The Color of Noise

 "I got you a sound machine to help you sleep," I told Mr. Ginley the other day.

attribution below

"Did it come from Miami?" he asked. And chuckled quietly in the endearing manner he's adopted in the aftertimes.

"No, I'm pretty sure it came from China."

And so the other night, we plugged in the new white noise machine from Amazon to see what we could hear. There are 40 sounds, and white noise is just one of them. There's pink noise and brown noise and combinations of all the colors of noise, plus many other sounds besides.

The first night, I turned on a crackling fire. That one was a hit, right off the bat. Bam, out like a light.

The following morning, he drowsily requested another selection. I found train sounds, and soon he was drifting back to sleep.

We weren't so lucky that night, however. I was certain that the sound of crickets would be a soothing way to lull him to sleep. I even set the stage for him, asking him to imagine summertime with the windows open and fireflies and suchlike. 

Apparently, somewhere in the soliloquy, the crickets were joined by a stream, and that brought associations that could only be understood in Mr. Ginley's imagination. He was awake until the crickets cease cricking.

So insects came off the list.

"Running water is always soothing," I ventured the following night. Let's try the rainy noise. And if doesn't work, please let me know and I'll try something else or I'll at least turn off the machine."

Checking in the next morning, I learned that the dripping of the rain reminded him of the time he and his Dad tried to fix the roof with the wrong nails. Not so restful. 

We tried a little soft music next, but this time, I turned the sound down low. And last night, we tried one of the color noises, I don't remember which one.

"I fell asleep when it ended," he said both times. 

So, here we are. Although he did, indeed, fall asleep eventually, he was staring into the dark for an hour before drifting off to dreamland, which does not feel like a success.

What's left in the Top 40 noise list? We have several different options, including fans, thunderstorms, waves, wind, frogs, and piano tunes.

And birds.

I'll be sure and ask him if he's seen the Alfred Hitchcock movie before I try that one.

Photo attribution: NASA/GRC/Paul Riedel, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

In Search of Fortitude

The other day, Mr. Ginley looked at me with the soulful look that has intensified since the beforetimes and asked, "Do you think I'm a burden to you?"

I wanna be her (Fortezza, aka Fortitude)*

It was a gut punch.

"No," I replied. "You're not a burden, but your body is a real pain in the ass to both of us."

Mr. tells me I'm an angel, but I sure don't feel like one. Every day is like finals week in school and I'm missing some of the most important answers.

How many times have I been told to be careful because I could hurt my back? Guess who hurt her back?

Stroky McStrokerson (again, his moniker, lest you think I'm a total beast) has assured me I'm doing a fine job. But here I am, juggling my day job, seeing to his needs, observing his PT and OT sessions, and trying not to feel like I'm neglecting any of these while trying to squeeze out a little me time.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for sympathy here, y'all have been very supportive, and I appreciate that more than I can say. I would have been hard pressed to get through this without the help of family and friends who've stepped up.

And yet...

What I need is to restore something inside myself that's gone AWOL since this whole terrible odyssey began. I was never much for organized religion, but I did have my own quirky spiritual beliefs, a sense that somehow, all would be right with the universe. But I'm having trouble recapturing that.

I think about my Mom, Grandma, and the other caregivers I've known. I'm sure they had moments when they questioned their own beliefs, but they seemed so together. Maybe it was just a brave face they wore around others. Or maybe they truly did have some measure of faith that let them accept, keep calm, and carry on.

On the bright side, there is progress with Mr. Ginley. He's slowly regaining the movement of his left side, and he's getting some amazing instruction from the PT and OT folks, who are impressed with his desire to get better. 

I think my job is to stay laser focused on this, that there's much hope for recovery. 

Faith and hope. Virtues.

Me being me, I just had to look up the seven virtues. Turns out, there are several sets of virtues, but the Christian ones are:

• Faith
• Hope
• Love/Charity
• Prudence
• Justice
• Fortitude
• Temperance 

Well, at least I'm not drinking every night. That's something, right?

P.S. Where's "patience" on this list? How many times did Mom say it was a virtue? 

*Photo attribution: Sandro Botticelli, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

 

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, some of the nurses, 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.