Bettie's Challenge

Navigating this Blog

2011-10-10T06:00:00.000-07:00

A Little History

This blog is a love story...with a sad ending. The blog began in June of 2009 when its namesake, Bettie Aitkins, suffered a severe stroke. It effectively ended in January of 2010 with her death from lymphoma. For the following two months, a few posts were added, recounting lessons learned and a little about the beginnings of "moving on" by the author, Bettie's husband Dick.

By March of 2010, the blog had served its purpose and regular posting of articles came to an end. A year later, Dick began a new blog about coping with life alone, grieving, seeking a new identity and a new companion. That blog (Dick's Challenge) was actively added to every week from January 2011 to September 2011. But it too has served its purpose and come to an end.

Chronological Order

Blogs are typically being added to by their authors with some regularity. Thus, it is most convenient for the readership to have the most recent posting on top (up front if you prefer). Since new content is no longer being added to this blog, it is necessary to navigate backward in time to see the blog posts in chronological order, as the story unfolded. There are two ways to do this:
At the top of the column to the right you see a link titled: "Betties Challenge Book". Click on the link just under that title: "Download & Read all Blog posts in chronological order (pdf)" to open a pdf document containing all 110 posts, arranged in chronological order and with a dynamic table of contents, making it easy to find any post. You can print any or all of that document using the Acrobat Reader print functions. If you save the pdf file locally, you can access it without relying on Internet availability.
The second entry in the column to the right is the "Blog Archive". Under that title, click the triangular arrows to open the year (The blog began in June, 2009) and then the month. With the month open, you will see the posts arranged in chronological order and you can click on the individual posts to read them.

Comments

You may post a public comment on the blog by clicking the "Comments" link at the bottom of this (or any) page. If you would like to communicate directly with the author, click this link: raitkins@gmail.com.

Moving On, Part 2 (of 2)

2010-03-26T17:00:00.000-07:00

In last week's post I said I would tell you how I got "here". I now realize that is exactly what I have been doing in the previous 109 posts. This is now getting to be too much about me. Enough already!

So, sorry to say...this is it for Bettie's Challenge. Even I am saddened by the prospect of ending this relationship with what I described as "my mistress" way back last June. (See "Oh Dear, Dick has Taken a Mistress"). However, the reason my son Steve and I created this blog in the first place was this:

Posting this information here is intended to help her many concerned friends get the latest update, while saving those of us directly affected from having to field and respond to multiple inquires each day. (See "About This Blog")

That issue has now long past. As a matter of fact, I would now welcome multiple inquires each day, should you care to make them. The "rest of the story", to quote the late Paul Harvey, is worth telling...but in an appropriate time and setting, and this public blog is neither of those. Privately, one-on-one, with dear friends who have loved and supported me through this, would be fine. Especially those who have prayed for me, my family, and our recovery...you deserve to know that your prayers have been and are being answered...really.

If you have been helped, moved, inspired, or even entertained on occasion, I'm honored to have been gifted by our creator to do that. Of course the biggest honor goes to Bettie, who fought the good fight and overcame her challenge in so many inspiring ways, I'm overcome myself, just thinking of it.

In closing, here are three methods to inquire, comment, or otherwise maintain contact. Choose one that suits you:

At the top of the list of favorite means of communication is what Bettie would have done: a personal hand-written note or card, addressed to:

Just today I've created a new email account especially for private communication with followers of this blog who would like to personally correspond with just me. Address your message to bettieschallenge@gmail.com and I will respond. If you would like a phone call, send me your number and a good time to make contact.

And of course, as always, at the bottom of this (and each) post is a comments section. Click there to read other's comments or to add your own. They are public, of course, but putting your heart out there is not such a bad thing, I've survived it and you probably will too. (Even if you don't care to post a comment, you will enjoy reading the comments of others. I may add comments of my own, in fact.)

I'm eternally grateful for your many months of care, prayers, and support. Just knowing you faithful readers are there has been an enormous comfort. Thanks and blessings to you.

Moving On, Part 1

2010-03-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I look back over posts I made to this blog in its first days. Being plunged into a pit of these proportions is like a novice pilot flying into a dark cloud, having had virtually no training on instrument flying. (Something I'm embarrassed to say I've done...but only once!)

Consumed with the daily coping with a new reality, it is only in hind sight that one realizes the scope of the predicament they are in. In "The First 24 Hours", I dutifully reported what was "working" and what was not. I think it was only after Bettie died, that I began to realize things that were not working in me. Things that hadn't "worked" since that fateful June day.

It seems like so long ago now, it is hard to remember what "normal" was like in early June of last year. Being in a love relationship of fifty-years, I never had occasion to think what it would be like to loose the sensations of loving and being loved in return.

Like a back-up power supply kicking in when the main source is interrupted, I switched from loving like a husband to loving like a care-giver. People do this all the time. Our nightly news is filled with stories of tragedies, each of them requiring this same instant role-changing on the part of the affected family members. It's part of being human. And it takes its toll.

It was obvious from the start of our trial that I was not going to be loved like before. What was not so obvious was that I was not going to love like before either. Care-giving love is different. It is an honor to be able to minister to someone so needy, to care for every physical need, and all of that...but it is not anything like "normal" in a marriage.

What I discovered at the end of it, was I was starved for the love and affection that Bettie simply was no longer capable of giving as she had so faithfully before her stroke. But I was equally needy in the area of giving love to someone the way I had grown accustomed to doing for all those years. These two needs: to love and to be loved had now gone unmet for many months.

Bettie and I had discussed what each would do in the event of the death of the other, some years ago. She said she probably wouldn't remarry and I said I probably would. After that, she didn't want to discuss the issue anymore. Well, who would?

In her last month, I would occasionally wonder what I was going to do, but even the thought seemed inappropriate. After she died, it didn't seem much more appropriate, not to mention all the other considerations:

How will this look?
How long is appropriate?
What about the kids opinions?
What about grieving?
Could I even be attracted to anyone?
I'm so old, who'd want me?

Some of the thoughts one goes through are serious, some are silly, but all are real. One of the best things I did as I fumbled about in my numbed mind, was to confide my dilemma to a good friend, a woman who knew and loved Bettie. How comforting for her to tell me, "Dick, you're vulnerable right now. Go slow. Take your time. There are thousands of women out there that would be attracted to you. Don't worry, I've got your back". OK...whatever. It is still a dilemma.

At some point after we buried Bettie I remember saying to the family, all gathered for a lunch: "There are two great understatements in the Bible: 'Death is an enemy' and 'It is not good for man to be alone'. Please comment on the second one." After some discussion, my son-in-law Mike said: "Dick, it sounds like you are asking for permission".

I gave him the charades clue for "on the nose". Yea, I guess I was. I have since concluded that grieving and "moving on", if that's what I can call what we're talking about here, don't necessarily have to be consecutive. To some extant, they can be concurrent. I don't have to finish grieving before seeking companionship. In fact, the right companion could actually help with grieving. But some of it must be done alone. Probably a lot of it. Frankly, this is complicated stuff, so don't be too quick to pass judgment.

For the sake of my kids, I wanted to be circumspect in this. As I'd been told: "You can have another wife, we can't have another mother." I sent them all a message: "Thoughts on Moving On". It is too long to repeat here, but I simply outlined a lot of these thoughts and promised to go slow and be careful. After several days with little response, I thought I'd lighten up the issue so I sent them this follow-up e-mail message:

"While not everyone has chimed in on my 'Thoughts on Moving On' e-mail, no one so far has come up with the correct response…so I'll give it to you. The correct response: 'Dad, whatever you want to do, whoever you want to do it with, and when, is just fine with us. We just ask one small favor before you move ahead, OK? Just do a Google search for 'How long after death before dating?' Please read each of the results that comes up…then go have your fun'."
At the bottom of the message I put this P.S. "When I ran that search it came up with 29,100,000 results. Assuming I could read each one in a minute and could read without sleeping, it would only take 55 years :-)"

That did lighten the issue, though it is still tender with them. Needless to say, I'm not waiting 55 years, nor am I engaged. But I am somewhere in between. Next time I'll tell you how I got here...stay tuned.

"So Dick, how are you doing?"

2010-03-05T17:00:00.000-08:00

Little by little, the frequency of the question diminishes. People I see often are beginning to see me as, well ... just Dick. I guess that must mean that I really am "moving on". I feel like I am, and it is a welcome feeling, I can tell you.

Not that I don't appreciate the support, attention, and honor that our society pays to people who suffer loss. I do. But too much of it and a person could adopt a victim mentality that I think could actually delay recovery.

For example, I got well-intentioned advice a couple of weeks ago to attend some kind of grief counseling or support group. Being new to the "grieving process" as it is called, I looked into what was available and found a support group, meeting not far from my home. I called the moderator and was invited to attend. Though it was two weeks before I had a free Tuesday evening. A week ago Tuesday, I finally did.

I suppose there were 20 of us around a long table, each with a sad story of loss. I shared mine, and felt right at home. By the time nearly two hours had passed, though I had initially determined that I would give the group a few weeks before deciding if it was going to be a long-term relationship, I had made a personal decision: I am not coming back. Don't get me wrong, they are a lovely group of people and genuinely care about each other ... it is sweet. But most of them lost their mates anywhere from two to six years ago. Somehow that doesn't seem like recovery to me. Memories of Bettie will always be with me, but I'm not going to make a weekly appointment to be sad.

Being new to grieving, I have sought the counsel of friends who have lost mates, read material provided by those wonderful hospice people who helped us for Bettie's last two months, and read extensively on the Internet. Two points are practically universal:
1) It will get better over time;
2) Everyone goes through it in their own way.

Of course, people of faith, among whom I number myself, have even more help. Being something of a literalist, I read something like the well-known 23rd Psalm: "...Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me" and I believe it. So I'm getting plenty of comfort from a good source, thank you.

Now, for something completely different: Clean up.

I don't know exactly what motivated us, but once the undertaker had left that Saturday morning, and after the initial numbness began to wear off, there seemed to be a strong urge to clean house. My daughter Kim came down later and spent a couple of days helping me go through Bettie's clothes, jewelery, cosmetics, and such. Naturally, we selected certain things to go to each of the granddaughters, and to special friends. But for the most part it was off to consignment, the donation truck, or the trash with the great majority of it. And it wasn't just me, the whole family was cleaning up.

It wasn't that I didn't want any reminders of her. I have a lovely picture of Bettie on the dresser, with the "Wedding Gift" bracelet in front of it, and I look at it every day. I put away many of the cards and notes from her though. I'll "go through" those some other time. But for the most part, the bedroom we shared is sparse, clean, and masculine looking. My clothes are now spread out, with many of them in "her" closet as well as my own. The dresser we bought for her 50 years ago is now filled with my things and it's top is graced with a mahogany model of my favorite airplane, the "Connie", which I last flew on New Years Day, 1963.

I'm grateful to so many of you for your continued support and encouragement. But really, I'm moving on in several ways and doing better each week. I've begun a new activity for me: pickle ball with a lovely group of seniors at the Kent Commons a couple of times a week. I take long walks frequently, ice skate once a week and am feeling terrific physically.

Even my heart is healing. But that is a story (you'll love) for next time.

Throwaway Moments

2010-02-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

In the previous post, I said there would be just one more and it would be about me and moving on...I lied. I don't think a whole day had gone by after I posted "Lessons from Bettie's Challenge" before I realized that there was one more bullet point that I wanted to add to the list of "...things that I would do differently if I had the chance." So I'm going to add that here...then we can talk about "moving on", whatever that means. (Oh, and by the way...that topic will take several posts all by itself.)

Good marriages are comfortable. Bettie and I had a good marriage. To experience your mate's death is to realize the enormous contrast between comfortable and uncomfortable.

But I'd like to suggest here that the contrast that counts isn't between comfortable and uncomfortable, but between comfortable and fabulous (or you can insert your favorite superlative, descriptive of a marriage that is way above simply "comfortable"). Now I don't want to suggest that Bettie and I didn't have any "fabulous" in ours...we did. Just not enough.

Just being in one another's presence is comfortable. Having understanding pass between the two of you without a word being spoken is priceless, as the commercial says. And looking back over a long marriage, you can see a whole lot of that unspoken, comfortable, togetherness:

I'm sitting on the family room couch, across from the kitchen, reading the paper, and she is right there in the kitchen;
I'm working in the yard, near the driveway and she slowly drives by and smiles, off to shopping;
I'm in the office, preoccupied with something on the computer and she passes by the door;

Our days were filled with these throwaway moments. Nothing was said, nothing needed to be. We were together...we always would be. It was sweet.

Do you have any idea what I would give now to have just one of those moments back? I can tell you I wouldn't throw it away. Now I'm like a man in a desert, dying of thirst and thinking of all the times I ran water down the drain, waiting for a cold drink.

If you think about it, you realize that an awful lot of our lives are these simple, routine, comfortable, throwaway moments, just strung together. And it pretty much has to be that way doesn't it? If we tried to make every moment "special", no moment would be and the word would lose its meaning.

I don't know what the proper ratio between throwaway and special moments is, but I know I didn't get it right with Bettie. If she were to walk past the office door now as I sit here, preoccupied with this drivel on the computer, I can guarantee the moment would not be thrown away. I would get up, go to her, take her by the shoulders, look into her eyes and say: "Honey, do you have any idea how very special you are to me? Probably not. Well it is a lot!" I'd give her a squeeze or a peck on the lips and send her back on her mission. Total elapsed time: probably about 30 seconds.

What is the ideal ratio? One of those moments a day? Two? Several? If I'm given the chance with another...well that's for a future post. But lets just say, If I had it to do over again, I would recycle a considerable number of those thrown away moments, into something much more memorable.

Lessons from Bettie's Challenge

2010-02-12T17:01:00.000-08:00

After posting "The Wedding Gift" I was thinking: "Gee, I could go on a long time telling stories about Bettie and me". Sorry...no, I can't. Not now anyway. I think we're getting close to the end of the road here. Readership is way down to just a handful each day...five to seven of you die-hard fans. Ah ha, you didn't know I was watching, did you? Yep, every day I get a report of how many readers there were, how many new, how many unique visits, that kind of stuff. Makes you wonder what else I know, doesn't it?

C'mon, lighten up...it is all anonymous. I just know the numbers, not the "who" of them.

The last time I titled a post "The Next to the Last Chapter" it turned out to be six posts ago, so what do I know? Anyway, I'm planning to put up something about "moving on" after this one, and that will probably be it.

For now, I'd like to perhaps ramble a bit here about things I've learned through this challenge, in no particular order. You may remember in the beginning (About This Blog) that I said this may be therapeutic for me and in (Why Me, Why Not) I said: "The real tragedy would be to travel the entire road, whatever it turns out to be, and not scatter some bread crumbs along the way for the next person who might venture into this wilderness."

Actually, both of those things have happened. Not only did I find it therapeutic, I actually learned I could write stuff, other than technical (which I do for a living) and quite enjoy myself in the process.

As far as helping others, there is still a link on Dr. Aaron Heide's web site to this blog, in hopes of helping other stroke victims. Just the other day, a fellow who works on my daughter Kim's team at Comcast called me just to talk ... it seems his wife is dying of cancer.

For you people of faith, Romans 8:28 comes to mind in all of this, doesn't it? I've seen enough examples to realize that my family's experience, and my writing about it here, is merely a small but never-the-less important piece of a giant puzzle. It's a humbling realization.

Another "lesson" is one I brought out in Where Else but America. The outpouring of love and support one receives in times like these is something you simply have to experience to truly understand. I suppose a cynical person could say, "Where has this been all my life", and maybe they'd have a minor point.

But busy lives or not, when you're hurting, people in our society respond like you wouldn't believe. I have a basket full of cards with the sweetest, most sincere and touching sentiments, many from people I hardly know.

When the entire staff of a busy medical clinic takes time to write personal messages, you know you're supported. (Two clinics did that.) The lesson is this: There is a big reservoir that will be ready for you, should you need it, and you are part of everyone else's reservoir. We are blessed to live in a society with values like ours. Americans don't go through this kind of stuff alone.

Speaking of clinics, let me speak a little of the professional care we received though our "challenge". For many years, Bettie and I have been more into the natural as opposed to the pharmaceutical approach to health.

We would be more likely to seek an "alternative" solution than the "traditional" one in most cases. With this situation, my 911 call on that fateful Tuesday morning in June, plunged us directly into the middle of traditional medical care. It was the best, and only, option available. Through the ensuing months I have come to have a deep appreciation and respect for the professional people who have dedicated their lives to careers in this field.

It grieves me to hear high public officials imply that the health care professions are filled with greedy doctors, merciless insurance people, and care facilities that routinely turn sick and dying people into the streets. If American health care is broken, somehow I completely missed it. I saw people working unbelievable hours providing loving care because they wanted to be in a helping profession.

In numerous previous posts I have singled out many of them. When your life is on the line, who do you want looking out for you, a politician or a medical professional? Now there's a no-brainer for you.

Now for some things that I would do differently if I had the chance.

This first one I mentioned early on in the post "I'm Watching My Phraseology". The last seven months I have proven to myself that it is possible to live with a person and find absolutely nothing to criticize, condemn, or complain about...nothing, ever. As I said, it is just a choice and I wish I had made it, oh, 50 years ago or so. Things would have been even better.
If you or a loved one are diagnosed with a condition that elevates your risk for stroke, take it very seriously. If a blood thinner is recommended, take it while you are looking for a more natural alternative, if that's what you want. I know of no side-effect that is anywhere near as bad as a stroke. We don't know if Bettie's stroke was from atrial fibrillation (which we knew she had) or lymphoma (which we didn't). But by the time she finally found a cardiologist she liked and got on a blood thinner, her stroke was 24 hours away.
If you are a "natural and organic" kind of person with your dietary regime, may I suggest that you extend that same concept to other areas of your life. Now that I've learned a little about lymphoma (and this is true of many cancers I'm sure) I have a strong suspicion that a major contributor to this killer disease was toxic cleaners.

Bettie, as many of you have surmised, waged an epic war with dirt all her life. Mrs. Clean, that was her. Every Friday the house smelled of pine oil as she worked her magic with mop, sponge, (often leaky) rubber gloves, and the famous bottle with a tree in its name. Read the label. It is highly toxic, as is much of our society. It behooves you to watch more than just what you eat. From now on, if I can't use it in my salad dressing, I'm not using it on my floor.
Say it now. If there is any positive thing at all that I can say about Bettie's Challenge it would be that at least it gave us time to tell her what we wanted to. Your challenge may not afford you the same opportunity. In fact, Bettie didn't have the same benefit ... she could never say what she really wanted. We knew it was there, but ... well, it was sad to watch.
Do it now. Procrastination may make the moment easier but it does nothing to ease the pain of "if only I'd done...". Everyone has their mental "bucket list", but if you are in a relationship, the list that really should matter to you is your mate's. Do you know what is on their list? If not, find out and start helping them check off the items. Don't wait until ... well, you know.
This last mulligan I'd like to take should be of interest to married men. I apologize if it sounds sexist, but it was true in my relationship, and Bettie would approve ... No, she would applaud me mentioning it: I married a Stradivarius. I kept it polished, dust free, and in tune. It had a protective case and never got scratched. Every now and then, I would actually play it. Mostly simple stuff like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Then I'd put it away and for too long, forget how absolutely beautiful even a simple tune sounded. I should have been playing every day.

Challenging myself to make ever more beautiful melodies; eventually even mastering the very difficult passages. It was awesome to be in possession of such an incredible instrument, but the lost melodies haunt me as I consider what more there could have been. Something over 500 of these masterpieces are known to exist. Perhaps there is one in your kitchen right now.

In looking back over this post, I find four references to previous posts. This is a giveaway that redundancy is setting in. Time to give it a rest. Before I do though, there will be one more post, in two to three weeks. In that one, I will answer the question, as best I can, that I get virtually every day: "So Dick, how are you doing."

I don't want this to become "Dick's Challenge", but I know many of you are, with good reason, concerned for me. I want to tell you about what I'm doing to move on. What has changed, what stays the same. That kind of stuff. It is a story that won't be finished for a long time, but it has begun and inquiring minds want to know, as the saying goes. So check back from time to time ... and remember, I'm watching.

The Wedding Gift

2010-01-26T12:00:00.000-08:00

The day of Bettie's memorial service, the family was gathered in a private reception room, off the foyer of Grace Community Church. A few days earlier, I had asked my sons Steve and Jim if they would be willing to present a brief story or memory of Mom during a time of sharing in the service. Now, in turn, I asked them each if they had something prepared. They each assured me that they were ready. I told everyone that I too, had a story but that I didn't know if I would be able to tell it.

Since we had arrived quite early, there was time for me to tell my story to the gathered family, as a sort of "trial run". My apprehension was allayed as I got into it. "Ah, good", I said to myself, "it looks like I can get through this without choking up." I even had a prop, sort of a show and tell.

I had asked Art Palecek, the Associate Pastor to lead the sharing time and gave him the names of a few people I had asked to be prepared, Steve and Jim among them. He was to conclude with me. I would tell my little story and then introduce my chorus for the closing songs.

However, by the time the microphone was in my hand, I realized that we were running a little long and I much preferred "leaving them wanting more", as they say, rather than less. I didn't tell the story...so here it is:

On our wedding day, beside my dashing fly-boy good looks :) , blue uniform with wings and gold stripes, I gave my bride a real gift: a gold charm bracelet. It has interlocking links with four pearls interspersed along its length. There were four heart-shaped charms adorning it on that happy occasion, each one with an inscription: "We met, May 16, 1958"; "First date, July 10, 1958"; "Engaged, October 22, 1958"; "Wedding Day, May 16, 1959". (I soon gathered that she rather liked it.)

Over the years, it spent most of its life in the jewelery drawer, but put in an occasional appearance at anniversaries and other special occasions. Of course charms were added for each of our children's birthdates, and later for grand-children. At 25 years, a silver heart appeared.

A few weeks before our 50th, I rummaged through the lesser items in the drawer, finally finding the bracelet in its own special box. I left the box, but removed the bracelet for its periodic trek to the jeweler for its (now we know) final charm: "May 16, 2009: Fifty Years of True Love".

With our anniversary party scheduled for Sunday the 17th, I made reservations for a view table at Palisade Restaurant on the water in Seattle for Saturday evening, the exact time we were married. I thought about just letting her wear the bracelet and then pointing out the new charm during dinner. This would of course assume that she would remember to wear the bracelet and that she would not notice the new charm on her own. Rather than risk it, I simply put the bracelet, box and all, in my pocket while she was doing her hair. She didn't seem to miss it, so I was home free.

At Palisade, I managed a hushed conspiracy with the maitre'd before being shown to our table. Soon our bright young waiter appeared with the customary flair.

At that point I exclaimed to Bettie "Oh Honey, look, we forgot your bracelet. Your charm bracelet."

She started to mumble something like "It wasn't there ... " but didn't get it out before I interrupted.

I turned to the waiter and said: "We forgot my wife's special occasion bracelet... I don't suppose you have something like, oh I don't know, a house bracelet or something?"

"Why yes sir. Actually we do." and with that he pulled her bracelet box from his apron and presented it to Bettie.

She was delighted, and pleasantly "surprised".

I thought we -- me and our waiter -- had really pulled off a great little show with a surprise ending.

I put 'surprised' in quotes, because I later asked her if it actually was a surprise. "Not exactly" she tactfully broke it to me.

"You may not remember, but a couple of weeks ago I forgot to put a spoon in your lunch." (On days I go into the office, I would leave before she was awake, so she fixed my lunch the evening before).

She continued: "So rather than go back down to the kitchen, and because you were already asleep, I just put a note in your pocket to remind you to put a spoon in your lunch."

I shook my head: "And that just happened to be the day that I had put your bracelet in that same pocket to take to the jeweler?"

"The very same," she grinned. "But it's OK, this was fun, and it will make a great story."

Indeed.

Their Graves Were Side by Side

2010-01-19T12:00:00.000-08:00

Shortly after composing "The Next to the Last Chapter" in this blog, I contacted the funeral director I had chosen. I think the second question they asked me was "Are you a veteran?" I recounted my military service to them and they suggested that I bring in my military separation papers. They wanted to see if I qualified for husband and wife burial in Tahoma National Cemetery.

My military service consisted of an 8- year enlistment in the Washington Air National Guard, beginning in July of 1954. As it turned out, after four and-a-half years of that enlistment, I was flying with Northwest Airlines and that qualified me for an occupational deferment.

I spent the final three and-a-half years of my enlistment in the inactive Air Force Reserve. During that time, a lot of my flying was cargo and personnel on military charter flights. I had no actual "active duty" in any branch of the military. But the funeral director said, "The rules are changing all the time, and we'll just check and see if you qualify."

But unfortunately, the military does not make a determination until after the death occurs.

Well, we waited and waited and waited. Finally, just last Thursday I got the call from the military people in St. Louis: Permission denied because there was no active duty. Of course I knew that all along, but that wasn't the question they asked.

So I purchased side-by-side plots at Hillcrest Burial Park in Kent, just three miles from our home. By then, the soonest we could schedule burial was Tuesday, January 19th at 11:00 a.m. ...that was today.

The clouds held back their tears for our brief graveside service. The rest of us, not so much.

Our pastors from El Shaddai Ministries, Mark Biltz and Art Palecek, were on hand to conduct a brief and dignified tribute to our dear Bettie.

It was just the immediate family...and it was sad, very, very sad.

What else can I say.

While the memorial service on January 8th had its sad elements too, it also celebrated a life and was filled with supportive friends and comforting words. And there was the wonderful music, to cap it all off.

Today, there was no celebration.

But there was the lingering lyrics of the song my Northwest Sound chorus brothers had so artistically performed that day:

" ... then one day they died,

and their graves were side-by-side,

on a hill where robins sing

and they say violets grow there

the whole year round,

for their hearts were full of spring

in Love ... in Spring."

The Memorial

2010-01-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

Even the heavens were crying as we slogged through a soaking rain into Grace Community Church, just before 3 p.m. on Friday, January 8th. Once inside though, things seemed to brighten. With Bettie's life as the central theme, gloominess simply could not prevail.

As I mentioned in The Next to the Last Chapter, plans for this service began a couple of weeks before...well let's just leave it at that. The hospice nurse had ventured that Bettie would probably not even make it to January. (That apparently needled Bettie just a little.) Though I had not written anything down, I had talked with our family about my ideas and what I knew of Bettie's desires.

With all of that in mind, I spent an entire day preparing what I thought should be in the program. (I'm still not sure what to call the printed hand-out. I guess program is as good as anything. Note: A copy of that "program" in pdf format is now posted just to the right of this text.) In all of the preparations, my underlying concept was a service that was befitting the woman we were remembering. It had to be classy, honoring, uplifting, and ministering, all at the same time. I wanted emotions to be free to flow, but not to become overly maudlin.

Over the next two weeks, things began to come together. I got editorial suggestions from the family and my pastor and his associate. Veronica and her sister Vicky began to comb through boxes of photos as they crafted a media presentation to highlight this extraordinary life. My chorus began to review a song that I had picked from last year's repertoire, because of its particularly suitable theme. I visited with Shelly Larson at Grace Community Church, who handled all the facility details flawlessly.

By that dreary Friday afternoon, though my obsessiveness over being on time had gotten us there 45 minutes early, there was little for the family to do. Flowers had arrived, the chorus was downstairs warming up, Jordan was tending to the guest book, and guests were arriving. We sat in a private reception room, nervously doing our best to ignore the reality in which we were immersed.

The chapel at Grace comfortably seats 150. Quite a few extra chairs were brought in, but, though rather full, the overflow space was not needed. Fifteen minutes before starting, Vicki Biltz began playing traditional hymns (Bettie's favorites) on the piano. Just past three, the service began.

Though I had thought it might be about forty minutes in length, it was actually very close to an hour. The service consisted of:

Pastor Mark Biltz's message "The End of Life...and The End of Death".
A photo montage with "Annie's Song" by John Denver and "I Can Only Imagine" by The Maranatha Singers.
A time of sharing, stories and memories, hosted by Associate Pastor Art Palecek. (Seven people spoke, including our sons Steve and Jim.)
Two song's by Northwest Sound Men's Chorus: "Their Hearts Were Full of Spring" and "The Irish Blessing".
The Aaronic Blessing by Pastor Mark.

There was a time of fellowship with food afterward, during which the family was able to meet nearly all of the guests. During this time I received many kind comments on the service, as did other family members. I'll leave it for those who attended to post their thoughts, but all in all, I believe my dear Bettie was honored in a manner befitting her.

Not "The Last Chapter"

2010-01-11T20:00:00.000-08:00

I guess I sort of painted myself into a corner by naming the previous two posts "The Last Chapter", although I did say I would post a prologue. Well, I've had numerous requests concerning the blog...but I'm going to continue anyway. (That was supposed to be funny.)

Seriously, I have had a number of readers suggest that possibly some of the most helpful stuff may lie in the future as I move toward the light that I know is out there somewhere. So you can expect the posts to continue for a time. At some point of course, this could become too much about me and would no longer serve to honor its namesake. I'll try not to let that happen.

Before ending this brief post, I'd like to point out an addition that Steve (my editor) and I have added to the blog. If you look just to the right of the post title you'll see a link called:

Bettie's Challenge book

Download & Read all Blog posts (PDF) in chronological order

I've taken all the posts from the Introduction to The Last Chapter and arranged them in chronological order, with a bookmarked table of contents. You can view it in your browser by simply clicking the link. If you want to download it to read in Adobe Reader, print it, share it, or whatever, click the link, then click the "File" menu item and choose "Save As".

Also, we've posted a pdf version of the "program" from the memorial.

The Last Chapter, continued: "Arrangements"

2010-01-02T18:00:00.000-08:00

"Arrangements", as they call them, have begun but they cannot be completed until the business week begins on Monday. Burial will be attended by just family, followed (hopefully on the same day) by a memorial service. That service will be at Grace Community Church. (Click the link for a map.) Although we do not attend there, they have wonderful facilities and staff, and it is in our home city of Auburn. I'll add details to this post when I have them. Look for an Update section in the post.

As you can imagine, I'm a little numb right now...not the time for thoughts and such. (There will be time for a prologue post later, so I guess this really isn't the last chapter). Before I close though, let me thank you for the supportive words, thoughts, and prayers that so many of you readers have sent our way these last few months. As I've said more than once, this is not something anyone should try alone. Though I'm lonely, I know for sure I am not alone.

-------------------- Update --------------------

Bettie's memorial service will be at Grace Community Church, on Friday, January 8th, at 3:00 p.m. (See the link above for a map.) A reception will immediately follow the service in an adjacent room, and will include a pot-luck meal. If you are so inclined, you could bring a cold dish such as a salad, cold-cuts, bread, cheese, or a desert.

There will be an opportunity for a few brief stories and memories of Bettie to add to the celebration of a life well-lived. We'll conclude with a couple of songs by my dear brothers in the Northwest Sound Men's Chorus that you won't want to miss. Hint: bring tissue.

If you are able, it would be such an honor to see you there

You can enter the parking lot for Grace Community Church, directly from Auburn Way S. Enter the church via the entrance on that (the west) side of the building. Once inside, the chapel will be to your left. If you have brought food, someone will take it from you in the foyer and deliver it to the Fireside Room for the reception. That room is straight ahead through the foyer.

Bettie's obituary appeared in both The Seattle Times and The Bellingham Herald today.

The Last Chapter

2010-01-02T05:30:00.000-08:00

The final two days were peaceful, and seemingly without pain. Thursday morning I began to feed her breakfast. She opened her mouth just barely enough to convince me that she would take something. I gave her a small bite, but I'm not sure she swallowed much of it...then she went to sleep. That turned out to be her last waking moment.

Whether this was a deep sleep or a coma, I don't know. It doesn't matter, does it? During the next 44 hours, she was changed and moved multiple times, with little recognition of anything.

The experts tell us that hearing is the last system to shut down. With that assurance, she "heard" the whole family express their gratitude for what she has meant to them over the years. I'm the lucky one...I got to have two nights with her in this state. So she heard a lot from me. When it was time, (3:43 am Saturday, January 2nd) she gave a deep sigh, and finished her challenge.

The Next to the Last Chapter

2009-12-18T14:50:00.000-08:00

I fear I may have given an overly optimistic impression in my post of a week ago (Call it a Chanukkah Blessing). If so, I apologize. While what I said was true...Bettie was better. Perhaps I should have made it perfectly clear that she was only better than the previous week, not better as in all better, or in remission, or what ever other term one might use to explain a dramatic improvement.

Given the oncologists prognosis: "she has weeks" which was given just over six weeks ago, the "better" signs we saw last week did seem encouraging. After all, she was supposed to be...well, you know. In fact, in a phone conversation with the hospice nurse yesterday, she told me that Bettie would have died weeks ago, had it not been for the excellent care, love, and support she is getting here at home with family. She had especially high praise for our son Rick, who simply cannot do too much in his care of "Mom".

But the primary purpose of the nurse's call, was not about Bettie but about me. She wanted to make sure I understood how things were. I told her that I realized what is happening and that, baring a miracle, I expect Bettie probably won't make it through January. "That would be really good...if she could make it to January second or third" she said. "But I think that is pretty optimistic". That's when she told me that, but for the loving home care, she would not have made it this far.

As you can imagine, it was another one of those moments you don't forget, like The Day it Happened, or the call on the bus, or the oncologists prognosis. Maybe I have been in denial, at least about how much time we have, if not about the ultimate end. Well, as I said last week: "Unable to see the future as we are, we just take each day..." Since this is my first time at this, I"m in no position to judge the accuracy of the nurse's opinion. However, prudence suggests some more detailed planning is in order.

And so, dear readers, we seem to be approaching the end of Bettie's Challenge. How I wish it wasn't so. I suppose I could go back to daily or even twice daily posts, as I did in the beginning. I could describe each step down into this valley..but there is no honor nor dignity in that. Baring something dramatic, the next post will be titled: "The Last Chapter", and you know what that will say. It will have a version number after the title. I will update that post with details, as I know them, that those of you wishing to honor Bettie at a memorial service will need.

I'm doing OK. Bettie and I are surrounded and supported by loving family and friends...and that's just the support we can see...there's more. Thank you all for taking a moment here and there out of your busy lives to catch up on Bettie's latest status here. You have been doing that for these nearly six months and it means an awful lot to know that you are there...really.

Call it a Chanukkah Blessing

2009-12-12T09:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening, Dr. Schumer (who is Jewish) made a house call here, on his way home, presumably, to celebrate Chanukkah. Answering the door, I greeted him and he responded with "How's Bettie?".

"Better," I said..."the last few days she seems to be better".

In the bedroom, he found Bettie in bed, but fully dressed. (Earlier we had her up, sitting in a chair and later had carried her downstairs to be with the family. She was still dressed from that adventure.) I told the doctor that the last couple of weeks (primarily at the instigation of our son Rick who I've hired to be her primary care-giver because he worked for several years as a nursing assistant at UW Medical Center) we have taken a different approach to her activity level. This is what Rick had said to me in a message about two and a half weeks ago:

"I have A LOT of experience with people in Mom's condition. Older ones ALWAYS wanted to sleep ALL the time, but we always got them up during the day. Just like with them, she moans, groans and makes grimacing faces with every exertion, and then for a little while longer, but then is OK. (Just like when we go running, work out & lift weights, it hurts and we made ugly faces & moan.) In the same way, getting Mom up for exercise is definitely good for many reasons, one of which is it reduces the requirement for the very unhealthy pain medication. Visit any hospital or care facility. You'll see that they try to get patients out of bed for part of every day.
"Among the reasons for getting her up, going outside, staying awake a good amount, and trying to walk as much as possible during the day, are: it helps her mind, her appetite, helps stabilize her muscles and reduce discomfort and pain, diminish her restlessness, and helps her to relax, rest, and sleep much better at night."

The doctor took one look and said: "She is better. Healing happens," he says "and it's almost never what doctors do. But I see it occasionally. Not often...but it happens." I told him that it had been over a week since we gave her any Oxycodone for pain and that her 3-day pain patch was two days past due and she didn't seem to need it. Dr. Schumer said he would tell the hospice people that she could be off her pain meds. "You'll have to cut them some slack here", he said "they have this expectation of how things should go...and this is not something they would expect to see."

Bettie smiled at him and said a little something, though we're not sure what it was, I imagine it was something like: "Hey Doc, check me out."

The doctor's calls are primarily a much-appreciated professional courtesy. He doesn't have to do this and I haven't seen a bill. He just sees it as the right thing to do...and he gladly does it. He left with a cheery "Happy Chanukkah", promising to bring Bettie a dreidel on his next visit in two weeks.

It was the doctor who used the word "healing". If this is healing in the miraculous sense, then it is the "from that very hour" (Matt 15:28) variety, as opposed to the more dramatic "take up thy bed, and walk" (John 5:8) example.

What ever it is, Bettie is:

Awake more each day;
Not taking pain medication;
Eating better (though chewing is a major issue, so we puree her food);
Sleeping better;
Attempting to talk more, though still unable to find the correct words;
And just generally perkier than she was two weeks ago.

Unable to see the future as we are, we just take each day and are thankful for whatever blessings we receive. Thank you to Rick and to Dr. Schumer. Happy Chanukkah indeed.

More, Since You Asked...

2009-11-20T17:30:00.000-08:00

As Garrison Keillor would say, "It's been a quiet week..." We have made, and continue to make, our petitions to her creator...so now we wait. Meanwhile, Bettie is pretty much unchanged from last week's post.

It had been quite a while since we tried any flash card reading like we did when therapy was the order of the day. So yesterday and again today I asked her to tell me what the word was on each of about 20 flash cards the speech therapist had left with us. She used to get between 5 and 15 of them correct. Now her score is zero. It may be the pain medication making it even more difficult to find the right word, I don't know. Anyway, I don't think I'll be trying that anymore.

Speaking of pain, that is a real difficult thing to deal with when the patient cannot verbalize with any predictable accuracy, just what she's feeling. It's kind of a loose, loose situation: You either have pain with alertness or comfort with fuzziness. I'm choosing comfort for her, but there is less interaction as a result. We still have our close moments, but I'm glad I've told her all I really feel I need to. I'm not going to wish later that I had said something more. At least that is one good thing that this protracted decline has given us: time to say goodbye.

Another difficult thing to deal with is guilt...or if not guilt then something close to it. For example, after ending the previous paragraph with "goodbye" I'm wondering: "Have I given up on faith? How does that look to our many friends who are praying, and here I am saying goodbye?" Then there's the desire to have her suffering come to and end, but what does that really mean I'm desiring? That kind of stuff goes through my mind all the time. However, I'm sure these issues are very typical of all hospice caregivers, and that's some consolation.

Bettie has had a number of visitors the past week, and though often not verbally responsive, she seems to enjoy most of them. I say most, because some old and dear friends bring a tearful response from her. I'm not sure why, but it passes and the sun comes out again.

One final note: The other day we received a card from the Auburn Regional Medical Center, Acute Rehab Unit. It was signed by eighteen members of the staff there. Not just signed actually...they each wrote a brief note of love, support and prayer for Bettie. It seems she made quite an impression during the month of July in which she was a resident there. (See the 40 posts for the month of July, for more details.) The card quite undid both of us as I read it to her. Thank you guys so much. This trial is not the kind of thing you want to attempt alone, and we surely are not alone!

Since You Asked...

2009-11-10T16:30:00.000-08:00

Here are some of the details that people have been asking about.

Bettie's Condition:

She is still able to get up, and, with assistance (and her walker), make her way to the bathroom and back.
Her communication is pretty much unchanged, that is, she seems to understand most or all of what is said to her and can usually make appropriate simple responses. She almost never expresses her desires or comments with the right words, so it is often a guessing game to determine her intent.
She is in her own bed, other than bathroom visits, all the time. We can get a hospital bed from the hospice care people, but have not found the need to, so far. At this point, it seems doubtful she will be going anywhere else, even downstairs to the family room.
Her pain is managed by a 3-day patch of Fentanyl, plus Oxycodone when needed. All her pain seems to be abdominal, in the area where the biopsy was performed two weeks ago.
She has a diminishing appetite, but is able to eat something at each meal time. We try to give her what ever she might enjoy, often breaking her natural-and-organic-only rules, from before this happened. Her weight a week ago was 96.6 lbs, up slightly from a couple of weeks before. (Before the stroke, June 23rd, she was 123 lbs.)
She sleeps well...maybe too well. Pain medication make one sleepy, so this it to be expected.
She does pretty well with visitors. With hospice care people in several times a week, family, and friends, she has had a fair number of callers. She is able to engage everyone with at least a weak "Hi", though she may fall asleep at some point in a visit.
Occasionally she will sit up a little so as to view a recent addition to our bedroom, a large plasma television. She can enjoy a movie or favorite show, sometimes even staying awake to the end. Most of the time it displays a continuous aquarium scene that is quite soothing, with soft background music.
And, yes, she can still make funny faces...on occasion. I love that.

How am I doing:

As mentioned earlier, this is a shocking change in my life. In the months after the stroke but before the diagnosis, there was time to seriously consider the things that could come next, but it was still traumatic to actually experience it. Nevertheless, this is not new ground I'm breaking here. This kind of thing happens to people all the time. I imagine all of you blog readers have had to deal with equally sad situations. I don't know...we just do it, don't we? All in all, I'm doing OK.
Health wise, I just today finished all the followup visits after my two days in the hospital scare a month ago (see Oh No, Back in the Hospital). Apparently most of the stroke-like symptoms I exhibited came from some slight interference in my neck where a little arthritis has narrowed the clearance for the spinal cord. Heart is in great shape, and nothing much to be concerned with otherwise. Just don't play tackle football or run with scissors...that kind of stuff.

Am I still working, and singing:

My employer, iShip Inc., as been particularily wonderful during this time. I am able to spend all the time I need and want with Bettie. I do still go into the office as I'm able and I can work from home for most of the things I do too. There is more detail about my work in the post from June 30th, titled And Now, a Word From Our Sponsor.
Last Wednesday was the day we saw the oncologist. It did not seem appropriate to go singing that evening, though it was regular chorus rehersal night. Donny, our director, made a brief announcement to the chorus about my situation. This week, I'll return. Singing helps...so does the brotherly fellowship and support I get there.

Do I have enough help:

I was telling the hospice nurse yesterday: "We're probably less in need of help that your average clients". Beside the live in family (My son Tim, Veronica, his wife, and Jordan and Jonny their teenage children) I now have my son Rick (a former CNA) as a full-time helper. Just last night, my son (and co-editor) Steve flew in from San Francisco for some time with "Mom". So we have a house full.
And speaking of hospice home care, they really provide an amazing amount of help. Besides equipment of all kinds, they have nurses, massage therapists, bathing assistance, housekeeping help, spiritual counseling, and more. Next time they are here, I'll ask about leaf raking. (I call this place "Five Oaks" for a reason.) Oh, never mind, that's Jonny's job.

Can you visit:

Yes, you can. At a minimum, call a hour or so ahead of time...a day before might be even better. (253 854-5725). Even with that, it is possible you may have to wait downstairs for a hospice care person to finish a visit.

Where Else but America?

2009-11-09T16:00:00.000-08:00

While I've traveled the world a fair amount and visited other cultures, I have only lived in America. Therefore, my opinion is decidedly non-objective...but for my money, this is the place to endure a trial, if that is what fate brings you. I am so blessed to live among the most generous, loving, and supportive people on the planet. Where do I start, to acknowledge the overflow that has engulfed me?

The pastor where I attend services each week called the other day. What's so special about that? He either stayed up very late at night or got up in the wee hours to do it...he's in Israel, leading a tour. That was very special.
Speaking of churches, people from where we used to go, call, send cards, visit and bring food by.
Not to be out done, a woman in our congregation had a florist deliver a bouquet to Bettie on Sabbath...just to make the day special. That was her third or fourth flower arrangement since August.
My daughter Kim came down from Arlington yesterday, especially to give "Mom" a loving pedicure. She stayed today and is now giving her a manicure.
The Hospice care team from St. Joseph hospital (Tacoma) have begun coming and are providing a basket full of services. Practically anything we need in the way of equipment, supplies, or services, they provide. And they do it with dignity and class, really.
My brothers in Northwest Sound Men's Chorus are supporting me like you wouldn't believe. Just today I got a long, wonderful note from one of them. It said in part: "...I wish you the strength to get through these times as best you are able. I have read the recent posts on your blog. Thank you for sharing that with so many. It has helped more people than you can imagine. It’s not just been an exercise to help you get through this or to inform your close friends. It has been a ministry and I respect you so much for sharing in times like these. I am praying for you and your family. I hope you will come to chorus when you are ready and give us a chance to show you our love and support. We all love you, Dick."
My younger brother (Grandpa Jim) and my niece (Linda) came by Saturday afternoon and had a long and supportive visit.
Our primary care doctor (Dr. Schumer) will be making a house call this week. What kind of doctor does that anymore?
Read the comments that have been made to recent posts and you'll see more of what I'm getting.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Our great country is founded on a value system that makes people like these. People that rush to aid the imperiled, bind up the wounded, and comfort the suffering. We should thank God for these values, they make us all better...and when needed, they heal us.

