up necessities for the big holiday. The store's speakers were spewing festive holiday carols and such, and I was busy shopping, not paying much attention.

attribution below

Then, Andy Williams broke my concentration.

"It's the most wonderful time of the year," he crooned joyously.

That's when I lost it. Just a little. There I was, pushing my cart, tears threatening to storm the beaches of my cheeks. But no, it didn't come to that. I sucked it up and finished my shopping.

Christmas Eve turned out to be a wonderful day. We had a visit from Santa and Mrs. Claus, who brought a goody bag with treats and handmade artwork from St. Angela's school. Mark was on hand for much of the day. And our son brought our granddaughter to see us, which was the best gift of all.

When everyone had gone, I cued up A Child's Christmas in Wales, a production that played on PBS in the 1980s and which Mr. and I have watched every year on Christmas Eve. This year, we viewed it on an old laptop. It was a joy from the opening strains of Deck the Halls to the last chord of the Welsh classic, All Through the Night (my very favorite).

Christmas Day found just the two of us celebrating quietly. One of the ongoing battles is food. Clearly, a hotplate in the room would be frowned upon, but a cold meal would work. So, per his request, I prepared Mr. Ginley's favorite tuna pasta salad, complete with olives, red pepper, and twirly noodles. 

Trolling the channels, we found a Twilight Zone marathon on SyFy. Another holiday tradition. The cool thing was, they weren't the usual episodes that we can recite by heart. So, we spent most of the day saying, "I don't remember how this one ends." 

I also helped Mr. do some exercises, and he moved his leg back AND forth, which was new news and a nice Christmas gift, to boot. 

We worked on another page from the stroke survivor workbook, and he did well on that. But I'm also happy that a speech therapist is going to be working with him, too. ("Speech therapist" is something of a misnomer in this case, since she'll be working on things like short term memory and exercises to help his eyes and brain communicate better.)

By the end of day, I was feeling worn out. I gathered my stuff and headed home. 

The next morning, I awoke with a severe sore throat. I groaned. What if it was strep?

So, I called my insurance company, found out which urgent care center was covered by my plan, and at 8 am was the first in line to be seen by the doctor.

He did a test for strep (negative). Then he eliminated Covid and the flu as possibilities. (I've been vaxxed for both, but that doesn't mean I couldn't still get a mild case.) Fortunately, all the bacterial infections were eliminated. However, he did offer to prescribe an antibiotic to be a on the safe side.

I jumped at the idea. It was a safety measure, given the cornucopia of germs one is exposed to at a skilled care facility (formerly known as "nursing home"). All I had to do was go to the Giant Eagle pharmacy to pick it up.

Knowing the pharmacy didn't open until 9 am, I went to Starbucks (sorry, Natalie) and got a peppermint mocha. I sat in the booth, played the NYT games on my phone, and passed the time. 

An hour and 45 minutes later, my prescription was ready. I made it home and confirmed with Mr. Ginley that I wasn't going to be visiting him. He was sad but advised that I watch Hallmark movies and camp on the couch with hot tea and chicken noodle soup. I took Dr. Ginley's advice.

This morning I'm feeling better and thinking I'll go see Mr. later today. I'm still tired, but there's not a lot of physical activity required in my visit, so I think it'll be fine.

Admittedly, I'll be glad to see this Christmas in the rear view mirror. But I remind myself that we still got to spend it together, and that in itself is a blessing for sure.

Image Attribution: John Tenniel (1820–1914), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

It's a Virtue

"It takes time. Be patient."

photo attribution below*

So says every doctor, nurse, and PT person who's dealt with stroke victims. 

We're coming up on two months since the evil day, and yes, there has been progress. 

The left leg is showing signs of life, as evidenced from PT over the past week. I won't go into the details on toileting, but suffice to say, things are coming out nicely. And Mr. Ginley's sliding board skills have improved dramatically. I even helped him get into bed today. Obviously, the PT guy was still in the leading role. But I helped! (If you're hearing the kid's voice from the Shake 'n Bake commercial in your head right now, you're old like me.)

But I digress.

There are other changes, too. Bill is starting to assert himself more. He's working on returning to the take-charge guy I know and love, less the victim of circumstance. He continues to be a champ in PT, coaching himself all the way. He desperately wants to come home.

Christmas is looming. Mary B. brought in a little Christmas tree and some cookies for Mr. Ginley. Meanwhile, I look around the house, devoid of nary a sprig of holly and shrug. Just not feeling the spirit of the season this year.

On the other hand, I'm grateful that Mr. is still around, that the stroke wasn't worse than it was ("severe" was bad enough). And that there is hope for recovery. 

We just have to have...(wait for it) patience. 

Something I and the patient have in short supply. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Ginley and I want to thank everyone who's supported us through of this, whether you've paid Mr. a visit, advised, let me cry on your shoulder, said a prayer or two, or sent hugs and healing wishes. All are appreciated.

By the way, Merry Christmas. And, as Connie Schultz says, "For those of you struggling, may the day land gently."

*Photo attribution: D'Oyly Carte Opera Company, printed by Clement Smith and Company, London. Signed "J. W."Restored by Adam Cuerden, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons