I'd always joked with Mr. Ginley that I could sleep on a box of rocks. But for the life of me, I could not sleep in that chair. I tried every position, but no go.
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| In the beforetimes. |
It wasn't just that the chair was uncomfortable, there was that infernal beeping of machines. Rhythmic, then not. Like a leaky faucet with a syncopated rhythm. It was maddening.
Then there were the nurses, coming in at all hours to check his vitals. Or draw blood. Or take his temperature.
I tried to wake up, but I couldn't. I was awake. And the ugly truth remained.
Mr. Ginley had a stroke.
Now, nearly one week later, I still can't fathom how our world blew up overnight. He went to get out of bed Thursday morning, and he couldn't walk.
I managed to maneuver him down the stairs and set him in the easy chair. Then I called 911.
The ambulance came, worked on him for a bit, and whisked him off to the hospital which was minutes away. I met them there. First, we were in Emergency. Then ICU. Over the next few days, a gazillion tests confirmed he'd had a stroke. But his symptoms were worsening. More tests. Then he was transferred to Cleveland Clinic's main campus.
More tests. No change. No progress. Time for rehab.
So here we are. Mr. cannot move his right arm or leg. His words are slurred. He can't see properly. He has no appetite. The one big plus is that his cognitive abilities are mostly intact. He remembers all manner of song lyrics. He sang our song to me tonight. And he recited major portions of the St. Crispin's Day Speech. He is unfailing kind to all his caretakers, asking their names, and assuring them that they're the boss. He cracks jokes.
I cannot process any of it.
And so, I take each day as it comes. I send prayers to the heavens and hope there is a positive response. I can't think about what will happen next. I'm too afraid.
On the way to the rehab facility last night, I listened to Linda Ronstadt and lost it when she sang, "What'll I do when you are far away, and I am blue, what'll I do?"
Then I dried my tears, put on my happy face, and went in to visit my husband. Fortunately, he's determined to work as hard as he can to get his body operational again. And so many people have been praying for us, that is a comfort, thank you.
As for what comes next, I cannot fathom. It's baby steps. Small bites. And, if those prayers are answered, a miracle.