On Saying 'Goodbye' 2

2009-11-04T15:00:00.000-08:00

If you have been following this blog for some time, you may remember the post from August 27th titled "On Saying 'Goodbye' ". All of what I said there applies today...except this time, I am so very sorry to say, it is becoming a reality.

We had our visit with the oncologist this morning and he gave a long name to the type of lymphoma Bettie has. I don't remember the name...just the prognosis: "She has weeks. She is already in late stage 3 (of 4 stages) of a very aggresive type," Dr. Keech told us. "We'll make her comfortable and get hospice care to give you a hand."

It was the same feeling I had on Friday when Dr. Stephan sort of pre-conditioned me to this possibility with the news that it was lymphoma, but of unknown (at the time) type. Pre-conditioned or not, it is still a feeling like no other.

I've told our children. Dr. Keech gave Bettie the news. "This is what I'm paid for", he told me, so I let him go ahead. She took it calmly. I'm not sure she fully 'got it' at the time. But we've talked since, and we're both OK.

As I was bringing Bettie into the house, at noon, I was thinking "this may be the last time she ever rides in the car, the last time up the steps", etc., etc. I quickly realized that I could drive myself nuts with the sad thoughts. There's just no point in that. So, if you see me or talk to me, I'm not going to be someone you have to tiptoe around. I know I'm supported. Just treat me normal, and I'll try to be upbeat. After all, I've had 50 years with Bettie. Hard to top that!

Results of the Biopsy 2

2009-11-03T06:45:00.000-08:00

In my over-long post about singing, I mentioned that we will see the doctor on Monday. That was yesterday and we did see the doctor. It was a fairly routine trip to Dr. Schumer, our primary care doctor to have Bettie's weekly blood consistency test. (Being on a blood thinner requires close monitoring to keep it not too thin and not too thick, to put it in non-medical terms.)

Doctor Schumer did spend some time with me (alone) discussing where we go from here but he did not go into the specifics of Bettie's condition. That is not his specialty. He referred us to an oncologist and said they would call me later in the day to set an appointment, probably Tuesday.

When I talked later with Dr. Keech's office, we settled on Wednesday morning. So that's when I'll have some real news.

Singing with a Heavy Heart

2009-11-01T11:00:00.000-08:00

First, a little background:

I've been a member of the Barbershop
Harmony Society for 13 years or so (from 1980 to 84 in Tacoma and from 2000 to the present in Bellevue). Barbershop harmony is a uniquely American art form...that is, it originated in the American south over a hundred years ago. Now it is international both in participants and those who simply enjoy the sound of close, four-part harmony.

I place a rather high value on my participation, in the belief that music makes our society a better place...besides, it is good clean fun, fellowship, and, when one needs it, a source of tremendous emotional support. In all these ways, it is truly a ministry.

My chorus, Northwest Sound Men's Chorus, produces two annual shows for the general public: a spring/summer show in early June, and a Holiday show in December. These help us pay the rent, our director, coaches, and other expenses that our dues don't cover. In addition to these shows, you might find us performing at local community events such as: The City of Kirkland's tree lighting ceremony, the Seattle Westlake Center holiday kick off, the Bellevue Strawberry Festival, Music in the Park in Everett, and many others.

And then, there is something else...COMPETITION! Chapters in the Barbershop Harmony Society can choose to compete among themselves for titles such as Division Champion, District Champion, and International Champion. (There are contests for both quartets and choruses.)

There is no money in this, but you would never guess it given the amount of work the members put in just to sing better than the other guys. The nice thing about the competitive part is that it raises the standards for everyone...we all get better.

If you would like to get an idea of just how good this music genre can get, here is a link to the St Charles Missouri chapter, the Ambassadors of Harmony and their performance of "76 Trombones" which won the international championship this past July. In that same competition, Northwest Sound placed 19th, highest of any chorus in our district.

Speaking of "district" we belong to the Evergreen District which is very large: Alaska, British Columbia, Alberta, Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Western Montana. And this weekend was the annual Evergreen District Competition. In was Vancouver's turn to host it and they choose the convention center in Whistler, B.C. as the venue. Our chorus was in the competition, trying to earn the right to again represent our district at the international competition next year in Philadelphia.

So that's how I happened to be on a charter bus, 50 miles or so north of Vancouver at 2:00 Friday afternoon when I received a cell phone call from Dr. Stephan. I had given him my cell number and knew that he might call, but I really expected the call on Monday. When it came, this call was very like the call I made to Bettie the morning of the stroke (see The Day it Happened)...one of those moments I know can happen but I never really expected that it would ... at least not to me.

At first the doctor's voice sounded positive, that is he was direct, no grasping to try to find sugar coated words: "We have the results from Bettie's biopsy (a slight pause here) it is Lymphoma." If you put two words on a balance scale (like the scales of justice): "Stroke" on one side and "Lymphoma" on the other, the L word is clearly heaver. While it's true there are stroke victims who die and Lymphoma victims who fully recover, it is more often the other way around. Unfortunately for Bettie, she has both, plus she is down to 95 pounds or so, a grim picture indeed.

I thanked Dr. Stephan, though in hindsight I'm not sure why ... good manners I guess. My head was spinning. I wanted to stand up and shout "Stop the bus, I want to go home". I'm thinking: "What kind of man goes off to sing while his wife is..." But I took some time to think it through:

The trip was already planned and the risks were considered and allowed for.
She is in very good care with family.
There is nothing I could do, even if I were there, until Monday when we see the doctor.
I really do need a break from the daily stress of this, and singing is a very good stress reliever.
In last place, but still a real consideration, is my commitment to the chorus.

So I finally made peace with myself, though I determined that I would high-tail it for home as soon as the contest was over, rather than waiting for the return charter bus on Sunday. Next, I called my daughter Kim and we cried in each others ears as I shared the news.

Seated next to me on the bus was a good buddy from the chorus, Ed Dierdorf. Naturally, he had heard me on the phone so I owed at least him an explanation. I asked him not to tell anyone, and said that I was not sure exactly what to do. He and I talked about it at some length. I knew that if I spread the news, I would be flooded with a big warm blanked of brotherly support. But...

The issue here is this: When chorus members prepare to perform (and this is especially true when the performance includes a tender love ballad, as our upcoming performance did) the emotional preparation is very important. Each guy goes to his own emotional space in preparation to deliver something from his own heart. Something that will move the audience, (and hopefully the judges too). In a tight brotherhood like Northwest Sound, when one member hurts, it affects the whole unit. So I thought there was a very real possibility that my issue could mess with the emotional preperation of the whole chorus and I didn't want to do that. Of course, on the other hand, maybe it would actually add some emotional depth, what do I know?

I thought for a long time about what to do, and who to tell, if anyone. I told Ed: "I think I'll just tell Donny" (Don Rose, our fabulous director). "He'll know whether or not to tell the others." I thought some more: "What if it messes with his preparation?" I finally decided to tell Don's wife Amy: "She'll know whether or not it would be good to tell Donny." So that's how I left it for the rest of the trip. The Roses were not on the bus so I would have to wait until much later to find and talk to Amy.

When I checked-in and got to my hotel room, I found that for a $12 fee I could get on the Internet. So I did, and soon found my way to this blog. However, try as I might, I could not edit the blog and let all of you, my faithful "Bettie Followers" in on the news. "Twelve bucks wasted" I thought.

That's when I thought of calling Steve, my son and co-editor of this blog. Of course he had heard from his sister Kim, so he knew what was going down. I asked him to put up a post (which he did later that evening Results of the Biopsy). To help him with what he might say, I talked to him at length, just so he'd get a feel for where I was with everything.

One of the things I discussed was the issue of telling the chorus. His counsel was: "Don't tell anyone. You'd only put Amy in an impossible position by having to keep a secret from her husband if she determined that Donny should not be told. That wouldn't be good, of course". (How did I raise such wise kids?) So that's what I did...er, didn't actually.

We rehearsed later that evening and again beginning at 6:00 the next morning in prep for our 10:15 a.m. stage time. Our performance was wonderful. At least we thought we were pretty good. (We placed third out of nineteen choruses.) I don't remember what I thought about during the ballad, but it wasn't Bettie. I could not have sung a note with her pretty face in my head. Sorry Honey.

After our performance I told Donny: "I have to leave now, I can't be here for the show tonight." (The top three choruses perform at the evening show). He asked me if Bettie was alright and all I could tell him was to check with Chuck Caplan, a medical doctor and a gifted baritone who sings with us. I had just told Dr. Caplan all the details that I knew and I thought he could provide the best description of the issue to anyone who asked. Besides, I can't tell anyone what is going on and keep my composure -- not yet anyway -- and I didn't have the time to tell everyone before I was to leave.

I caught the Greyhound bus at 1:30. So now I'm sitting in the Vancouver bus/train depot, with a tablet and pen, whiling away a two-hour layover before the Seattle bus leaves. I'll transcribe and post this, probably tomorrow (Sunday, Nov 1) morning.

I finally reached my sweetie's side about 11:15 p.m. She was sleeping peacefully but awakened to give me a weak smile. Monday we'll see Dr. Schumer and determine where we go from here.

But for now, this is where I need to be.

Results of the Biopsy

2009-10-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this post today because Dick is unable to while he is traveling.
-- Steve Aitkins

It's Friday and Dr. Stephan called Dad today with the results of the biopsy. Dad got the call when he was on his way to Canada for the chorus competition. Luckily he wasn't driving.

The biopsy tests showed Mom has Lymphoma.

So there it is in black and white. I don't like writing nor reading those words.

For me, now several hours later, it's a lot heavier to read those words than it was to hear them when my sister Kim called me to relay the news between choking back her tears late this afternoon, "Are you sitting down? ..."

I guess I didn't really know what to think of that verdict. Is it a death sentence? Does it mean more pain to come? Or would Mom soon be out of the pain that she's been in for the last few months after coming home from the hospital?

There are several different types of Lymphoma; with some types a person can live for many years; others are more aggressive and even a strong person doesn't stand a chance. Mom's body has weakened considerably. She's lost a lot of weight because of her pain lately and from not consuming enough calories. So quite honestly we don't know if she is good condition -- at 95 pounds -- to fight this thing that has already began its harsh effects on her body. We love her and we certainly do not want to lose her, but we do not like seeing her in constant pain.

She is a fighter though and we proudly watched her rally with everything she had to fight back in the first weeks after her stroke. So she could have few rounds of fight in her.

Between you and me, I just gotta wonder: with all the exams and tests and all the time with several different doctors, and in and out of the hospital after complaints of localized pain, why didn't any of the doctors catch this earlier? How many doctors confuse the affects of Lymphoma with Depression? All Mom's doctors and nurses were outstanding and some of the nicest and most professional people I've ever met. I'm sorry but with that said, I just gotta wonder how this was mis-diagnosed or just plain missed for so long.

I've seen Dad play this whole scenario through many times, thinking out loud, "What if ..." And I know he's discussed the worst possible outcomes with Mom. But it's one thing to talk about it hypothetically and another to face reality. Because after all, those things happen to other people but not your wife, your mom, your sister or another loved one. Right?

Apparently not.

Dad said to me tonight, on the phone from Vancouver, Canada, "When this happens to you there's nothing else like it. You can't know how it feels until it happens to you."

I know what he means.

For me, I was caught off guard a second time today and unsure how to react or feel just yet. I mean I did feel horrible, that we were closer to losing my Mom. But no. It can't be.

I know when Veronica, my sister-in-law, called me on the morning of June 23rd and told me that Mom was taken to the hospital after an apparent stroke, I thought, "Apparent stroke. But not a real stroke. No. This doesn't happen to my Mom. She'll be OK. She'll be home in a few hours and joking about this whole episode."

I was just up in Seattle after all (I live in San Francisco, a two-hour plane ride away) just five weeks earlier for my parents' 50th anniversary celebration and she seemed fine ... well she was looking a little weak and not altogether herself. But she can't have a stroke. She's my mom.

And now I'm supposed to believe she can't speak or move her legs? No. Come on."

No. This happens to other people.

Finally it started to settle in and become real after several more status calls from her hospital south of Seattle.

"Wow. I guess it is real," I thought to myself. "I better get to Seattle before her condition gets any worse." But even then I thought I was in control while making preparations, packing, making flight reservations. But when I called my girlfriend Christine to ask her if she could take me to the airport I choked on those words, "My mom's had a stroke." And I had to try three times to get them out.

These things happen to other people until they happen to you.

And they do. Believe me.

Tonight I was reminding Christine to tell her mom (and dad) the things she really wants to share with them NOW; say the things that she really feels about her own mom before it's too late.

OK, next steps:
Dad is rushing back from Canada in the morning to be with mom and the rest of the family. He'll tell Mom about the cancer when he gets back, assuming she has not read it on everyone's faces by then already.

On Monday morning Mom and Dad go back to Dr. Schumer to get more specifics on the biopsy and hopefully find out exactly what type and the severity of the Lymphoma mom has been dealing with and how to move forward.

More next steps:
As Dad suggested in his post titled "On Saying Goodbye" ... excuse me for the sappiness of this, but it is sincere: May I also suggest you to tell someone close to you that you love them today, and maybe a couple reasons why.

I love my mom ... for reasons too numerous to list here.

Half an Answer

2009-10-28T14:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy couple of days since Monday's post. Here is a copy of what the plan was, and the results we now know (in italics):

Today (that was Monday) Dr. Stephan sent us across the street to the Auburn Medical Center lab for some blood work. That will give him another gauge on the gall bladder issue. That lab work turned out nearly normal so at that point the gall bladder was beginning to look like it was not the issue.

Tomorrow (that was Tuesday), again at Auburn Med, Bettie will have a HIDA scan of the gall bladder which will test its functionality. If this test proves normal, that will pretty much end that organ as a suspect in the pain mystery. If it is not normal, the bladder will be removed, probably within a week. For nearly two agonizing hours, Bettie lay on a hard table, under a camera the size of a Buick, while it took pictures of radio-active stuff trying to make its way into her gall bladder. (Not exactly the same procedure description you'll find in the medical texts.) Anyway, the HIDA scan revealed that the gall bladder is actually NOT working properly. Bettie will probably have gall bladder surgery late next week.

Wednesday (today, at 7 a.m.) Bettie will go into surgery for a biopsy of the largest of the aforementioned knots in her tummy. This will give us an indication of just how serious an issue we are dealing with in the lymph nodes. Baring complications, she'll be home again that day. The biopsy procedure went as planned with no complications. We arrived at 7 a.m.; she went into the operation room with the "green suits" at 9 a.m.; Dr. Stephan came and gave me an update at 10 a.m.; I got to go sit with her in recovery at 11 a.m. and we left for home about noon.

So now she is back in her own bed, having just had a pretty good lunch (she had not eaten since yesterday dinner due to the procedure). She has pain pills to last the weekend and we settle down to await the results of the biopsy...the other half of the answer.

Doctor does not expect results until Friday or maybe even Monday. I had told him that I have an out-of-town event this week-end but I'll cancel at the drop of a hat if you say so. "Oh no" he says "Go ahead with your plans. If I need to I can reach you by cell phone. We won't be doing anything that soon anyway. You need the break." Since I have lots of live-in help, I sort of reluctantly have decided to go ahead with plans to sing with my chorus in a big "District Chorus Contest" in Whistler B.C. (Hope my cell doesn't ring while were on stage...I'd probably answer it!)

Of course I'll post the biopsy results as soon as I can, but that may not be until Monday. Remember that good things can come from all of this, whatever the outcome. Meanwhile, I'm still whistling.

Hold On With That Scalpel

2009-10-26T16:30:00.000-07:00

In last Monday's posts I was sort of celebrating the news that Bettie was going to have surgery. It turns out the party was premature...well...sort of. She is going to have surgery, and soon...Wednesday, the 28th. But it won't be the gall bladder...at least not just yet. There is something more pressing, and possibly more serious.

Here's the story: Dr. Schumer, our primary care guy has referred the results of the most recent gall bladder scan to our old friend Dr. Stephan. (You may remember him from the posts on August 25th and 27th). He is not so sure that the gall bladder is actually the issue after all. That scan was, while not pristine, actually pretty close to normal. Not what you'd expect to see for the level of pain Bettie is suffering.

Meanwhile, a couple of other issues have come to the surface. When comparing images from the last couple of months, there is a noticeable increase in the size of several of her lymph nodes. In addition, a couple of suspicious knots have developed, close to the surface of her lower right abdomen. When I first noticed them about two weeks ago and pointed them out to the doctor, they were almond size. Now they are walnut size. Dr. Stephen does not want to remove the gall bladder, only to later discover that it was actually something else. So Here's the plan:

Today Dr. Stephan sent us across the street to the Auburn Medical Center lab for some blood work. That will give him another gauge on the gall bladder issue.
Tomorrow, again at Auburn Med, Bettie will have a HIDA scan of the gall bladder which will test its functionality. If this test proves normal, that will pretty much end that organ as a suspect in the pain mystery. If it is not normal, the bladder will be removed, probably within a week.
Wednesday Bettie will go into surgery for a biopsy of the largest of the aforementioned knots in her tummy. This will give us an indication of just how serious an issue we are dealing with in the lymph nodes. Baring complications, she'll be home again that day.

While I like to keep this blog as upbeat (sometimes, I'm told, even funny) as possible, we all have to realize what could be going on here...and where it could ultimately end. So for now, it is very day to day. I'll know, and post, more tomorrow. The biopsy results however will probably not be known until Friday at the earliest and maybe not until Monday. In even the worst case however, nothing will be done the rest of this week. That is, the doctor does not foresee any condition that would require emergency action.

So I'll try to continue with the upbeat stuff, but just between you and me, I'm whistling in the dark here.

News! At Last Some News

2009-10-19T17:30:00.000-07:00

As previously related, Bettie has been having right side abdominal pain, pretty much from mid-July when they discovered an issue with her gall bladder. In the last couple of weeks it has gotten much worse...to the point where she is only up to move to the bath or down stairs from our bedroom to the wheelchair, where she can be taken to the couch in the family room. Her appetite has deteriorated and she has lost at least four pounds...down now to 98!

Needless to say, this has been a great concern to the family and to her professional treatment staff. Both doctors Schumer (our primary-care guy) and Heide (her "stroke doctor"...actually a neurologist) have provided input. One of their suggestions was a new ultra-sound exam of the gall bladder, which was performed last Friday morning.

Today, Dr. Schumer got the results of that scan and called us with the news: "I'm referring Bettie to Dr. Pettie on Friday...she needs to have her gall bladder removed." I was out when the call came so I didn't speak with Dr. Schumer, but the bottom line is she will have the surgery within the next couple of weeks.

Now it will seem kind of odd to you, for us to be celebrating the need for surgery. This is not the kind of thing one usually looks forward to...kind of in the category of rejoicing over an upcoming root canal...like, who does that? However, if you were here with us, watching her decline these last couple of weeks, you would understand. When Rick told me the news from Dr. Schumer, my heart leaped in relief...almost joy. At last, they have found something. Yes!

Though it is often hard to read Bettie's responses, I think I detected some relief on her part too, when I told her about it.

Being a person of faith, I do not consider the gall bladder a vestigial (look it up) remain from a previous branch of the human tree. Nevertheless, its designed role can be omitted with little effect on one's lifestyle. It this case, I readily accept (for her, as I have durable power of attorney) a life free of both gall bladder and related pain, as opposed to continuing with both.

Modern surgical practice allows this type of surgery to be minimally invasive, which is fortunate, given how weak and frail she is right now. (On that note, I think we have arrested the weight loss and she is eating somewhat better the last couple of days.)

But there is a good thing that will come from this extra trial of pain, coming, as it has, on top of stroke. When Bettie is free of pain, the stroke will seem to me like a relatively minor nuisance in our life together. I predict that she'll walk with little impairment, get better and better at talking, and regain some useful functionality with her right hand. She might even feel like...well who knows. But she'll be back and that is news, at last some news.

Is the Worst Behind Us?

2009-10-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

Gee, I hope so.

As you have noted, there have not been many posts to this blog recently. That's because I like to report progress toward recovery...and there has been precious little of it lately. But maybe we are turning a corner just now. By that I mean today...this afternoon!

To recap recent history, since Bettie came home from the hospital on the 30th of July, she has been frequently complaining of pain in the right side of her abdomen. At first we naturally (and probably correctly) attributed it to the drain tube that had been inserted into her gall bladder and which remained with her for another few weeks. When that was removed (see Maybe We'll Glow in the Dark) we thought that would be the end of the pain. It wasn't.

Next we discovered a badly deteriorated right hip joint. We arranged to have an injection of Depo Medrol in the hip to relieve the pain temporarily. It didn't.

Finally, just a week ago today we concluded that she had a bowel blockage. We had just selected a new primary care doctor (Dr. David Schumer) and he had an x-ray made that confirmed her bowel was full, but not necessarily blocked. Four days of Miralax solved that problem...but the pain persisted.

So today I took her back to Dr. Schumer to see if we could determine what we might be missing. Dr. Schumer is just the kind of guy I hoped we would find. (We found him simply by calling a physician referral service in Auburn.) He describes himself as a "former hippie" so you can imagine he is somewhat laid back. He has a wonderful way of making you feel like everything will be OK. He comes in the examining room, sits down, puts his feet up and chats with us as if we are the only important case he has and the rest of his day is ours. We like him.

His take on Bettie's current condition is basically post stroke depression. He says he sees it all the time. He reassures me that it will pass and gives me some tips and adjusts some medication and adds a new one to help with it. "I'll see you early next week...we'll get through this" he assures me. We leave and I feel better...Bettie, not so much.

Reassured that we're doing the right things, it is a little easier to help Bettie through this. For one thing, my son Rick (who I recently hired to be semi-full-time caregiver, partly because he is a former certified nursing assistant) has helped me soften my overall dealings with Bettie. I was getting a little bossy with her, he pointed out, whereas she needs tender right now...lots of TLC. I think it is working. Maybe it's just me, but it seems like she's feeling some better this afternoon. I got her to make some funny faces at me...that's always a good sign.

Meanwhile, the issues that put me in the ER last week seem to be past and I'm following a new regime on doctors orders...weight coming down, neck pain decreasing, and other good stuff. All in all, I'm hopeful that we've left the worst behind us and are ready to make some progress.

Oh No, Back in the Hospital

2009-09-30T11:28:00.000-07:00

These strokes are capricious things...they sneak up on you, often without warning. On the other hand, sometimes there is ample warning...and that's what happened this time.

For the last several weeks, there have been warning signs that another stroke is possibly looming in the future:

A couple of episodes of double vision.
About five episodes of numbness of the left arm from shoulder to finger tips, lasting a minute or two.
A persistent headache just behind the right eye, sometimes lasting for more than a day at a time.
On Sunday a large island of numbness in the right side of the face.

During a visit with Bettie's nutrition counselor on Tuesday, these symptoms were all discussed and he said it was time to see just what was going on...NOW. So off to the emergency room once again, this time at Valley Medical Center. We choose VMC for a couple of reasons:

They are a little better equipped for this kind of stuff than Auburn.
They have all my medical records.

That's right, MY records. You didn't think this was about Bettie did you? She's coming along OK, this time it is my issue.

Being male and basically invincible, I've been noticing the issues mentioned above and, because none of them (except the headache) last for more than a minute or so, pretty much ignoring them. But when the facial numbness occurred on Sunday, I realized that this could be pretty serious. Since I was scheduled for a visit with Bettie's nutrition coach on Tuesday for my own issues, I mentioned everything to him.

So here I am, blogging from a hospital bed at VMC while they poke, prod, scan, and otherwise make like doctors. I had to stay the night Tuesday and may have to Wednesday as well, simply because of the number of tests they want to do.

Meanwhile, Bettie is being cared for by our son Rick.

It is nice that I have access to the web from bed here, but it is very difficult logistically. The monitor is across the room and the controls to type and edit are unfamiliar. I'll post this now, and then edit it tomorrow when I get home, assuming nothing serious is found that precludes it. (Talk about serious...a few minutes ago the nurse came in and said I had flat-lined...she quickly discovered that one of my heart monitor cords had unplugged. Whew, that was close.)

__________ Update __________

I did, in fact stay both Tuesday and Wednesday nights and had a good going over. I had my head in a scanner three different times...you'd think they could find something in there with all of that, wouldn't you. Also had blood work and a echo analysis of my heart for half an hour. I'll revisit some of the specialists soon to get the fine details. But for the most part, everything checked OK. I need to be taking asprin every day as a cheap, effective blood thinner, and of course, no more having secret issues that I keep to myself. It turns out that I am not invincible...imagine that.

The Results Are...Underwhelming

2009-09-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

At least so far, there does not seem to be a great deal of difference between Bettie's pain with walking today, versus yesterday and before. On the other hand, this is just about the time the doctor at Auburn Diagnostic Imaging (where she had the shot of Depo-Medrol on Tuesday) said the effects of the injection would begin to show...if they are positive.

For the first time in a couple of weeks, a home care therapist (Renee Morgan, physical therapy) came to work with Bettie. As usual, these people see improvements that the family misses, being so close daily. That is encouraging in itself.

Other than an afternoon trip to Costco for another "driving" excursion up and down the aisles, an uneventful day. This time we didn't run into any old friends...or anyone else for that matter.

Bettie Has Been Shot!

2009-09-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

Right on (the revised) schedule, Bettie has had an imaging-directed injection of Depo-Medrol in the right hip ball joint. (Our hope here is to give Bettie a few months of pain relief while she gains enough strength to cope with a future hip replacement.) I had thought that she was going to get something to lubricate the bone-on-bone condition there, but that's not what this stuff does. It turns out to be a pretty effective anti-inflammatory drug...most of the time.

Like the investment caveat "Past performance is not a guarantee of future results", so it is with this treatment. The doctor who did it says its effectiveness can be from no pain relief at all, to complete pain relief for many months. Most patients have good outcomes, and the injection can be repeated up to three times. But for now, it is wait and see.

An anaesthetic was injected first and that will wear off later today. When it does, we should not expect any improvement today, as the Depo-Medrol takes 24 to 48 hours to begin its magic. Thursday...that's when we hope to see her resurrection, so to speak. Hopefully I'll have a good report on how things look Thursday evening.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

2009-09-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

For going on three months now, we've had a closer relationship with the medical community than anyone should ever want. However, it has been generally as positive and professional as one could hope for. But I suppose it is inevitable that an occasional bump in the road should occur...and one did on Monday.

That was the day Bettie was to have an injection in her hip to relieve arthritic pain, and hopefully free her up to make more progress toward normal walking. When we arrived at the imaging clinic to check in, I mentioned in passing, that Bettie was on a blood thinner (Coumadin), just in case that was an issue. It turns out to be a big issue, and they can't do the injection until she has been off the thinner for at least four days.

This was my third contact with the clinic, the previous two being by phone, confirming the appointment, etc. In neither of those calls did they ask about her medications, nor did I think it important to tell them. In addition, the appointment was set up by a referral from another doctor's office and that office didn't tell (although they knew), nor did the imaging clinic ask. Maybe I'm just making excuses for myself, but it seems like if there is a restriction on a clinical procedure to be performed, the performing clinic should ask if that restricting condition exists, at the time the appointment is first set.

The result of this lapse is a reschedule of the appointment for next Tuesday, eight days later than it would have been. Eight days of additional pain...all because no body asked, and nobody told.

If it Isn't One Thing...

2009-09-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

Right... it's something else. And the something else turns out to be arthritis.

A couple of weeks ago Bettie had a follow-up visit with Dr. Sultana, the director of the Acute Rehab Center at Auburn Regional Medical Center. While going through the standard stuff: "What is your name...show me two fingers...point to your nose" etc., he asked her to take a few steps. He noted that she had a slight limp, which the rest of us just thought was stroke related. "I want that right hip x-rayed" he said, "There's something going on there".

He was correct. The subsequent x-ray shows that she has moderate to severe degradation in the right hip joint and is a prime candidate for a hip replacement...but not in her present condition. She needs to be stronger and just generally more stable, medically speaking.

So it appears that the pain in the right side resulting from the gall bladder drain tube has indeed been subsiding, but the pain from bone-on-bone contact in her hip has been increasing. Because of her inability to be very specific about just what hurts, it was easy for those of us close to her to assume the right side pain was a continuation of the drain issue. In fact, it now appears to be mostly, or maybe even entirely, hip pain. It always hurts when she walks, and always stops when she lies down. In hindsight, it is not so hard to diagnose.

So, what to do? Here's the plan: Monday she will have an imaging-directed shot of Cortizone (or something like it) injected directly where it will (hopefully) do the most good. This should give her two weeks to a month of freedom from pain. The shot can be repeated a limited number of times. This buys time for her to gain strength and weight so that we can seriously consider hip replacement.

Though there is still pain in her life, and it is still limiting how much progress she can make with some of the physical things like walking, it is a relief that the issue isn't some mysterious internal problem with the gall bladder, gizzard, or whatever, in her insides.

Since she can't get on the treadmill just yet, I asked my son Tim to move the weight bench into our master bedroom so she can start working on strength training. She realizes the need for "getting in shape" and is taking to it very well. She can do leg lifts without hip pain. She's up to thirty pounds, and climbing. And that's not all.

Bettie is driving again!

Yesterday, for the second time in the last week or so, we made a trip to the Fred Meyer store in Covington. For the convenience of handicapped customers, they have drivable electric grocery carts. She got one one, and off she went. The only thing she found difficult was getting off when it was time to leave. When we finished at Fred Meyer, we went (practically next door) to Costco. There she quickly mastered the Costco cart, which naturally had a much bigger basket.

Having these electric carts for free use by customers is a great boon to caregivers like me. It is a big help in my new role as the primary grocery shopper, because she knows where everything is, what brands, and sizes we use, etc. It is good for her to get out and do something meaningful and fun. It also gives her an informal opportunity to get comfortable interacting with people.

And to prove this last point, in both stores we ran into people we knew. Ah, let me change that...we bumped into...no, no,...we saw, people we knew. That's better. Anyway, in Fred Meyer, it was Dora Darby, the woman I sat next to in church last week. In Costco, it was Bobbie and Chuck Stocton, old friends from the church we attended previously. Both interactions were warm and supportive...just what she needs.

Simple Pleasures

2009-09-06T09:00:00.000-07:00

We are still dealing with some pain in Bettie's right side, though it is somewhat intermittent. It seems to be aggravated by movement, and is often better or gone in the afternoons. It is, however, greatly slowing her progress in most areas.

This week we visited the nutritionist, Raven, at Dr. Heide's Clinic and she gave us some good tips for altering Bettie's diet to minimize the work the gall bladder has to do, just in case that is causing some of the pain. We also had a couple of trips to the anti-coagulation clinic at Valley Hospital to monitor Bettie's coumadin level, to hopefully thin her blood enough to prevent future strokes.

Otherwise, we take things day to day. When she is feeling good, Bettie is lots of fun and we work together very well. Sure, being a caregiver is lots of work, but so is being a stroke victim. But it isn't all negative and we simply try not to dwell on the parts that are. From the beginning, I've leveled with Bettie about what happened: "I know this isn't what we wanted to happen, but it did, you had a stroke. You can't talk very well, and stuff is hard. But I'm here and we'll get through this together. The family is here and we all love and support you."

So she knows what the score is, and is not fighting it. There are lots of frustrating times, but overall, she has a resigned but cheery disposition (provided she doesn't hurt). While stroke is not a funny issue, we find lots of stuff to laugh about. Sometimes...well, actually a lot of times, she starts to say something and then can't find the right word and just rolls her eyes as if to say: "Oh brother, there I go again". Other times I'll say it: "Oh there you go again with one of your stroke words" and then I'll repeat which ever one of the dozens of new words in this language of hers that she just used, and we both laugh at it. (I wouldn't do this if she didn't laugh too, but it seems like it helps us both to cope.)

Another thing we like do is make funny faces, just to see who can make who laugh. We usually both succeed. Yea, simple pleasures, but you find 'em where you can.

Marking Time

2009-08-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

It sort of seems like we've been marking time with Bettie's progress this whole month, her first at home from the hospital. It's not that there has been no progress...there has. But it has been greatly restricted by a recurrence of pain in the gall bladder area which has had her spending a great deal of time lying on the couch. This is time she could have been working on walking, right side movement, and speech. The issue has been that *#@ drain tube.

I had thought that as soon as the tube was removed (one week ago) everything would be wonderful. But as noted in the previous post, the rest of that day (Tuesday) she went straight down hill. However, by Wednesday morning there was vast improvement. Even more the next day and the next and the next. Each day there was some discomfort in the (former) drain area but not much and seemingly diminishing.

Then came yesterday (Sunday). She awoke with considerable abdominal pain and her blood pressure was up by 20 to 30 points (I had been monitoring it closely as Dr. Greenman suggested). I was able to contact Dr. Greenman and he suggested I bring her in to see just what was going on.

At Auburn Medical Center, Dr. Greenman did an ultra-sound scan and lab work. Though it is sort of frustrating to find nothing wrong, it is definitely good news. We came home after a mere 4 hours.

My daughter-in-law, Veronica's theory is, Bettie is healing slower than normal as a result of all her body has gone through. This is evidenced by the bruise that still appears on her forehead from her fall two weeks ago. If that still shows, it should not surprise us that her insides would be bruised too from the drain, and that has only been out a week. I think she's right.

Today (Monday) she is better, though there is still some pain in the affected area.

Everyone who sees her after an absence of a week or more sees improvement.

I'll just have to be more patient.

On Saying 'Goodbye'

2009-08-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

No, no, she didn't die ... so calm down.

As described in Tuesday's post (Maybe We'll Glow in the Dark), Bettie had a gall bladder drain (a small plastic tube) removed after nearly six weeks being in place in her abdomen.

I expected her to immediately feel much better. Instead, by the time we got home from two more appointments that day, she was looking pretty grim. It was literally all she could do to make it up the steps to our bedroom where she collapsed on the bed, barely able to move for the rest of the day. I found it very difficult to determine if the issue was pain or exhaustion. It was probably a fair amount of both.

The doctors had said we would have to watch her closely for the next day or two, and I could see why. For me, it was an evening of hovering. While attending to her that closely, I realized that I could be watching the lights slowly going out. I didn't seriously believe she was dying, but on the other hand watching people die is not something I'm very familiar with.

Just to be sure, I took her vital signs and called for Dr. Stephan, who interrupted his evening to return my call. From what I told him, he reassured me that she should just rest ... "but keep watching." You can bet that I did.

It was during that time, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning in close, that I began to tell her what a good wife she has been and how well she had treated me these past 50 years. I told her that I wanted her to keep doing that for a long time ... but if she needed to go now, that I -- while it was not an easy thing for me to get out -- I guess I gave her permission to move on ... to eternity.

I can't remember every detail of the conversation, (and it was that: a conversation. She clearly understood and gave me feedback) but I probably should keep that privately between us anyway.

The reason I mention this is because I look back on those moments as very special. Moments that I'll be glad I spent, if she does precede me, no matter how far in the future that may be.

So I'm thinking: "I wonder if this is something every couple should do?" Since we can't know how much time the beloved people in our lives will be, well, in our lives, wouldn't it be a good idea to tell them occasionally, just what they mean to us? I mean the kind of stuff you'd say if you really were saying goodbye for keeps.

Yes, it could be kind of maudlin, but it doesn't necessarily have to be. For me -- and I'm pretty sure for Bettie -- it was a positive time. I'll grant you it might be difficult, but not as difficult as having the same "conversation", in a cold lonely cemetery, on some dreary sad day in the unknown future, hunched over a fresh tombstone.

Note - For the very courageous among the readership of this blog:
Should you find some merit is this suggestion and actually follow through, we would love to have you post a comment on your experience. We know your words will help others. Not on the personal details of what was said, but on your experience with it and how you felt about it. Thanks!

Click here to add your comments and thoughts.

Maybe We'll Glow in the Dark

2009-08-25T17:00:00.000-07:00

One can never know what might happen after spending a quarter-hour in a lead suit while X-Ray machines hummed away a few feet from where I sat watching Tuesday morning. Their job was to reveal Bettie's gall bladder on a video screen, just adjacent to where she was lying beneath those probing rays.

And reveal it they did. Well actually they were revealing a dye that had been pumped into the bladder. Bottom line, the bladder is clear and the drain, that has been troubling her for so long, can now be removed.

We were at Auburn Hospital again, two floors below where her home-away-from-home was for the entire month of July. That was a little after 9 O'clock this morning. With the drain issue confirmed, she was moved down the hall where a different imaging device assisted Dr. Gordon Greenman with the actual removal. The internist who we saw last week about having the drain removed (Dr. Donald Stephans) was in attendance too.

Update: A day after yesterday's appointments - on Wednesday morning - within about 30 seconds of each other, both Drs. Greenman and Stephans called me, just to see how Bettie was doing. It sure feels good to be in the hands of such caring professionals.

These things always have risks, and complications are not unknown, so we have to watch Bettie closely for the next few days to see that all is well ... but we're very glad to have that darn tube out of her tummy. That's got to feel better. We always take for granted how good feeling nothing can feel.

The tube out, we had time for just 30 minutes' rest at home before we headed out to Dr. Heide's office for a followup. Both he and his associate confirmed a lot of progress. This is the kind of progress that just sort of sneaks up on those of us here at home, and of which we are largely unaware because we see her every day. Tomorrow we go back to see Dr. Heide's so he can scan the area where she banged her head in last week's fall.

As if all of that were not enough for one day, we next went to the Anti-Coagulation clinic at Valley Hospital where her blood consistency could be checked. It turned out to be still too thick so I am going to have to continue a series of Loxenox injections into her abdomen twice a day, until her Coumadin level improves.

Gee, if it isn't one thing, it's something else.

Well, since she is hopefully headed for brighter days, I won't bore you with the follow up visits and tests she has been through the last few days, but it has been intense. Twelve separate appointments in just the last four business days. Enough already.

Getting Away with Murder

2009-08-20T19:00:00.000-07:00

An idiom: "To escape punishment for or detection of an egregiously blameworthy act."
Informal: "To do as one pleases without ever being punished."

One of the most compelling arguments in favor of traditional marriage is the civilizing effect a woman has on a man. Being the product of 50 years of this civilizing, I can say that I am better and everything and everyone I touch is better, because I have had Bettie in my life. It's not that she isn't still in my life, but, at least for now, it is different...and I could revert, I could get away with murder (figuratively, of course).

This realization comes on slowly, creeping into my consciousness like shadows on a summer evening:

"She would probably never know if I..."
"Now is my chance to..."
"I don't think she'll ever miss..."

Some of these thoughts are benign and practical: I saved a little on our car insurance by taking her off the policy and promising to deactivate her driver's license; I moved the bedroom phone from her side of the bed to mine; I'll cancel her cell phone service soon. These are just practical little things, right? Should I tell her? Should I ask her permission? I don't know. But other thoughts feel kind of creepy to me.

Yesterday I was putting something away in an office file drawer. The drawer was pretty full, and I knew very well why: It was half full of folders she had stuffed with travel articles of places we might like to go sometime, or pictures cut from magazines showing attractively appointed rooms...or furniture...or gardens. Just dreams on paper that could be easily duplicated electronically in a few seconds with a web browser and Google.

I had a half-dozen folders emptied, bound for the recycle bin before the guilt hit me: "Getting away with murder I see," I said to myself.

I went into the Family Room, knelt down by the couch where she was lying, and told her what I was doing. We've had this conversation before...it always ended with: "No, I'll go through those things soon." This time she agreed, with a knowing look that said: "Probably not for awhile, huh?"
"Yea," I said, "...that stuff is old anyway."

It got pitched...but because I asked, I got a reduction from felony to misdemeanor. I felt better anyway.

Now I'm telling myself: "Just because you can get away with murder, doesn't mean you should. Go slow here." I don't want to throw away the irreplaceable: Bettie's civilizing influence, just so things can be the way I think they should. That would be a giant step backward.

She's Got Gall...again

2009-08-19T17:00:00.000-07:00

Well, to be more accurate, she's got bile again.

If you read the post from July 14 titled Two Steps Forward, One Step Back you may recall that Bettie had an incident with her gall bladder that required the insertion of a drain. The original prognosis was that the gall bladder was infected and should probably be removed. However, removal in that condition posed a higher risk than the surgeons were willing to take. It was decided that a drain could help clear it up sufficiently to do the surgery later...four to six weeks.

For the past five weeks, since the drain was installed, she has gone without bile. Bile is a digestive juice produced by the liver and stored, when necessary, in the gall bladder. (You don't want to know where or how this is "handled" when a drain is installed...trust me.) The bladder condition, the drain, and the lack of bile to help with digestion, has been somewhat debilitating for Bettie. Today we took what will hopefully be a big step toward solving this issue.

During a visit to the internist, the drain was capped, allowing that nasty collection bag to be removed. The "drain to nowhere" is still in place, but her bile and gall bladder should now function somewhat normally. Next week a couple of tests will confirm that all is well...and if so, the drain comes out and the gall bladder stays in. With that accomplished, we will look for more energy, no more abdominal pain, and an increase in the rate of progress...all good things

A Sickening Thud!

2009-08-17T19:30:00.000-07:00

In the post titled Setting Up For Rehab at Home, I mentioned "Standing Guard" while Bettie was in the bathroom. Over the nearly three weeks she has been home from Rehab, this has seemed to be less and less of a requirement. She had been taking care of herself quite well, with minimum "supervision"...until this (Monday) morning.

About 6:45 I awoke as she was getting up to go to the bathroom for the third time since retiring the previous evening. Though I had gotten up with her the previous two times, this time I simply said: "You OK, Honey?". She mumbled: "Uh huh" and proceeded into the bath, clutching her walker. The next thing I know I heard this sickening thud that could only be one thing. I was there in an instant and sure enough, she was in a heap on the floor next to the toilet, holding her head and moaning.

As I lifted her up, her hand came away from her forehead, revealing an inch and a half gash, just below her hairline on the left side. (We later concluded that her head had probably struck the aluminum frame at the bottom of our shower door.) The first time I saw a wound like this was when my son Steve fell off our back-yard slide, many years ago. Because the skull is so close to the skin surface, this type of wound can open easily and look much more serious than it actually is. Having seen Steve's cut years ago, I was not as shocked as I would have been otherwise.

Fortunately, she did not bleed a great deal...I say fortunately because she is on a blood thinner and it could have been quite messy. I got her cleaned up and put on a standard size band-aid. Though she was pretty shaken up by the ordeal and complained that her head hurt, I thought it was a relatively minor mishap. Returning to bed, she was able to go back to sleep for awhile.

Later, however, she did not want to get up for breakfast. I brought it to her in bed and called the Home Care office to cancel the therapists that were scheduled to come later in the day. In that same call, I suggested that it would probably be good for the nurse to come and have a look at Bettie's wound. That was the best thing I did all day.

When Tram, the home health care nurse came, she suggested that it would be better to have the cut stitched rather than try to keep it closed with a bandage. So, to make a long story (2 1/2 hours in the Urgent Care facility in Covington) short, Bettie has four stitches in her forehead (courtesy of Dr. Todd Bouchard) and I have a heavy heart for letting this happen.

She seems fine now...I probably feel worse than she does. I deserve it.

And Now, for Something Completly Different

2009-08-16T19:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, I confess, I was a "Monty Python" fan...thus, the title.

When Bettie's stroke occurred on June 23rd, I was about three weeks into a rigorous rehearsal schedule for a series of August performances of Meredith Wilson's wonderful musical "Music Man". I had auditioned for and been awarded a role in the barbershop quartet (known in the play as "The School Board"). Though I sing in Northwest Sound Men's Chorus, I have never performed in real stage drama. When I heard of the opening, I couldn't resist giving it a try.

Rehearsals were Sunday through Thursday evening from 7 to 10, beginning in mid June and going through the first performance on August 7th. Though all cast members were not required at every rehearsal, it was a very big commitment. So you're thinking: "I wonder how much they have to pay people to do that?" The answer: nothing, and that's what I love about it.

The production company that is putting this on is Twelfth Night Productions, founded and directed by Mary Springer. Over the years they have done a variety of productions, usually two to four each year, and this summer, it is Music Man. Though it is all volunteer, it is not amateurish. Read all about them on their web site.

Naturally, I had to resign from my role when the stroke occurred, but I remained on the e-mail list of the company. Thus, I know how hard they all worked to put on this show. I had told Mary that I wanted to bring Bettie, if she was able by the time the performances began. She set aside two tickets for me, from a sold-out house...I couldn't miss it.

Try as I might, I could not convince Bettie to come. She was quite adamant, like she is about going to church, that she would not come. She's just not ready. Veronica attended with me, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Now I'm not a theater reviewer, so I'll leave that to others. But I am someone who appreciates things "American"...and this is, for my money, as American as it gets. Here you have dozens and dozens of people donating huge amounts of time and talent to give their neighborhood, their society, something good, happy, and entertaining. Not doing it for money, but for the sheer joy of doing it, and doing it the very best they could. Trust me: they succeeded. (Here's a video of the curtain call.)

I said they were not paid...that's not exactly true. I saw the pay on their faces out front after the show. Mary Springer's pay was running down her cheeks as I thanked her for her immeasurable efforts and told her that I would do this blog for the show, in case next weekend is not sold out.

So if you find an opening in your calendar next weekend (Friday and Saturday at 7:30 and Sunday at 3:00 - West Seattle High School Theater) you will see a slice of America at its finest.

A Slow Week

2009-08-16T10:13:00.000-07:00

Bettie continues to be troubled by abdominal pain, and it is definitely slowing her progress. We're not sure to what extant the pain is just from her gall bladder drain vs "other issues" she wouldn't want me to mention. Anyway, the net effect is she spends more time than I would like, lying on the family room couch.

When she is up and able, her walking is improving by the day. Many times I walk her to the bathroom, rather that wheeling her, and I can see definite progress. It's frustrating to have her down so much when I can see that with some concentrated work, her walking could improve vastly. Patience is the order here.

When she is down, we work on speech skills, word recognition, and small hand skills as she is able. We see progress there too. During "slow" times like these, it is good to keep in mind that from birth to death, the human body is engaged in a continuous effort to be well. Even while lying down, brain cells are working to restore function, re-make lost connections, etc.

Though the week was slow in terms of progress, she did have visits from all three therapists plus the home nurse. Tram, the nurse, suggested that we try to get the internist doctor visit moved up a week to look into the abdominal issue. We did that and will see that doctor on Wednesday.

Meanwhile, the family continues to refine the routine here at home, adjusting to new duties and requirements. On the three days that I go into my office, I awaken Jordan to come into grandma's bed when I leave. I get home a little before noon to relieve her. When school starts, the schedule will have me, with the blessings of my supervisor at work, working from home most of the time. Two days a week, Veronica will take a long lunch and come home to assist with Bettie while I go into the office for meetings and to maintain a presence with my co-workers. It should work fine.

A Mystery Doctor - A Failed Scan

2009-08-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

For a long time, Bettie has been interested in health and particularly the diet aspect of it. She and I share this wacko idea that what you eat just might have something to do with how you feel, especially over the long haul. I call the idea wacko only because diet has been pretty far down the list of considerations to many "health care" professionals. I think that is changing in recent years and has not been any point of contention with the professionals that have cared for Bettie since June 23.

In the weeks before her stroke, she was actively looking for a doctor (the doctor she had been seeing, died in March) who shared her belief in a more "natural" approach to health and wellness. Just a week or so before the stroke, she found Dr. X. She had one visit with him and one visit with the cardiologist that he referred Bettie to for her atrial fibrillation. (Good doctors know their limits and refer for conditions outside their specialties.)

Yesterday, I spent over an hour talking with Dr. X about Bettie. He carefully took a full page of notes on everything I said. For now, he'll remain a mystery doctor, out of respect for him and his approach. With Bettie mostly in the care of others, he doesn't want to be seen as attempting to counter anything others are doing. In fact, there is not much potential for conflict anyway. (Not to mention the fact that Mystery Doctor makes a catchy post title.)

My mission with Dr. X was to see if, given Bettie's current condition, he would be able to work with her as we had initially discussed early in June. The answer is yes, and she will see him next week.

Following that visit, I hurried home and picked up Bettie for yet another type of brain scan at Dr. Heide's office. In this scan, they inject a dye into a vein in the arm. From there, enough of it winds up in the brain to provide some pretty vivid detail when scanned with one of those machines where the head is placed in the hole of a giant electronic doughnut. I guess this was to be the final proof that Bettie's clot is gone, though I thought that was pretty conclusive with the previous two "scans". (Click the two Scans links in the Information/Links section at the right for more about the various technologies available.)

Well anyway, it was not to be. Bettie's "surface" veins are currently just too weak to take yet another IV. After two painful attempts, the nurse concluded that we would have to go over to Valley Hospital and have them insert a "deep IV". When the nurse asked Dr. Heide, he decided to simply forgo the test. Enough torture for one day.

We came back home. We'll see him next week.

A Diet to Die For

2009-08-09T07:30:00.000-07:00

You may remember from the post on Thursday that we spent some time that day at Dr. Heide's Clinic getting briefed on nutrition.

I must confess that when I heard Raven, the pleasant young woman who greeted us, identify herself as a dietitian, I put up my guard. My only experience with "dietitians" has been in a hospital setting ... not exactly a place known for truly healthful eating, at least not in my (and Bettie's) opinion. (The term Jello-dispenser comes to mind.)

It was probably fun for Raven to watch as I morphed from hostile to accepting as she explained her credentials and approach. It turns out she is a graduate of Bastyr University, one of the premier "alternative" medical training schools in the country. (And they are located right here in the Seattle area; Juanita to be precise).

There are a couple of issues for which we needed dietary help:

Maintaining a consistent level of foods with sufficient Vitamin K content.
This is so that her diet does not end up counteracting the desirable effect of the blood thinner that Bettie must take.
Stopping further weight loss, and beginning to build back some muscle. (At the time of her stroke, Bettie weighed 122 pounds. She is now down to 102.)

Both these issues are important, and both of them have a feedback method that will tell us how we are doing. For the Vitamin K issue, we go in for a weekly blood check to be sure the consistency is where they want it. The weight loss monitoring is more simple: get her on the scale.

So, what does Raven recommend to arrest the weight loss and begin going the other way? A high calorie diet, of course. Lots of olive oil, nuts and nut butters, cheese, fish, (particularly high-fat salmon). For now, eat the high-starch potatoes before the green vegetables. And how about desert? Oh sure, ice cream, cake, anything dense with lots of calories.

Of course I will be hovering over her at meals, making sure that her plate is clean...secretly hoping that she can't quite finish that last bite (or scoop) of Haagen Dazs Coffee Mocha. Ah, the life of a caregiver. Yes, it's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

To the ER...but Home Again

2009-08-07T16:56:00.000-07:00

Today we "celebrated" the clot being gone by making a 4-hour visit to the Auburn Medical Center ER, where this whole thing began nearly seven weeks ago.

The gall bladder pain, described in the previous post, got to the point where it hurt her, even when she was lying down. That was the signal that Dr. Spens' nurse said should trigger a trip to the ER. (Of course the issue of pain is complicated by the fact that Bettie cannot accurately relate to us the severity of it.) Better to err on the conservative side, since we can't be sure. That's what we did.

In the ER, Dr. Spens visited us and told us the strategy: "We'll scan the gall bladder and be sure it is OK and the drain is properly in place. If all is OK, we'll assume that the pain is from the drain itself. After all, it is a piece of plastic rubbing on her insides and that is bound to cause some irritation. I'll prescribe a pain killer to help, as the drain needs to stay in for another two weeks."

And that's how it turned out. She's resting comfortably in the family room as I write, looking forward to Friday night pizza. Me too.

The Clot is :-) The Gall Bladder is :-(

2009-08-06T15:34:00.000-07:00

Big news today: the clot is gone, I saw the evidence today!

We had our second appointment at Dr. Heide's clinic. First we spent nearly an hour with the dietitian, learning how to feed her to get her weight back up and keep her blood consistency stable. After that, we spent the better part of the next hour having her head examined, quite literally.

In a typical clinic exam room, she lay on the table with a crown-like gadget on her head, to which were attached two ultrasound probes, a left and a right. The technician aimed one probe at the vein where the original clot lodged in her left brain hemisphere, and the other at the corresponding vein in the right hemisphere (for comparison).

When he turned it on, we could watch, on a computer monitor, electronic depictions of the sound waves, picking up the blood flow through each vein. A sound amplifier and speaker completed the information flow.

The device ran for just over half an hour, displaying nearly identical pictures of flow through both veins, side by side. The flow sounded the same on each side, and the digital readout of volume was just very slightly better in the right (non-clot) side than the left. I asked the tech if he could tell how long the clot had been gone, but he could only guess that it was probably breaking up fairly soon after it first lodged there. No way to know. Many clots never break up.

Clear flow of blood, means that whatever cells in the clot area survived, should be able to return to good function. It also means good flow to facilitate retraining of adjacent cells. I may not be describing it in good doctor-talk, but any way you say it, it is good news.

-----------------------

On the not-so-good side of things is this: For the last couple of days, by afternoon Bettie has been way more comfortable lying down that any other position. So you're thinking: "Well duh, who isn't?" But this is different.

Her gall bladder area seems to be giving her trouble each time she gets up, at least later in the day. I've talked to the nurse at Dr. Spens' (the doctor who is handling Bettie's gall bladder issue) office both yesterday and today. We decided to move Bettie's follow-up visit up by a week. She'll see Dr. Spens on Monday. Until then, she may be down more than she's up.

Comparing the two issues: No Clot vs (maybe) No Gall Bladder ... well, its a no brainer, isn't it?

A New Look for the Blog

2009-08-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I mentioned that hereafter I would only be adding a post to this blog every week or so, but would put in daily comments. Fortunately, I had the good sense to ask my co-editor...the one with the brains, what he thought of that idea. Steve's quick response: "No, no, no..." and he listed several reasons why that was not a good idea. His (better) suggestion was to make more and shorter posts and to title each one something related to the content. Well, duh, what a concept.

The meddling little twit even wanted me to go back and rename all those brilliantly titled posts: "Status - Date - Time" with a title that actually means something.

OK, OK...I did it. All the content is as it was, but every post now has a (clever :-o) title that might give you some reason to want to actually read it. You'd better enjoy it...it took me, like forever.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

2009-08-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

When this first happened, I couldn't count the number of people who expressed a desire to be of help, as this post is titled. At the time, I had no idea if I needed help and if so, what kind. I needed my wife back, that's what I needed..."Help with that if you can", I thought. Now that I've lived a little over a month with stroke in my life, I have a clearer perspective than at the first.

Our home situation is unique in that we have live-in family. Our son Tim, his wife Veronica, and their two children: Jordan, 17 and Jonny, 14 have been with us since we bought our present home, five years ago. That's a different story, but it has worked out for us quite well...and now it is a godsend.

I often would tell people: "We're like the Waltons (a 70's TV series) and I'm the grandpa." Funny thing: in the TV show, Ellen Corby, the actress who played the Grandma, had a stroke, just like Bettie's: speech impeded somewhat and right side partially paralyzed. She was off the show for a time, then came back, stroke and all. Her role on the show only lasted another couple of years, but she lived 20 more years after the stroke. Will Geer, the actor who played Grandpa, died within a year after her return to the show. (Hope we're not like the Waltons in that regard.)

I mention the home situation only to make the point that what I say here about the need for help and support is being met for me by live-in family.

But if you know of another couple where a spouse has suffered stroke, the unaffected mate needs help immediately. They want to spend every possible minute at the hospital for those first few weeks. This means home meals, lunches for work, house and yard maintenance, car servicing...all the things that take time away from being with the loved one are opportunities to be of service. If you are inclined to be of help, don't ask "Is there anything I can do?". Just pick something and say "I'm going to ...." and then do it.

Once the stroke patient is home, I don't think one person could possibly provide safe and responsible care. If there is no family or other support network, then a live-in facility is probably the only reasonable option.

If you find yourself in that situation (and you should not think "It can't happen to me") your choices for providing that level of care are: be rich or have long term care insurance. Think about it...this is not something you want to try at home...alone.

Settling in at Home

2009-08-03T19:00:00.000-07:00

Bettie has now had each of the three therapists (speech, occupational, and physical) visit here at home and a schedule is worked out for regular sessions.

She is making slow but steady progress. We see little signs here and there: Complete sentences that make perfect sense, correct answers to "test" questions, that sort of thing. The scan to confirm the absence of the clot had to be postponed for a week due to insurance issues.

A Date with "New" Bettie

2009-08-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

Several times in the week before coming home I asked Bettie if she would like to go to church next week. Each time she quite adamantly said: "No", with an expression that said: "How could you ask such a thing." I'm not sure just what the issue is, but she clearly is not ready. I went alone again.

Speaking of church, a couple of weeks ago, Art Palecek, the Associate Pastor, announced to the congregation that Bettie's clot had dissolved. I was unsuccessful in getting his attention to correct him...the doctor didn't say that. In fact the doctor said the clot is likely a permanent fixture. Blood is flowing around it, but it is still there. However, if you read the post: A Follow Up With Dr. Heide you know that there is a good chance that Pastor Art was right after all. We'll find out more this week (on Wednesday and Thursday) when more definitive scans are performed. Where do you suppose Pastor Art is getting his information. Hmmm.

When I arrived home, I found Bettie with Veronica and Jordan on the front deck having lunch at the big table under the awning. Later, we took a nap and then, about 4:00 o'clock, I coaxed a "Yes" out of her to have a dinner date with me.

I had received a $50 dinning card for The Cheesecake Factory for Fathers Day, so off we went to cash-in. Though she was a little apprehensive about it at first, she did just fine.

Soon, a couple took the table next to ours. The gentleman was Captain Mike McCoy, with Tukwila Fire Dept. I asked him if he was a 911 responder. He confirmed that he was. I thanked him for his service, and told him that it was people like him that took care of Bettie that fateful morning (June 23rd), and that I have a great respect for people that do what he does. He seemed pleased and, I hope, honored...that's what I intended: "Honor to whom honor is due".

All in all, it was a lovely evening...my first date with the New Bettie.

A Follow-up with Dr. Heide

2009-07-31T19:30:00.000-07:00

If you have read this blog from the beginning, you will recognize Dr. Heide as a key player in this whole drama. I first met him via video hookup while Bettie was in the ER, the day it happened. Over the course of the last five and a half weeks, we have come to know, trust, and be thankful for this man.

Today was the Bettie's first follow-up visit after discharge. It took place at his facility, in Renton, near Valley General Hospital. It began with a new scan of Bettie's head, so that a comparison could be made with Day One. Then Bettie was weighed (104.2 lbs... down about 20 pounds from five weeks ago) and finally we saw our friend, Dr. Heide.

He showed us the scan on his computer screen, blown up to reveal startling detail (if you know what you are looking for). He pointed out that the original scan clearly (at least to him) showed the clot, right where speech and communication are processed.

Today's scan, did not show a clot there at all! Now before we get too excited, he wants to do a different kind of scan next week that will show different detail to confirm that the clot is, in fact, gone. If it is, that will considerably improve her prognosis.

Part of the doctor's routine involves asking Bettie her name. I don't think she has ever been able to answer that question for me ... but then I'm not a doctor. But for him, she says "Bettie Aitkins", like "Well duh". Seems like this happens too often to be a coincidence. Oh well.

An interesting part of the conversation with the doctor was about music. You may remember that my son Steve, suggested that we put headphones on Bettie and play her old but familiar music (See the post titled: The Sound of Music). She responded dramatically, singing along before she could speak or put other sentences together. Evidently, that idea of Steve's had not been explored by the medical community before. Dr. Heide says we are exploring new ground here and he is very interested in discovering the potential for communication with stroke patients via music.

He wants me to continue singing to, and with, Bettie. I told him I know a lot of songs, since I sing in a men's chorus (Northwest Sound). Unfortunately, I sing bass, so if Bettie starts croaking in a deep voice, blame me.

Before we left Dr. Heide's office and went out to set up the follow-on visits with his nutrition expert and others on his staff, he told me this: "After Bettie's stroke, I had a number of other patients with the same type of stroke. I have directed them to the Bettie's Challenge blog for help with dealing with the situation, and it has been very helpful. Very helpful."

I have to tell you, that gives me a big lump in the throat. We have known all through this that the Biblical promise (Rom. 8:28) that "... all things work together for good ... " is true. Dr. Heide's comment demonstrated one way that it is happening (and there are undoubtedly others as well). Very humbling.

If you are one of those refereed here by Dr. Heide because you too are traveling this road, know that you are not alone. Feel free to contact me directly if there is any way I could be of help, I'd be honored. Contact info is on the Profile page.

A final, but very important, point from the doctor. I asked him how he was coming on procuring a very expensive but promising piece of new technology that could be helpful in regenerating brain tissue. He said that, with the federal government proposing to take over the health care industry, it is currently impossible for any doctor to make a sensible business case for major equipment expenditures. Our elected officials in the executive and legislative branches of government are already having a negative effect on the medical profession, and they are only talking about what they want to do.

This blog is not about politics, but about the care of a stroke patient, my wife. My recommendation concerning the issue is this: ask your doctor what he/she thinks about the issue, then write or phone your representative and tell them your personal concerns, based on what you have learned. Would it be asking too much of your representative to insist that they read and understand the bill, at a minimum, before voting on it?

Can't Keep Her Down

2009-07-31T19:00:00.000-07:00

She wanted to go back to our bedroom after breakfast this morning. She lay on the bed and I told her: "Now I'm going downstairs for a little bit, so don't move, OK? Well, you can go to the bathroom, you know how to do that, but otherwise, don't get up." She nodded agreement.

I was back to check in on her in no more than ten minutes. When I came in the bedroom, I noticed her purse in the entrance hall, between our two closets. "That's funny" I thought, "I don't remember getting that out." In the bedroom proper, there I found her, trying to get her slacks snapped with one hand. She was fully dressed in a light blue top and nicely contrasting navy slacks. She had her knee-highs out from the dresser where she keeps them. She was standing by the bed, the full-length mu mu that I had put on her earlier was laying aside. All this in about 10 minutes. "Oh you naughty girl" I laughed and she fell back on the bed laughing too. What am I to do with this one? Ya can't keep her down.

Later, she was sitting on the edge of the bed and suddenly looked down at a small stack of books that I had left, just as she left them the day this happened. There she saw, peeking out from the stack, a book about heart disease that she had checked out from the library . She exclaimed: "Oh, I forgot". She pulled the book out, and sure enough, it was over-due. (When I returned the book later in the morning I told the librarian the story and ended with: "...so I'm happy to pay the fine". The librarian concurred that it was cause for celebration, given the circumstances, then added: "That will be $3.75 please.")

Later in the morning we (Bettie and I) left for two appointments. The first was to her long-time hair-dressers Yahow & Betsy Lam at Yahow Hair Salon. Bettie has been going there for a long time and they do great work. They turned her from a Medusa look-alike to the glamorous gal we all know. Thanks Yahow.

Then we headed to an appointment with every one's favorite stroke doctor, Dr. Aaron Heide. The visit is documented in a separate post.

Husband = Caregiver

2009-07-31T06:00:00.000-07:00

Today was Bettie's first full day at home. What a relief to have her back. No more three trips-a-day to the hospital. It was also the first day of my transition from husband to caregiver.

Actually, that's not true. I'm still her husband, but I'm also her caregiver. Well, one of her caregivers. From my perspective now, I can see that husband and caregiver are very similar in many ways ... at least I think they should be. I should have been more of a caregiver all along; then this transition would be easier.

Anyway, the fact that this Thursday status is not being published until Friday morning should give you an idea of the difference between being at home and at the hospital. Silly me, I though that now that she is at home, I'll have more time since I won't be driving back and forth to the the hospital three times a day...wrong! I'm not complaining, mind you, just being realistic here. I am very blessed to have live-in family, so we're able to manage quite well...at least we will as we get used to the new requirements.

I think this will be the last of the daily "Status" posts that I'll be doing. From here on, in addition to the occasional "thoughts" kind of post, I'll be doing one post per week titled something like: "At Home: Aug 1 - 7". I'll add to it through the week as there is opportunity and something of significance to report.

(Note: I later decided to change the blog format as detailed in: A New Look For The Blog.)

Setting up for Rehab at Home

2009-07-30T19:00:00.001-07:00

Two home care nurses visited to set up follow-0n home care for Bettie. We decided on a weekly nurse visit plus physical, speech, and occupational therapy. I have ordered the same speech therapy "kit" that they used at Acute Rehab so family can work with her to get communication skills back to working order.

We had considered getting her a hospital bed to keep on the main floor in the family room, as our bedroom is up seven stairs. That does not look like it will be a necessity...she does fine on the family room couch when she wants to rest, which is pretty often. Other supplies: shower chair, toilet attachments, support bars, etc. are readily available from medical supply outlets, and Craig's List is a good source too. In a few days, we'll have a reasonably accommodating atmosphere for her. She came home with a new walker from Acute Rehab and we already had a wheelchair at home.

In our master suite, the bath is just a few steps from her side of the bed. Each time she needed to "go", she woke me and I basically just watched...wait, that doesn't sound good. Well, she is perfectly able to get up, move the walker to the toilet, etc. I just...stood guard, that sounds better.

She is eating well, and we are managing the medications (she came home with seven prescriptions) OK. She never complains about taking them. (I'll know she is getting a lot better when she does, as the "old Bettie" was not much for medications at all.)

Home at Last!

2009-07-29T18:06:00.000-07:00

Right on schedule, Bettie departed Auburn Regional Medical Center's Acute Rehab Center this afternoon, just after 2 p.m. How nice to get out of that air conditioned facility into the great (102 degree) outdoors.

Temperature aside, it is so great to have her home after five weeks in the hospital. What a difference to walk into the next room to see her versus driving (even though it was only five miles) to the hospital to see her. As I write, she is a mere 30 feet away. I love it.

Tomorrow a home care nurse will come to evaluate her and see where we go from here with regard to therapy and such. I'll continue to post to this blog daily unless or until it becomes routine and redundant. Then I may revert to less frequently.

As soon as we manage to upload the pictures, you can check out the videos that Jordan shot as Bettie made her grand exit.

An Open Letter to Dr. Sultana

2009-07-29T17:57:00.000-07:00

Dr. Geoffrey Sultana
Auburn Regional Medical Center
Acute Rehab Center
202 North Division St.
Auburn, WA 98001

Dear Dr. Sultana:

This note is to express my deepest gratitude for the wonderful care you and your staff of professionals provided for my wife Bettie, this past month. Though I’m grateful to have her home now, the departure from your facility was something like the bittersweet emotion of a graduation.

Of course, it was a graduation in a sense, a shared triumph of Bettie’s indomitable spirit plus the skill and dedication of your staff. You folks have helped turn a personal tragedy into a growth opportunity and headed her toward a successful recovery. A mere "Thank you" hardly seems sufficient.

Please share this note with your people and tell them how very impressed I am with them all. I hear it said that it is hard to find good help nowadays. Well, you have pulled it off in spades. Keep doing what you are doing; society needs (the people and) places like Auburn Acute Rehab.

Most sincerely,

Richard L. Aitkins

What's This: Showering Together??

2009-07-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

Bettie had another scan of the gall bladder area this morning...nothing unusual found. The scan delayed her breakfast until 10:30, so when I arrived with Jordan at 12:15, she was resting in bed but had not eaten lunch. I let her continue the rest and just brought her lunch in, and fed her in bed. She ate well.

Jordan was with me for some planned "family shower training". Yea...that's what I thought at first too, but it wasn't that. We simply learned how to use a shower bench to get Bettie in and out of a tub shower. She did the bathing, we did the helping. When she was clean and dressed, Jordy and I left her with the speech therapist.

When I returned for dinner, the kitchen was pretty quiet. We are in the midst of sort of a changing of the guard at Acute Rehab Center. Two or three patients were discharged today, and tomorrow Bettie and her roommate Katie, get their parole. Actually, it is kind of a sad thing to break up this gang. There has been a real spirit of camaraderie among both patients and staff. For example, meal times just are not the same without Sandy, a wonderful big-hearted woman who has moved on to an assisted living facility in Seattle. Sandy alwyas kept the conversation going and was a great "straight man" for Katie's humor. Bettie and I will visit Sandy soon to check out her new home and show off whatever considerable new skills Bettie has by then. Looking forward to that, Sandy.

I tucked Bettie in for what is hopefully the last night that we will spend apart for a very long time. Home tomorrow!!

The Countdown Begins

2009-07-27T09:26:00.001-07:00

The countdown begins...today we started family training in anticipation of Bettie's return home.

My daughter-in-law Veronica, and my niece and nephew -- her two children (Jordan and Jonny) and I, spent and hour-and-a-half learning about speech therapy; plus, how to assist Bettie with walking and stair climbing. Then we checked out insurance coverage for and availability of home assistance devices at our local medical supply store.

There is still some issue in her tummy, but Dr. Sultana is having a specialist look into it, so I'll trust that they will solve it. At this point, it does not seem like anything that will interfere with her discharge on Wednesday. Hope not.

By dinner she seemed fine. She ate well and we had a nice goodnight with her in bed and me singing "True Love" (our song) to her. Sweet.

Today Was an "Other" Day

2009-07-26T06:35:00.000-07:00

Some days are better than others. Today was one of the "others".

Being Sunday, there was no therapy scheduled. I was with her for all three meals, and she ate OK. But she was not very perky, and after lunch she began to have pain in her gall bladder area again. That persisted the rest of the day, and I left her with the nurse changing the dressing on the drain that is installed there, to see if that would help.

For most of the afternoon, our daughter Kim and our good friend: "the other Kim" were there to visit and hold her hand.

By the time dinner came, I fed her in her room as she didn't want to get up. I expect this issue will be resolved tomorrow, one way or the other. I'd rather report more progress than more pain.

"Stroke Humor" and Progress, Progress

2009-07-25T19:00:00.000-07:00

Oh dear, terrible news: the stroke seems to be affecting Bettie's vision. This morning she said to me: "You look really nice today." Sorry, a little stroke humor there.

I was dressed for Sabbath services, with a tie, etc. She must have thought I was a doctor...she always responds nicely to doctors.

Anyway, she had another pretty good day. The weather being very warm lately, we went outside after both lunch and dinner. Both times I said: "We're going to go by our car, and when we do, I want you to point it out to me." I'm going to have to think up more difficult tests for her. She aced this one both times without hesitation.

One time in her room, while I was dumping out some wilted flowers, I turned around just in time to see her get out of the wheelchair and onto the bed, unassisted. This is getting common now. Also getting more common are her attempts to use her right hand, even without my urging (which I am constantly doing anyway). Today she unfolded the towelette that comes for clean-up with each meal tray, using both hands. She also removed a Kleenex from the box, right-handed, and actuated her right side wheelchair brake, both off and on, with it.

We saw and talked with Dr. Sultana for a bit after lunch. He says my prediction that she could be eating right-handed within a month is realistic. Woo hoo!

Planning to Move on

2009-07-24T19:12:00.000-07:00

Working from home on Fridays, I'm able to slip down to see Bettie at breakfast, as well as the usual lunch and dinner. At breakfast, she had a recurrence of the stomach pain she had before the gall bladder incident a couple of weeks ago. I took her back to her room to lie down.

By lunchtime, she had been taken for the abdominal scan that was put off from yesterday (no results yet) and was feeling good enough to have a full lunch. At dinner she seemed her usual cheerful self.

The progress that I noted yesterday in her right hand continued today. When getting ready for bed, she once again tried to pull her sweater left sleeve down with her right hand. Like yesterday, she failed, but it was closer to success. Earlier, I had picked up a 1.5 oz. bottle of something on her nightstand and asked her to pick it out of my hand. She tried to do it with her left hand, but I said "No, use your right hand". Ever so slowly, she moved the right hand over to the bottle and wrapped her fingers around it and picked it up. I silently cheered. My prediction is that she will be eating right handed within a month. I am so proud of her.

Bettie is now the longest continuous resident in the Acute Rehab Center at Auburn Medical Center. Because I am there with her for most meals, I am able to get acquainted with the other patients as they all gather in the kitchen for meals. The Rehab Center only takes a maximum of ten patients at a time, and often there are as few as seven or eight.

Stroke patients are common, but they also have broken hip patients, amputees, acute arthritis, and patients with other debilitating conditions. Sharing these life-crisis situations with fellow patients, makes for a strong bonding environment; besides it is a lot of fun at meal time.

Bettie is a favorite of everyone, even though a lot of the stuff she says is not quite understandable. Everyone celebrates Bettie's accomplishments...and, of course, I make sure everyone knows her latest triumph. I'm going to miss these people when Bettie comes home next week. I'm sure Bettie will too.

Speaking of coming home, everything is moving that direction: I've got the banisters up on both sides of all the stairs at our home; Dr. Heides office called to set up a follow up visit at his office, next Friday; A training session is scheduled for other family members next week; Someone will be coming to our home to help plan for her return and suggest helps for her in this "new" environment;

So much to be thankful for. And I am!

Right Hand - Use It vs Move It

2009-07-23T18:36:00.000-07:00

I gave some thought to marking the passage of one month (June 23rd to July 23rd) with some profound observation ... but I thought better of it. While there are some benefits to writing this blog that go beyond the mere posting of her current status, I don't think it would be appropriate focus on them. Naturally, I'm flattered if you find the writing agreeable and are enamored with our "love story", (as more than one reader has commented) but this isn't my soap box, it is about Bettie.

Today, Bettie was scheduled to have another scan of her abdomen area. It seems that when they did the scan last week, to determine the gall bladder status, they noticed what appears to be an aneurysm on a artery to one kidney. Today's scan was to focus on that and determine an appropriate course of action. It has been put off until tomorrow morning.

This evening, as I was helping her get ready for bed, I saw her do something new. She is starting to actually use her right hand, as opposed to merely moving it. While taking off her sweater, she put her right had over to the left sleeve to try to pull it off, as it was caught on an IV attach point in her left arm. She could not get the fingers to pinch together to grip it, but the intention was there. Another time, she used the right hand to push her shoes under the bed.

Until now, though she has been moving the right arm and hand to some extent, she has never actually tried to use it. Recovery of hand functionality is a huge step. Just think of the difference between having one usable hand and having two. More epic stuff.

It Isn't Rocket Science...or is it?

2009-07-22T19:12:00.000-07:00

Today we are finishing one month since the stroke occurred on June 23rd. This probably calls for some profound introspection, a review of lessons learned, and all that sort of thing. Perhaps I can do that tomorrow, time permitting.

This week, time is kind of at a premium for me because Tim and Veronica and children are away from the house on a much-deserved camping vacation. So in addition to the usual two or three daily trips to AMC (Auburn Regional Medical Center) to visit Bettie, I have to care for myself, the yard, garden, berries, fruit trees, etc. And, it is the middle of my work week at iShip too. Poor me.

Bettie had another productive day with lots of walking, stair climbing, and other physical stuff. She works really hard at it too. Today I observed that her walking was noticeably faster than just yesterday.

I'm feeling pretty good about her physical progress, more so than her speech comprehension.

Strokes are so capricious in nature. Bettie can say some things exactly like she used to, and then the next sentence is just all a jumble, but spoken with straight-faced earnestness as if she was explaining a new propulsion theory to a rocket scientist.

I spent nearly three hours at lunch and beyond with her. Joining us was my daughter Kim and and old friend of mine from a couple of previous work places, Laurie Napa. Late in the day I had to take son Jim to the airport, so I missed her dinner, but I got to spend a few minutes with her at 6p.m. We discussed more of those rocket science explanations.

Right Hand Progressing

2009-07-21T18:10:00.000-07:00

Bettie is walking longer distances and duration each day, to the point where measuring the distance is no longer meaningful. When she starts running the low hurdles, I'll mention it, but that won't be for a few weeks yet.

The right hand seems to be the big breakthrough now. Fingers are moving more each day, so that now she can grip a regular two-handed walker. You might think that is a step backward because she has been using a one-handed one. But the two-handed version keeps her more erect and it strengthens the right hand and arm. She can also go twice as fast with it.

(It's painful to remember that I'm the guy who used to complain because, in my exalted opinion, she took too long to get ready to go anywhere. Now I celebrate that she can move a little faster than a snail. Men: beware of what you complain about.)

Now that a release date is on the calendar, she and the staff are really pushing hard to accomplish a lot. At the end of each day she is pretty tired and hungry.

She had a good dinner, and I left her watching the Mariners.

Long Walks and a Check-Out Date

2009-07-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

Just after breakfast this morning, Bettie went for her longest walk to date: 55 feet. After a brief rest, she did another 30 feet. Then a little stair climbing. For the walking she is using a half-walker, a stand alone support for just her "good" left hand. The therapist has hold of a belt around her middle, but is not supporting her at all. In time, I expect her to be walking nearly normally. I wish I knew what the "in time" was, but I suspect it is six months or so.

Meanwhile, the right arm and hand are also making excellent progress. After lunch, Dr. Sultana was in to see her. (Somehow, he is always able to get her to do more than I can.) She showed some very promising finger movements and the arm itself is moving almost at will now. I have noticed that she has started trying to do two-handed things by pushing an object against the right hand while trying to manipulate whatever it is with her left. Things like tearing open a paper straw cover for instance.

When I came back for dinner, Deb, her welding instructor (occupational therapist) showed me a squeeze toy they use. Bettie took it in her right hand and squeezed it, making it inflate. Remember, the first week or two, this hand was paralyzed.

The final big news item for today is her discharge date. The staff had a meeting today and, because of the gall bladder issue last week, they were able to negotiate (with the insurance provider) an extension of her time in rehab of one week. The planned discharge is July 29, just over a week from now. From my perspective, while I want her home, it is best if she spends as much time as possible in physical rehab so she gets the professional workouts every day to make maximum progress.

The final, final, big news item is she did not have tomato soup for dinner. It was a regular meal of green beans, chicken, and potato with gravy. She ate everything but a couple of bites of the potato. Plus she finished her Trader Joe's yogurt, that I see to it that she gets with every meal.

Soup & Dinner With Friends

2009-07-19T09:29:00.000-07:00

A sunny day and sunny disposition to match. Our girl is improving. I'd have to say the gall bladder issue probably set her back a good week, what with missed therapy, pain, and generally not doing well. Judging by today, I'd say she's back on track.

She'd better be, because a goal posted by the staff on the wall of her room shows a projected "Go Home" date of July 22. I don't know if we'll make that, but it is getting close.

Each meal she is enjoying treats that I bring her, to supplement her mostly liquid diet. Today I brought a couple of "super food" type drinks made by Odwella. She drank half of an 8-ounce bottle with breakfast and the other half split between lunch and dinner. With Bettie in her wheelchair I took her along for a little stroll in the sunshine after breakfast and then promised to return at lunch, when our daughter Kim would be coming. I did, and Kim arrived just after lunch at 1 p.m. and had a nice visit all afternoon.

When I returned just before dinner, I found Bettie in the lounge area, earnestly looking at a recipe in a Woman's Day magazine. She was probably thinking, "There must be something in here I could make that would beat the tomato soup I've had to eat for my last three lunch and dinners." When I finally tore her away to go to dinner, she had...yep, another bowl of mmmm mmmm good, tomato soup.

Speaking of dinner time, since I'm there for two and sometimes all three meals, I've gotten to know the cast of characters, both staff and patients. It is a fun group. Today we had a birthday cake at lunch for Katie, Bettie's roommate. To give you an idea of the dinner repartee: one of the patients said, "Ya know, with all the fun we have here, I'm really going to hate leaving this place." Kattie chimed in with something like: "If you really mean that, you're the sickest one here."

Emotions Returning, Internal Issue Improving

2009-07-18T07:39:00.001-07:00

The emotion displayed yesterday over the shoes may, in fact, be a sign of progress. It may also indicate a common stroke by-product: depression. Likely, it is both.

It showed up again after breakfast this morning, during a speech therapy session. Liz had her print her name. (I was amazed that she could do it, and with quite good left-handed penmanship.) But after she had spelled out "B E T T I E", she sat and looked at it for a few moments, then put her head down and began to softly sob. To me it looked like she was grieving over a friend she used to know, but now was gone.

If that theory is correct, it means she is more aware, and that awareness includes greater awareness of her current plight. Progress like this is a good news/bad news sort of thing. But we take what we get.

When I returned, just after lunch, she was in good spirits and having a nice visit with a dear old friend, Barbara Funk, a classmate from elementary through high school. Barbara is a retired RN, and did a lot of her career right here in Auburn General, as the hospital was called then. I value her positive appraisal of Bettie's progress, which was borne out by Dr. Sultana, who came in during the visit.

More good news from the doctor: the gall bladder drain is doing it's job, the infection and inflammation are down and the bladder will not need to be removed, unless there are complications later on. The drain stays in for six weeks.

At dinner time, I found a new roommate had moved in with Bettie, so she got acquainted around the two community tables in the kitchen. During dinner I was chatting with the wife of the only male patient on the ward. I learned that his stroke occurred in April and he was almost completely paralyzed: no movement and no speech. Now he is quite talkative and his speech seems pretty normal to me. The wife said that Bettie is way ahead of where he was at this stage. Very encouraging.

After dinner, I took Bettie down to the lobby atrium to enjoy the sun. We talked, I quizzed her on things like her name, my name, etc. She eventually came up with "Bettie Aitkins" for her and "Just plain Bill" for me.

So, this is Just Plain Bill, signing off ... with a smile.

Is This a Good Sign?

2009-07-18T07:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, for the first time that I have been aware of in this adventure, Bettie got upset with me. Maybe it is a good sign, I don't know. (I had brought in the shoes the physical therapist had requested, a pair of Costco's best sneakers. They do have laces, as opposed to the more preferable Velcro, but they fit well and support her better than the slip-ons she was wearing for walking.)

In her room after lunch, I put the shoes on her, as she was going to have more PT later. There was nothing I could say or do, (other than not putting them on at all) that made it alright with her to wear those shoes. I explained all the benefits and how I was just trying to help...all that good stuff. She just sat there, in her Costco specials, and glared at the floor. When she finally looked up, her face said "Why did you do that to me?" What could I say?

Most of the time, dealing with stroke is just, well...hard. Occasionally, it is heartbreaking.

Getting Back to "Normal"

2009-07-17T13:49:00.000-07:00

Being Friday, I'm working from home, so it is easy to slip down to the rehab barracks just after breakfast, and check in on our girl. Though she is still connected to one of those walk-around IV drip carts, at least she is mobile.

I found her in the gym, working on walking between the parallel bars. I helped the therapist by dragging the drip cart and wheelchair behind her as she inched her way along, about 15 feet in all. The therapist suggested I bring her some better shoes.

[Just as I was writing the above, the phone rang. It was a secretary at Dr. Heide's office. She told me that the doctor wanted her to get my permission to put a link on his web site (http://www.wacenterforhealth.com/neurologist.html) to this blog. (The link is now up. Click the "News" button to see it.) Gee, what an honor that he thinks this drivel of mine might be helpful to others coping with stroke. You may remember that in the post titled "Why Me, Why Not?" I suggested that it would be a shame to travel this road without leaving some help for others. In another post I mentioned that honor is a big deal to me. I'm feeling really honored right now. And when Bettie is able to comprehend how her trial is benefiting others, she will be honored too. Wow.]

Alright, back to earth here.

Bettie's little walk ended and I took her to her room to get ready for Liz, the speech therapist. I left at that point, but Liz later told me that she is seeing improvement in Bettie's comprehension and verbalization. That was good to hear from a professional, because I was just thinking that I'm not seeing much improvement here. Maybe I'm just too close to it.

I returned at lunch and found her just polishing off the other half of the Trader Joe's yogurt I brought her yesterday. In fact, because she did that plus drank some green protein drink (also from TJ's) that I brought her, the nurse agreed to disconnect the IV drip. (The drip was just to be sure she was getting enough liquid, and now it appears that she is.)

Following lunch, I left her with the physical therapist who was planning to take her for another walk. Since I did bring the better shoes, it should go better for her. Later in the day, she had more occupational therapy, and I think maybe a shower.

Dinner time found her pretty tired, but she was able to enjoy some more Apricot-Mango yogurt from Trader Joes, which I think is preferable to hospital Jello. I hope she agrees...I ordered a case of it today.

Recovering on Liquids

2009-07-16T05:17:00.000-07:00

When Bettie checked in to Acute Rehab on July 1st, she had her two-bed room all to herself. The second bed remained unoccupied for the better part of the next week, giving Bettie a lot of peace and quiet. Then she got a roommate...so much for the quiet. Not that the roommate herself was loud, but she had a lot of visitors that were.

Yesterday the roommate was transferred to another facility, and once again Bettie has the room to herself. I think it's better, not just for the quiet, but she is free of the "pressure" to carry on a conversation with a chatty neighbor, while still struggling to find the right words, just to sound intelligent.

I had hoped that when I arrived at 11:30 today, I could take her to the kitchen for a hearty lunch. But as I left the elevator and passed by the daily activity board, I saw the notation in Bettie's column: "Bed therapy only, doctor's orders". So that's where I found her, dozing in her room, alone. She had already had one guest this morning, pastor Art Palecek. She did seem glad to see me ... but not so glad that she felt like keeping her eyes open all the time. I forgave her :)

And the "hearty lunch" turned out to be just liquids, plus that all-time hospital favorite: Jello. Since she was eating in bed, it required a little more help that usual. At least I thought it did. She did not concur. A couple of times she gave me that very stern, "Will you please stop touching my food" look. I love it. That kind of independence goes a long way in therapy.

When I returned to visit her several hours later for dinner it was a different story. I found her in the kitchen with the rest of the girls (there are now six female patients ... And, I think, just one lucky fella, in Acute Rehab). When dinner was served, I got permission for Bettie to have some of her favorite apricot-mango yogurt from Trader Joe's, which I had brought for her. She had four of the eight ounces of that, plus a bowl of tomato soup, and small cups of chocolate pudding and vanilla ice cream. Funny how she seems so hungry; it's only been two days with hardly anything to eat.

I can't say there has been any progress the last two days, other than determining why she hurt inside and getting a fix for that problem in place. Missing two days of therapy is bound to slow things down. Knowing her, I'm sure she is anxious to get back to work: dressing, walking, welding. You know, the usual stuff.

A Day to Recover

2009-07-15T17:53:00.000-07:00

Yea, I know, 5 p.m. is kind of early to be checking out for the evening, but it is by request ... hers.

I figured she would be pretty much be back awake from this morning's anesthetic by 4 p.m. when I showed up...and she was. Well, sort of. We could talk like we usually do, but she is still on IV drips from bags of liquid with long, unpronounceable names on them. She can't eat until breakfast, and mostly wanted to doze. After an hour of holding her hand and small talk, she said "I go home now". "You want me to go home now?" I countered. She nodded, "Yea". So that was it. I promised to see her at lunch.

(Visiting should be fine [and encouraged] tomorrow, Thursday, and thereafter.)

The only other thing of note is the issue of legal competence. This morning I asked Melody, the social worker who handles this sort of thing, to look into the possibility of getting official power of attorney. This would be good to have in case the need arises to sign legal or financial papers or something. Melody brought it up at an afternoon staff meeting and the consensus of all parties was that, for now at least, she can't. Well, here's what I got in letter form from Dr. Sultana:

"Mrs. Aitkins has suffered a stroke with, among other things, cognitive and communicative deficits that prevent her from making medical or financial decisions."

This was not a big shock or surprise, (and it is certainly not the final, all-time verdict). But when I see it in writing, it has a similar feel to what I imagine a foreclosure notice on the front door would.

Tonight, I'm just going to think about something else.

Mission Accomplished

2009-07-15T11:12:00.000-07:00

The gall bladder drain procedure that was scheduled to take up to an hour this morning at 10 a.m. It actually started at 9:50 and was complete by 10:20. The attending physician took longer to tell me about the risks and possibilities than he did to do the job. These guys are good. No complications, just ... well, drip, drip, drip.

Bettie will be spending the better part of the afternoon in her room, exploring the twilight zone. I'll return to her when she awakens, and report more this evening.

Three Weeks In

2009-07-14T18:30:00.000-07:00

A little after 9:00 o'clock this morning we completed three weeks since that fateful morning: June 23rd (see "The Day it Happened"). That was a Tuesday, but it didn't seem like a weekday. It didn't seem like a weekend day either, nor a holiday. It was some other kind of time and space...strange, weird, surreal. Each of you have experienced events that put you in a place like that; events you will always remember...where you were, what you were doing, all that kind of thing.

But just as this past three weeks has brought significant signs of recovery to Bettie, so it is with me and others in the family. One naturally goes through various stages in dealing with this kind of thing: i.e. the guilt stage:
"If only I had ____ (or hadn't ____ ) maybe this wouldn't have happened", the "This can't be happening to me" stage, and on and on.

I'm sure there are more stages ahead. But all in all, things are getting better. I only have to consider how very much worse this could have been, to be thankful for what we have. Among the things I'm thankful for is the support of family and friends...many of you reading this.

Alright, enough of the maudlin syrup.

I left Bettie an hour ago, sound asleep. She had lunch and dinner through an IV drip, just like the early days two weeks ago. She is in preparation for a procedure tomorrow that is supposed to be installing a drain in the area of her infected gall bladder. Should there be any complications with that procedure, they will just remove it. (The bladder -- not the drain, silly!)

Before she drifted off, she was in her usual good spirits. Speaking of which, she is absolutely a big favorite with the staff at Auburn Acute Rehab Center. She is cooperative, works hard on therapy, and always tries to be agreeable. The professionals there seem to go out of their way to provide excellent care for her.

Yes, things are a lot brighter than that awful day, three weeks ago.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

2009-07-14T12:46:00.001-07:00

So much for my medical credentials indeed. Yesterday I opined that Bettie's tummy upset was probably due to the fact that she has not been taking HCL with her meals. That may be a contributing factor to the real problem ... or maybe not. But the real issue, confirmed by the scan last evening, is a rather badly infected gall bladder. So much so, that is has to come out...right away.

I arrived at the rehab ward to find Dr. Sultana conferring with an internist, Dr. Spens. As I walked by, he says: "We were just talking about you." I'm thinking: "Gee, do I look that bad?" "Let's go into my office" he says.

For the next 10 to 15 minutes the two doctors outlined the situation: The gall bladder is infected, probably from a stone, stuck in it or the duct. Contributing factors might be not eating enough, not enough physical activity lately, or who knows what. Anyway, antibiotics are not a solution in its present condition. It needs to be removed. They outline the risks (they do that for every procedure) and the rewards. It's a no-brainer, though I asked a lot of smart sounding (naturally :) questions. Because of her atrial fibrillation, they need to stabilize her blood without the thinner they have been using, so the surgery will be at 10 a.m. tomorrow. I'll be there.

When we came out of the office, I found Bettie racing up and down the hall in her wheelchair, physical therapist jogging along side. Actually, she was making pretty good time, doing "sit-walking", with the foot rests removed. I was pleased to see the right leg taking steps almost as big as the left. Her session ended in a few minutes and I took Speed Racer to her room, where she wanted to lie down to rest.

I told her the news and just what to expect. She took it quite well, though I don't know how thoroughly she understood.

Just as I wrote the last paragraph above, the phone rang. It was Dr. Spens, informing me that after further examination of the scans from last evening, she (the doctor) thinks it might be better to hold off on the gall bladder removal surgery and just insert a drain instead, provided that can be done with no complications. Then in four to six weeks, do the surgery. This puts her at less risk overall.

I'll probably have more to report this evening. For now, tomorrow is probably not a good day to plan to visit, while this is being sorted out.

I Try My Hand at Doctoring

2009-07-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not a doctor, but I played one today at the Acute Rehab Center.

I got to wondering why Bettie was having the upset stomach lately, and I finally had a theory: Several years ago we both went to Dr. Jonathan Wright's Tahoma Clinic and both of us were tested for low stomach acid.

As we age, our bodies tend to produce less of the the stuff we need, so logic would say that holds true for digestive juices too. Unfortunately, that is not what "conventional" medicine teaches. The conventional theory is that if your stomach aches, it probably has too much acid. So I think they are giving Bettie an antacid when, in fact she had too little acid already (the test we took a few years ago proved that ). We both routinely take HCL (hydrochloric acid) capsules with meals and never have stomach trouble.

Rather that preach to the doctors, I simply printed this article by Dr. Wright and gave it to the nurse at breakfast, along with a bottle of HCL capsules. By lunch Bettie was having HCL and doing better. I hope the article got to the internist who is attending to this issue. We'll see. So much for my venture into doctoring. (No, I did not charge them for my diagnosis and subsequent remedy.)

I returned to visit at 1 p.m., hoping to see her walking during her physical therapy session scheduled for that time. Alas, they changed it to 2:30, so I'll try again tomorrow.

When I arrived, she was having a nice visit with an old friend, Debbie Compton. They seemed to be having a high old time, so I didn't stay long with her. Just long enough to show her the clothes I had picked out and brought in for her. (One of the reasons I know the real Bettie is in there is because of how fussy she is about what to wear each day. Feel free to kick me if you ever hear me complaining about how long it takes her to pick out clothes again. It used to be an aggravation, now it's hope!)

My dinner-time visit turned out to not be dinner at all, but rather a pint of flavored nuclear waste ... well, whatever it is that lets them see inside during a scan. They still want to make sure everything is OK in the tummy, so one more test.

Hmm, so much for my medical credentials. (Maybe I should have charged them for my consultation.)

Hand Better - Tummy Worse

2009-07-12T19:20:00.000-07:00

Expecting to find Bettie about finished with breakfast, I checked the dining area about 8:15 this morning. "She was fussing with her hair, last time I checked" the nurse told me. I found her in her room, just moving back toward her bed in her wheelchair. She wanted me to help her onto the bed, a task that is getting easier by the day.

She was not interested in going for breakfast, but I could not determine, from what she was saying, whether she had actually eaten yet or just didn't want to. When I finally checked with the nurse, I found that she was scheduled for an ultra-sound of her tummy area, just to be sure yesterday's upset stomach was not something serious. I still could not tell whether she knew she was not supposed to eat or that she just didn't want to eat. Anyway, she was fine with eating a very late breakfast. (I left at 10 a.m. and they still had not taken her for the ultra-sound.)

During my morning visit Dr. Sultana spent some time with us. He is pleased with her progress, overall. However, most of the stuff I wanted to know from him, he also wanted to know. Things like: Does she still have her memory (short term & long term)? Will she make a "full" recovery? How much does she understand? ... etc. A lot of these things we can't know until they happen.

He did say that he expects her total stay there to be about three weeks; which would mean her coming home the last week of July. But again, we can't be sure.

Before Dr. Sultana came, I was trying to get Bettie to move her right hand fingers, which have been mostly immobile from the start of this. The right arm is coming along, but not the hand and fingers.

As I was working with her I was thinking: "I think I'll ask people reading the blog to pray specifically about her fingers."

Then the doctor starts his routine: "Move this; move that; what is your name?" and so on. Pretty soon he gets to her right hand and asks her to squeeze. And she squeezes with her right hand and fingers.

"That's amazing", I exclaim, "I was just doing that with her and I got nothing." Whatever Sultana's magic touch was, I don't know, but he got some pretty promising response in her hand and fingers. Next to communication skills, I think this is the most important recovery she could make.

Just think of the huge difference between being able to use your principle hand and not being able to use it. Try it. Try just five minutes of normal daily activity with your principle hand immobilized and you'll see what I mean. Very tough.

Hopefully, this is more epic stuff.

Tim and family had a nice visit with her during the afternoon, while I finished up the installation of a second hand rail on the stairs into the house from the garage. (Before, it only had a hand rail on one side.)

Later, when I arrived for dinner, our daughter Kim was still there during a long afternoon visit. Bettie was complaining of stomach pain again, but it soon subsided and she was able to eat a pretty good dinner.

Something Amiss in the Tummy?

2009-07-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

Arriving at breakfast, I found Bettie kind of hunched over, and complaining (apparently) of a stomach ache. She had eaten some oatmeal, but very little else. I returned her to her room and bed to recover, which she eventually did.

In her room, nurse Melamie talked with me about helping to get her food service more like "home". I appreciated her concern and think she will go to bat for Bettie with the kitchen. (Bettie is pretty much an all natural, organic, whole grain, fruit, and vegetable kind of girl. Whereas hospital dietitians, I suspect, are products of the commercial food processing/refining school of thought.) We'll get this sorted out and she should do better with her diet.

Today, after services, I had the opportunity to spend some time with old friends for a complete change of pace, culminating in a lovely dinner out. My granddaughter Jordan accompanied me. She and I arrived back at the Rehab Center just after 7 p.m., but Bettie was still awake.

I had told Bettie this morning that I would be out for the afternoon but would see her at bedtime, but I 'm not sure if she understood -- not sure how her memory is. She seemed fine with my long absence between visits today. But she actually seemed better with my longer absence than I felt about it. I think I felt guilty. At dinner I kept thinking: "Maybe I shouldn't be doing this". But no, I know that I need the occasional break. And that's what good friends are for, isn't it?

Jordan and I found her in good spirits...better than this morning. From Bettie's description of the issue at breakfast, it was traumatic to her, though once again she couldn't find quite the right words to explain it exactly.

Out for a Stroll

2009-07-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

Another day, another record set. This time during her afternoon physical therapy session.

Her previous walking distance was 5 to 10 feet. Today she did two "excursions", one was 26 feet and her next was 22 feet. The longer one was with a walker that has a support piece for her right arm. For the shorter walk she used a "half walker" that just has support for her "good" side. She did pretty well with both. As her walking skills improve the therapist will decide which support device will be best for her.

Bettie's grandchildren Jonny and Jordi, watched the walking session. In fact, Jordi recorded it on her cell phone camera. If she is successful in getting that downloaded and sent off to uncle Steve (our blog/web producer), you will see the event here.

During the morning visit she took another excursion, but this one was riding as I was allowed to take her outside in the wheelchair. We went all the way around the block. The sun felt good after over two weeks in a hospital room.

On my way out, after the morning visit, I ran into pastor Art Palecek who had come for a visit. I'm glad to have her seeing as many visitors as possible, to enhance those communication skills, such as they are.

Me: Feeling Better - Her: Doing Better

2009-07-09T19:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was whining about not being able to see much progress, especially in her communication. Today, her communication is the progress that is most apparent.

I have to say, I'm feeling somewhat better than I was a day ago. Yes, this is kind of a roller-coaster ride with the emotions as we navigate along. But that's part of the challenge you get with recovery from a major stroke. It's like Forrest Gump's momma said about life: "... It's like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get."

In the morning post on June 28th, I quoted the doctor's best guess with regard to communication: "She will have difficulty communicating, but family will eventually get acquainted with her expressions and cope fairly well." Either that is what is happening with me, or she is comprehending more, or some of both. Probably the latter.

It just seems like she understands so much and is coping so well. For example:

I say: "Take off the brake." and without hesitation, she reaches down and releases the wheelchair brake.
While brushing her teeth, I tell her to remove her partial (she has a few missing molars, but the space is filled with a removable partial plate). At first she objects, but I explain that she needs to do it to be clean. My logic seems to win her over, and she relents.
She starts a lot of her instructions to me with "Hon" or "Honey". Just like, well, like before.

There are getting to be a lot of these interactions that just seem more-or-less natural. Though there may be some nonsense in some of her conversation, we are communicating. Well maybe we are "communicating" in quotes. (According to the English majors, when you introduce a new meaning for an old word, you put it in quotes.)

Now this last item: But -- you have to promise not to tell the head nurse.
While helping Bettie from her wheelchair into her bed near the end of the evening visit, we kinda lingered between the chair and the bed for, well um, considerably longer than that quick little pirouette is supposed to take. OK, we hugged. So what are you goning to do about it?

Hmmm, maybe that's why I feel better.

She "Gets It"

2009-07-08T18:30:00.000-07:00

Visiting Bettie as often as I do, it is easy for me to miss the little improvements that are going on all the time. But for visitors who see her after a week or more absence the changes are profound. This was the case when old friends Ruth and Rich Medved saw her today. I arrived at 11:30 a.m. and found them still there, along with Dr. Sultana who was checking her progress, as he does each day.

Both the Medveds and Dr. Sultana were very impressed with her progress. Her right arm is moving further and more often for instance, and there are improvements in comprehension. At least we think so. This is the area that I am most concerned with. Dealing with whatever physical impairment might linger after her recovery is easily manageable compared to dealing with impaired comprehension.

She is so pleasant and trying so hard to please, that it is easy to just assume that she understands everything you say. But you will get a "Yes" response to just about anything that you ask if you ask it in an upbeat inflection and with a smile: "Today we're going to hold up the Brinks truck and we wonder if you'd like to help?" She'll give you a pleasant nod and say "Yes."

On the other hand, there are a number of indications that she "gets it". I think she is understanding key words in a communication and doing her best to respond to those. Words like "dressed" and "clothes" she responds to.

She likes to pick out what to wear from several choices and looks at her closet when you mention those words. While doing that yesterday, she kept repeating the word "right" when I was offering her the different things in her closet. She rejected every item in the closet with the comment: "No, right". Finally I noticed the pants and top that were not in the closet but on a shelf on the right side of it. That was what she wanted.

I was with her for both lunch and dinner, returning home for a few hours in between. She is eating better that when she first arrived here.

I left her by 6 o'clock because each Wednesday evening from 7 to 10 p.m. is the Northwest Sound chorus rehearsal. Though Bettie's stroke prevented me from traveling with my chorus brothers to compete for the international championship in Anaheim last week, she is stable enough now for me to attend weekly rehearsal.

It was good to be with the chorus again and to celebrate their inauguration officially into the category of "A" choruses. (Scoring over 80 in a competition constitutes the "A" category.) Our score of 81.2 placed us a respectable 19th out of 28, and one place ahead of our Evergreen District nemesis: the "Salem Senataires".

(In the Barbershop Harmony Society, the "Evergreen District" constitutes: Alaska, British Columbia, Alberta, Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Western Montana.) It's kinda cool to be the best of our genre in that large an area.

As you can imagine, singing is good therapy for whatever ails you ... it sure helps me. Come to think of it, it seemed to have helped Bettie too.

Unplesant "Procedure" - Plesant Dinner

2009-07-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

Being a work day for me, I did not arrive until 11:30 a.m. The occupational therapists (welding instructors :-0) were just finishing up. Well, one was finishing up, the other one was reading the printed version of this blog that is in Bettie's room.

It was a busy morning for her as they crowded all three hours of therapy into the morning so she could go off for a colonoscopy in the afternoon. (Colonoscopy is doctor-talk for "major breech of personal security". I'll spare you the proctologist's definition of the "scope" part of the procedure, but it's funny.) Anyway, the results were clear; no problems from stem to stern, so to speak.

They came for her a little after noon, so I came home and returned at 3:30. She was still pretty groggy, but gradually came around. By 4:30 she felt like getting up into the wheelchair. During that process, she seemed determined to pull herself up to standing by herself. She very nearly did. I was pleased to see how well she stood before transferring to the chair.

Dinner arrived at 5:00 and she was ready. Well, that was something of an understatement. Due to today's "procedure", she was not allowed to eat after yesterday's lunch. You may remember from yesterday, that today was the first time she was allowed food that was not pureed. It was pretty much a Thanksgiving dinner: Turkey & cranberry sauce, carrots, mashed potatoes and gravy, and applesauce. When the smoke cleared, there was just some potato left, that's all.

Walking! and Other Steps Forward

2009-07-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

Arriving a little after breakfast, I was able to help her dress for her first session, this time with Hope, her speech therapist. (Helping her get dressed means getting some things from her closet so she can choose ... and she always has a definite opinion about what to wear each day. The actual on and off of apparel she does herself, for the most part.)

In speech therapy we are working on word recognition, both oral and written. For example, she has no trouble counting, but she wont know what to do if you say: "Count to ten". Similarly, if you show her the numbers 1 through 5, written out and say: "Point to the number three" she won't recognize it. However, to show how clever she still is, she will count the images she sees and point to the third one.

My brother Jim (yea, "Grandpa Jim) stopped by later in the afternoon, so I scheduled my afternoon visit to overlap a little. After he left, she had some X-rays in prep for a colon check-up tomorrow. When she finally returned, we had some nice time together and celebrated a couple of big steps, well actually one of the big steps was five steps. Yes, they had her up with a walker today and she took five steps with minimal assistance!

The other big step is, tomorrow she can move from pureed food to something requiring a little chewing.

Progress, progress, progress. The girl is making progress.

Singing to My Peaceful Sweetie

2009-07-05T17:19:00.000-07:00

Bettie had the day off from "school" today, so no therapy.

As I watch the therapists work with her, I pick up ideas to try when we are alone. I did a little of that when I was with her today. But mostly, it was just chair-to-chair, face-to-face interaction. When interacting now, I can always get her to speak up, by just cupping my ear. So the hearing part of our communication is so much better than when she mostly whispered.

The thing that is most remarkable about her at present is the nearly complete lack of obvious frustration. Occasionally I see a little when she really needs me to understand something and can't find the right words for it. But even then, it is not a mad "Why did this happen to me?!" kind of thing. For the most part she is somewhere between "I'm fine with this" and "I'm resigned to this", but never "I'm furious at this". If you read the "To Pray for Bettie, Click Here" post, you remember I asked for prayer for her state of mind, so this should not be a surprise.

Before leaving her for the night, I sang her one of the songs that I did for her at our 50th party a few weeks ago. (Three chorus brothers formed a quartet with me and we did "Heart of My Heart", "Irish Blessing", and "Always".)

Tonight I sang her "Always", a lovely Irving Berlin love song from 1926. (Berlin wrote it for his fiancee ... and he meant it. They were married 62 years!) Bettie sang along with me, picking up the words she didn't know as we went. It made for a few "sync issues" (for you musically astute types) but it was sweet, very sweet. ... Well, even if you're not musically astute, you can read the lyrics here. (Note: Get a box of tissues handy.)

One Armed Welding...Sorry, Dressing

2009-07-04T18:53:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday America!

Bettie continues to make progress, now that she is a resident in the Acute Rehab Center in Auburn. Feeding herself is now pretty much routine. I arrived just as she finished breakfast today and so I wheeled her to her room. (For now, propelling a wheelchair is beyond her capabilities because of the right arm.)

After mere moments, her occupational therapist arrived for a session. (When I first heard the term 'Occupational Therapy' I was thinking: "What...are they going to teach her to weld, or something?). Occupational therapy means re-learning the skills necessary for independence, such as dressing, toilet, etc.

Today's lesson was dressing. I only stayed long enough to observe as she, completely on her own, removed her hospital gown and put on a pull-over short sleeve top. (Just before I left her this evening, I had her reverse the process...take off the top and put on the gown. Other than tying the back string ties, which I did for her, she performed both operations completely.)

Now, before you think: "So, what's the big deal?" try it yourself. Hang your good arm at your side and put on a "T" shirt, then take it off. I'm very impressed with her.

Besides giving her a sense of independence (appropriate for today, huh?), she is demonstrating that she does not appear to have any thinking impairment. If you could watch her perform these operations, you would see what I mean. She thinks through the whole process first, then begins methodically following the plan. Some steps require positioning the right arm first, which, if necessary she does by simply picking it up with her left hand and placing it where in needs to be. When she finished, I applauded. (Honey, if you really want to take up welding, you just go for it!)

-------------------

I stopped in after church services today, but she was napping and I didn't disturb her then.

Returning at 5 p.m., we had a nice visit, then got ready for bed. During our visit, I noted some of the fruits of her speech therapy. Most of her speaking up until now has been either clearly mouthing the words (making reading her lips fairly easy) or whispering. For the first time for me, she spoke up in a real voice every time I put my hand behind my ear and said "louder" or "speak up".

Visiting her so often probably makes the progress seem a little slower that it would if I only came twice a week, but the frequent contact is bearing other fruit, I'm sure. Besides, if I only saw her twice a week, I'd be a candidate for therapy.

Bad Girl: Sleeping Through Therapy

2009-07-03T15:21:00.000-07:00

Another day of work at the Acute Rehab center in the Auburn Regional Medical Center complex. I arrived during breakfast and found her dining with two fellow patients. Since her cognitive skills are still impaired, she is not her usual friendly self, and meals are kinda quiet.

Though her right hand is moving a little more each day, it is not yet ready to pick up a fork. Eating is all left-handed. But I seriously doubt if I could feed myself any better left-handed than she does.

I received training in moving Bettie from wheelchair to bed and back. I'm now "qualified" in a skill I never thought I'd need. I'm hoping, as time goes on, that that skill becomes lost due to under-use.

Today she had some physical therapy and speech therapy, roughly an hour of each. My second visit of the day was just after noon and I found her in bed, trying to sleep through a speech therapy session. The therapist thought she might be more comfortable that way. She was. After this, speech will be in a chair where falling asleep will have more serious consequences. (These folks don't mess around.)

She had the afternoon off, so we (our granddaughter Jordan and I) were able to be alone with her. A short time later our niece Linda arrived for a visit and Bettie eventually awakened from her sleepiness to interact with her.

Daily Life in Auburn Acute Rehab

2009-07-02T19:28:00.000-07:00

Bettie was in bed the entire visit, having finished her dinner before I arrived. So now, going forward, I'll start reporting on the things that are not getting better, as most everything is. For example, she shook Dr. Heide's hand with her right hand today. It's like, 'No big deal'.

Now that she is close to home -- it is about 15 minutes to drive there and another five minutes to park and get up to her room -- it's much better for everyone. (At Highline, it was about 35 for the entire trip, one way.)

This makes a huge difference to family from two perspectives: One is simply the logistics. It is not hard to just run down there when the mood strikes, as opposed to planning a "trip".

The other is how much less a burden it is to leave her. To family it just seems like: "I'll be right back, just going to run home for a little bit." It is just, I don't know, lighter somehow. We no longer feel like we're leaving her way over in some other city. (This is no reflection on the care she was given at Highline. I've already praised that. Just the distance and perception in our minds.)

Now, about visiting. As I told Bettie, "You are in school". The good news about visiting is that you can come any time between around 8:00 in the morning to 8:00 in the evening. The bad news is that three or more of those hours she will have a "teacher" (therapist) with her, so you will do more watching than visiting.

Therapy sessions are usually 45 minutes to an hour and have a little free time on either side between them. More often than not they are midway between meals.

But, watching her therapy is a good thing, because it shows you things you can be helping her with during your visits (please). Bottom line: come anytime ... please. Every time you come, you will see more of the "new" Bettie. Speaking of the new Bettie, she looked totally fetching in her new jammies Deana. So thank you very much.

I think that from now on, I'll report her status at the end of each day, rather than twice a day. I totally enjoy writing up these reports, but it is time consuming and I've got banisters to put up and other stuff to do. After all, she will be home before we know it and I've got to be ready.

Before I close for the day, I'd like to report on a gift I received today from a bunch of very special guys that I hang out with every Wednesday evening, pretty much year around. They are the Northwest Sound Men's Chorus.

As I write, they are in Anaheim, Calif., preparing to compete for the title of International Chorus Champion of the Barbershop Harmony Society, which takes place tomorrow evening. I would have been with them, had the stroke not happened.

What they gave me brought to mind the Mastercard commercial: "Priceless". The entire chorus called me on the phone and sang me a song, then they all shouted "Hi Dick".

It was wonderful. I thanked them and then said: "A loving God would not let you win without me on the risers with you. But second place is not bad." :)

I'll be watching on the internet tomorrow, and singing along.

Out of Hospital, Into Rehab

2009-07-02T07:03:00.000-07:00

When we checked Bettie into the Acute Rehabilitation Center yesterday evening, I told her she was at a school. She is there to learn do do some things that are hard for her right now. And today is the first day of "class".

The facility is in the Auburn Regional Medical Center campus, on the 4th floor of the main hospital building. To find it, enter the main entrance under the portico, cross the lobby to the hospital area entrance and turn left down the first hall. Take elevator "C" to the fourth floor and you are there. The nurses station is to your left as you exit the elevator.

Like a good private school, class size is small. The in-patient housing consists of only 10 beds. They have a relatively small size gym, maybe 1,500 square feet or so, but it is well equipped for all kinds of physical therapy. The well-trained staff is headed by Dr. Geoffrey Sultana.

I saw Steve off at the airport this morning, then headed to Auburn for a lunch date with Bettie. I found her in bed, but working. Liz, a speech therapist was with her for another half hour until lunch, so I got acquainted with other staff.

At lunch, she again fed herself, while Lizz monitored swallowing. All went well. She has the afternoon off (from therapy) so she may nap some as she had a rather wakeful night with the new environment and all.

Both Dr. Sultana and Dr. Heidi put in appearances. Before they came I was noticing the rather dramatic changes I'm seeing from just yesterday. Everything is better: right leg, right arm, speech, comprehension...all improving. Dr. Sultana says "Wait 'til you see what happens in the next few days."

On follow up, I discovered that Dr. Heidi's "three to six months" was referring to recovery (by "recovery" we mean getting back most of what she will ever get back), not to a release date to home. That, he says is two to three weeks! (Insert big smile here.)

On the way home, I stopped at Lowes and pick up banister material for the other side of several stairways in our home. Got to get ready.

This is humung... No, sorry, this is Epic!

Oh No...Another Commercial (or 2)

2009-07-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

Without going into a long medical history here, I'll just say that the events leading up to this clot/stroke event included numerous appointments with various practitioners of the medical arts, and even a couple of ER visits. After awhile, one gets a sort of stereotypical picture in mind when the term "medical" is even mentioned. For any one practitioner or facility to stand out from the rest, they have to be something quite extraordinary. One of them is.

Highline Medical Center was the care provider for Bettie's first nine days, and they were simply the best we could have hoped for.

The physical facilities (which, like all hospitals in the world, I think, are still under construction/expansion) are impeccably maintained, clean and efficient. Even bordering on luxurious in some respects.
Parking is convenient and free.
They have state-of-the-art equipment and procedures. (Bettie came here in the first place because it was one of few places that had the equipment and know-how to do what she needed to have done.)
They have excellent food, delivered hot and on time. Something even some restaurants struggle with.
And the staff. What can I say? They were simply outstanding. I tried, in my last few minutes before Bettie checked out, to get around to as many of them as possible and thank them for their role in her care. And "Care" is the accurate term here...they obviously do. From the professional physicians and nurses, to the various assistants, even the volunteers. My hat's off to them all.

So my advice to you, should you find yourself staring up into the face of a 911 responder some day, is to croak out: "Take me to Highline!"

_____________________________

And now, for the other "commercial" mention: I want to thank the wonderful people at i1010 Communications for, among other things, helping me create this blog. Within minutes of the first alarm going out about Bettie, plans were made to fly their entire staff in from San Francisco.

OK, OK ... so i1010 is just my son Steve and his one-man web agency (and his contractors). But what kind of a dad wouldn't put in a plug for such a helpful a son. Reluctantly, I have to take him to the airport this morning so he can get back to earning a living. He will still be my faithful editor though, ("Hey Dad, did you forget to run spell-check ... again?") making me look like I can actually write.

So if you, or anyone you know, needs help with a web project of any size, Steve at i1010 Communications should be your go-to guy.

Dr. Heide: "Epic ... the word is Epic"

2009-07-01T19:43:00.000-07:00

So there you have it folks ... she's making epic progress. Woo hoo!

So to celebrate, we went for a ride. At 6:00 this evening she checked out of Highline Medical Center and took a nice scenic drive down the valley to Auburn Regional Medical Center, with our son Steve riding shotgun.

I had arrived at Highline at five o'clock to help her with dinner, as usual, and pack up her stuff. My dinner "help" consisted of giving her two bites of squash, after which Steve said: "She's doing so well with her left hand now, why don't you give her the spoon?" And so I did.

So much for helping her with eating ... and I was just getting good at it. You'd almost think she was a natural lefty the way she mowed down the rest of the squash, most of the turkey and half the potato. After a few tries, she even got the hang of getting some drippy mushroom soup over the lips. By the time she got to the chocolate pudding, she was full...just as well I think. Total time to down dinner: 35 minutes.

Right after dinner, the cabulance (that's what they call a specially equipped van, that accommodates a wheel chair) arrived and they began readying her for the trip.

Dr. Heide put in a brief appearance and that's when I told him I needed a big doctor word to describe this: and I mimicked Bettie's latest right arm gymnastics. That's when he gave me his new adjective for her rate of recovery: "Epic".

So now she is sleeping in her new temporary home: Room 483 in Auburn Regional Medical Center. Her bed is by the window, with a view of Mt. Rainier. She's in the Acute Rehab Center, on the fourth floor. Take elevator "C".

(Watch for a post tomorrow afternoon when I'll have a better idea of her schedule and good times to drop by - when she not working out in the gym or with the speech therapist.)

If you compare the general tone of this post with the first one, ("The Day it Happened.") you will probably notice that this one is lighter, upbeat and more hopeful. If you perceive it that way, it is because ... it's true, I am.

Thanks to all of you for your part in that.

(My son Steve was a professional photojournalist for many years so he documented Bettie's recovery from the start. Here's the last video of her in Highline Medical Center, looking tired but on her way out the front door this evening. Yay!)

Going, going, gone!

Right Arm Progress

2009-07-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

What am I to do with this girl? She just takes the first offer she gets...and today it was to have breakfast at 8 a.m. So when I arrived to feed her at 9 a.m. she was full and happily snoozing. The report was that she ate nearly all her breakfast, so that is very good, even though I wasn't the one on the other end of her spoon.

I held her right hand for quite a long time while she slept, but eventually she discovered I was there and perked up (naturally) :-)

Of course I was quite eager to see more of that right arm and hand movement that was so "___________" yesterday. (We still haven't gotten that big word from Dr. Heide.)

And she made sure that I was not to be disappointed on this visit.

Well, let me modify that. Because I was thinking maybe she would be ready to throw out the first pitch when the Mariners have their next home stand, I was a little disappointed. Disappointed only because she does not move that arm and hand very often.

She is obviously not in training ... yet.

There were three significant arm and hand events today:

Once she had her arm down on a pillow and lifted her forearm and hand to about a 45-degree angle, then put it down again.
Another time, I had lifted the forearm to a 90-degree angle and then she moved it back and forth a couple of times before letting in down. And she let it down slowly, not like a limp dishrag as before.
The third episode was a raise of the forearm to 45 degrees, then fully spread all her fingers, then move the arm 20 degrees to the left, then let it down.

I'm not sure that any of the above were voluntary. I don't recall that she ever moved it at my coaxing. But remember, two days ago, it was virtually paralyzed. (Hmm, how long is the Mariners current road trip anyway?)

The other significant occurrence during my two-hour visit was the appearance of a hospital volunteer who was there to give her some Medicare-required documentation concerning her rights when discharged. He understood she was to be moving out of the hospital within the next day or so. Terrific news.

I have a call in to Bettie's case worker to determine what she thinks the schedule will actually be.

Around 11 a.m. the speech therapist arrived for her morning session. I bid them farewell promising to return at 5 p.m. for our standing dinner date. I don't think she will take up with someone else this time, because she repeated the words, "Five o'clock" to me about six times.

She'd better not.

Dinner and Company

2009-06-30T19:39:00.000-07:00

Another lovely meal at the Highline Diner, with sons Steve and Jim and grandchildren Jonny and Hailey in attendance.

This time there were no interruptions from therapists or doctors. Even without the interruptions, it takes well over an hour to finish, if you can call it finished when half the food is left. Getting the calories she needs is a challenge but I expect with more therapy she will work up more of an appetite.

There was more right hand and arm movement than last night, but not as much as at 11:30 this morning. But remember, last night's movement was tiny, and the doctor called it 'humungous'. Being a work night for me, I left her with Steve, in and out of sleep.

Look: I Can Move My Hand

2009-06-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

Message to Dr. Heide: "Last night you used the word "Humongous" to describe the movement of one of Bettie's right hand fingers about a quarter of an inch. Please let me know what word to use to describe this:

My older brother Bruce and his wife Parvin are visiting this morning. When it is time to leave, he extends his had to Bettie to shake "Goodbye". She lifts the (paralyzed) right hand to his and he shakes it.

From your vocabulary of big doctor words, come up with one for that, if you can.

So that was how my morning with Bettie ended. It began with me arriving at 9 a.m. and feeding her breakfast for the next hour and ten minutes. She did just fine with everything. We took our time and she ate well, probably about as much as she would at home. This is good because she is keeping her calorie intake up, which develops her strength and healing. (Hmm, what did they put in that breakfast food? :)

During breakfast we took a little break for some speech therapy. It was while she was occupied with the therapist that I first noticed some finger movement on the right side ... a couple of times I thought I detected something.

Later, Bettie's case worker came in and we discussed where she would go next and what to expect there. The consensus was the rehab center at Auburn Medical Center, four floors above where she lay in the ER, exactly one week ago today.

On my way home from Highline Hospital, I stopped in at Auburn Medical Center and had a complete tour by the lead rehab physician, Dr. Sultana. I'm sure that is the place for her, and it is a mere 12 minutes away from home. I described Bettie's latest achievement and he agreed it was, "(insert Dr. Heide's big word here)".

He also said, the more stuff that comes back and the sooner it comes back, the better the long-term prognosis.

I've got to say this is really, really ___________________.

And Now, a Word From Our Sponsor

2009-06-30T06:09:00.000-07:00

The tool Steve and I are using to create this blog is owned by Google, you know them…yea, that Google. One of the features it allows me to do is put commercial ads along side the posts, as a means of earning a little something. Of course I'm not doing that, and won't. But if you'd allow me just this once, I would like to put in a word for a commercial enterprise that has risen so far above and beyond reason to accommodate me in this -- what shall we call it? -- this adventure?... that they deserve some favorable mention.

That entity is UPS. Yea, good old Big Brown.

The company I work for, iShip, is a little, but important, subsidiary of UPS. We create, manage, and host the retail shipping software used in all the UPS Stores, and also in a lot of other customer locations; like Nordstrom for instance. The people here are like a little family.

I guess there are around 50 of us, but from time to time we are visited by high level people from UPS and they make us feel like we are the real reason UPS is successful. Good people do that.

I write the online Help for our products, and dabble in training documentation, Flash demos, and such. My contribution is not on the critical path of our products functionality, but the people here make me feel very important. People ask me: "Dick, why aren't you retired?". "What, and let UPS fail? I couldn't do that!" Is my answer :-)

Like many very large companies, UPS self insures. That means that the health insurance we enroll in here at iShip, and the ultimate payer for Bettie's treatment, will be UPS. To me, of course, this is huge, huge, huge. Probably no big deal in the grand scheme of things for UPS but nevertheless, I'm grateful beyond words to have it.

But it isn't the insurance and the monetary considerations that make UPS and iShip great, it's the people...the heart.

UPS was founded right here where I live, in the Puget Sound area, actually in downtown Seattle. (The headquarters is now in Atlanta...or is it the iShip building in Factoria?) The founder, Jim Casey, was obsessed with two things: reliable on-time package delivery, and corporate integrity. The integrity part is what shows up in times like this.

Here are some of ways this UPS spirit has affected me:

Tuesday morning, on my way from the hospital in Auburn to the hospital in Burien I get a cell call from my good iShip buddy Sid Heinz. (Sid is the one that "brought" me from a previous company where we both worked.) This is very early in the episode and Bettie's life, let alone quality of life, is still very much in question. "Forget everything here" Sid told me "Concentrate on Bettie, we've got it all covered here. We're praying for you".

Ever try driving with tears in your eyes? Don't try it.
Tuesday afternoon, just after Bettie's procedure with Dr Wiess, I'm at her bedside and I get a call on my cell phone from Tim Davis. Tim runs two of UPS's subsidiaries from his homebase in San Diego. iShip is one of them. He's got two companies to run, but he's calling to encourage me...he didn't have to do that.

It undoes me now, just to remember it.
Wednesday I'm making my first contact back to iShip and Cheryl Gray, our HR gal appears to have dropped everything to look into insurance issues for me. Very helpful. Then the next day I get this e-mail from her, subject: "Just checking in".

It was a lot more than that...lots of insurance info, etc.., But that subject line just made me feel...supported.
Just last night I get this (an excerpt from a longer message) from Shaindell Goldhaber, my immediate supervisor: "Please let me know if there’s anything you need, either personally or work related. Your work family will do everything it can to support you during this stressful time. I understand your need/desire to work, so I won’t chastise you for coming in. Just be sure you give yourself all the time you need to support Bettie and to take care of yourself as well."

What a sweetheart I work for.

I could go on with other support I've gotten from my work family, but you get the idea that these are special people indeed.

So, if you are one of the countless people who have said "Just let me know if there is anything I can do", my answer is "Ship something using UPS!"

What can Brown do for you? More than you'll probably ever know.

A Dinner Date - A Happy Doctor

2009-06-29T19:30:00.000-07:00

I just returned from my "dinner date" with my girl. It was awesome! She had the pureed green vegetable with mashed potato & gravy, and a lovely steak, or was it chicken ... or maybe turkey? Once the blender finishes with it, it's kind of hard to tell.

She did just fine with the chewing, what little was required, and swallowing. She held her drink in her left hand and drank by herself. Eventually, I expect she will be feeding herself, left handed. But one step at a time.

Steve was with me and filmed some of the dinner. (Do you still say "filmed" when there isn't film anymore??) All in all, it was easily as memorable as our 50th anniversary dinner a few weeks ago. It ended a little differently, but that's OK. She ate about a quarter of a substantial portion, became fascinated with the TV in the background, and fell asleep. It was beautiful.

During dinner, we were pleased to see the indefatigable Dr. Heide, who dropped in to check up on her. He was absolutely delighted to see her eating. "This is wonderful to see" he said as he began his standard tests:

"What is your name?" (no answer).

"Can you wiggle your toes?" (Maybe a little movement).

But then he held up her right hand and held his other hand in front of hers and began wiggling his fingers for her to copy. He saw movement there, voluntary movement. It wasn't much but it was something. His response was "This is humongous, I'm liking what I'm seeing. Wow!"

Well, who needs strolling violinists with dinner when you can have a table guest like that?

Dr. Heide did say the the big thing we'll have to be careful of now is seeing that she gets sufficient calories. Healing takes a lot of energy and she will now have to get that by mouth. We think the limited intake this evening is due to the fact that she has not had food by mouth for a full week, so we'll be watching that calorie count.

So all she did today was pass a swallowing test, get her feeding tube removed, do more PT, including standing, and have a lovely dinner with a handsome guy who smiled a lot :-)

Go girl!!

At Last...Real Food!

2009-06-29T13:34:00.001-07:00

Kim (Bettie's daughter) just sent a text message reporting that the nurses just removed mom's feeding tube and that Kim is feeding her lunch.

This is huge because earlier the doctor was not sure if she would pass her swallowing test (and because she was trying to pull her current feeding tube through the nose out at times). In which case they would require a very short, minor operation to put a semi-permanent feeding tube into her stomach.

The food will be pureed, apple sauce and such for a while. No chewing for now. But this is a big day! We're all high-five-ing! (In fact I high-fived mom but I'm not sure she knew what the excitement was all about. I'll bet she was thinking, "Eating apple sauce from a spoon? Big deal!")

When Do We Eat?

2009-06-29T11:47:00.000-07:00

Our trooper made some very meaningful progress this morning: She passed her swallowing test!

To be strictly accurate, the speech therapist, who administered the test, said she would tell Dr. Duncan the results and he would decide what to do with regard to the feeding tube issue. However, the secret that I didn't tell the therapist was that Dr. Duncan had been in earlier and he told me that he and I would decide together about the tube, after her test. I'm sure he will concur with me, that the tube is no longer required now.

I can hardly wait for my evening visit. I expect to be able to feed her myself, from a plate. Considering where we have been in the last week, I'm looking forward to this dinner more than the dinner we enjoyed together at Palisade on our 50th anniversary last month.

You'll excuse me if this report is brief, but I've got a dinner date to get ready for :)

To Pray for Bettie, Click Here

2009-06-29T04:40:00.000-07:00

I know many of you following Bettie's progress are people of faith. I can't count the number of "Our thoughts and prayers are with you..." messages the family has received in comments here, e-mails, and directly. They mean a lot...really.

However, if you are not a person of faith, I'm going to have my son Steve, insert a "Pray for Bettie" button on the blog, so you can just click it occasionally and feel good. Huh? Oh, sorry. Steve says he can't do that. I guess we'll have to just do it the old fashioned way.

Seriously though, for those of you who are praying, I'd like to share some specific things that are on my heart that you could lift up:

Number one on the family's mind is to pray for peace in Bettie's mind. The hardest part of every day, is leaving her bedside. We usually wait until she is asleep to slip away. Then we wonder, "Did she wake up and find no one there, is she afraid, confused, lonely, wondering why we have abandoned her?" You can imagine the state these thoughts can put you in. We want to know that she is at peace with it all.
The family needs that same peace...to know that she is OK, when we can't be there. Especially mention our son Rick, who works in Las Vegas, and can't be here with his mother, where his heart is.
Please include Dr Aaron Heide in your prayers. He works tirelessly with stroke patients all over the Puget Sound area, at great personal sacrifice. He has seen Bettie every day, weekends included, sharing his professionalism...and his heart.

Of course, the God we love and serve can do anything, we know that. It goes without saying that we would love to have her just come home, whole and well today. Nothing wrong with praying for that. But while we await that event, we are looking for (and already seeing, here and there) the promise that "All things work together for good to them that love God..." (Rom 8:28) Pray that this promise will yeild much fruit. Think of the thrill Bettie will have, when all the good that has come from her trial is revealed to her.

Off to Work - Therapy Begins

2009-06-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

Bettie had a full day of visitors and seemed to handle it well. The most significant visitor however, was not there to visit...but to work! It was her physical therapist, there for her first session.

She did very well indeed..."determined" was the word the therapist used. She sat on the edge of the bed without tipping, demonstrating good balance. Then she stood with assistance and did fine with that too. A number of other activities rounded out the session. All in all, a vigorous work out that she passed with flying colors.

There are two levels of therapy: the most aggressive one is three hours a day and the other is much shorter. She will be recommended for the more aggressive one, based on today's performance.

As you can imagine, by the time 6:30 came around she was ready for some well deserved sleep. So, without even bidding "Good night" to the six of us in the room, she nodded off.

Sweet dreams my love.

The Doctor's Prognosis

2009-06-28T15:19:00.000-07:00

It's kind of a shock to walk into your wife's hospital room and find someone else in "her" bed. You can imagine the initial reaction when you are dealing with stuff that is sometimes terminal. To my relief though, she had only been moved. Whew!

So, if you visit, you will now find her in the "Cedar" wing of Highline Medical Center, room 526. Take a left out of the elevator, then a right after passing over the cafeteria, to find her room. It is a nice single bed room with a view of the SeaTac Airport. (Hmm...SeaTac Airport. Did I tell you that that is where we met? She worked in Northwest Airlines reservation center, in the upstairs of the big Northwest hanger, and I worked on the planes, down on the maintenance floor, as an A & P mechanic.)

Sweetie was awake and responsive for most of the 2 1/2 hours I spent with her this morning. The most impressive response, and it was not actually a response to anything, she simply asked me at one point: "Do you know what time it is?". Now she didn't actually want to know the time, though I told her ... and the day and date too. It is encouraging to see that a seven-word phrase can be put together and spoken, even thought it is not related to anything else.

I was very grateful to have Doctor Heide appear at 10 a.m. for his daily check-in with her. I asked him: "Don't you ever get a day off?" "No" he replied, "but I'm coping". What a professional.

Anyway, after not seeing him for two days, I was full of questions. So here's his opinion of where we go from here, based on his 16 years of dealing with stroke and his current caseload of more than 1,000 patients:

She is past the critical stage, brain swelling is going down.
The clot is not diminishing as I previously stated, but some blood is flowing past it. It will likely be permanent.
She is expected to walk again, maybe with a limp or needing a cane.
Her right hand and arm may have very limited, if any function.
She will have difficulty communicating, but family will eventually get acquainted with her expressions and cope fairly well.
She could possibly be ready to come home in three to six months.
She will not have amnesia.

These are the high points of his prognosis. We all realize that each stroke case is different. As they say in the investment world: "Past experience is not indicative of future returns."

Oh, one other thing you should know. Dr. Heide is attempting to acquire a new state-of-the-art device that uses magnetism to stimulate brain tissue growth. He will be one of the first in the country to use the device, but the $50,000 price tag may delay it's acquisition. Let's pray that deal comes together.

After the doctor left, we had a nice long quiet time together, we both even fell asleep at one point. Finally, about 11:30 a.m. friends arrived to be with Bettie so I left her in their company.

On the way home, I stopped to have lunch and visit with dear old friends. What a joy to be hosted, loved, encouraged, accepted, and listened to by people of quality.

Honoring Bettie

2009-06-28T05:31:00.000-07:00

Honor is kind of a big deal to me. It is to Bettie too, though we express it in different ways. The diminishing of the importance of honor in society is something we frequently lament in conversations together. Well, we did until this.

As society moves to a more casual approach to almost everything, I suppose our attempt to be honoring to others may make us look more and more out of step. For example: If Bettie and I dress up for a performance (to honor the performers) -- or most any time we leave the house -- and even the performers don't take notice, or, worse yet, they think we look funny or perhaps overdressed, have we been honoring? I wonder.

Nevertheless, we will continue our "outdated" or "old fashioned" ways. Honor may be old fashioned but it's never out of style.

I talked about honoring Bettie to family the other day: "Let's try to keep the kitchen looking as grandma would have it," was what I said to the grandchildren. Little stuff like that becomes even more important now I think. It keeps her presence real, though it isn't reality, for now. I find myself being more careful about the little things that are important to her, more careful than just last week even.

This shows the value of her uncompromising standards. They linger in her absence...and make us all better. What a woman!

Let's make this Give and Take

2009-06-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

When I began this blog, I mentioned that it might turn out to be therapy for me, beside being informational on Bettie's condition. That does seem to be happening, though I think it would be more so if more readers would venture to join in the conversation. If you want to comment in private, just send a traditional e-mail with BettiesChallenge in the subject line.

You can identify yourself by name or with an anonymous ID, it doesn't matter. Speaking of IDs, a funny thing happened: I received a comment from a "Gradpa Jim". I didn't know anyone with that ID, however he signed it at the bottom "Brother Jim". So I'm thinking: "Hmm, Brother Jim...where did we go to church where everyone called each other Brother? Hmm. Oh well, I'll probably hear from a lot of people I don't know." Only later did I wake up and realize that it was my own brother, Jim!

Anyway, I'm interested in hearing from you. I've loved the supportive comments and I'm especially interested if you have experience with stroke and recovery. Tell me your story or better yet, tell us your story.

Updated Blog Functions - Add Comments

2009-06-27T18:47:00.000-07:00

Comments functionality updated -- so it's easier to add your comments now. Registration is no longer required.

Please do add to the conversation if the feeling strikes you.

--steve

Many Visitors - Few Changes...Yet

2009-06-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

When I arrived at 1:40 p.m. she was as awake and alert as she has been all week. Our sons Steve, Jim, and Tim were there, plus Tim's son Johnny. A little later, our daughter Kim arrived, so we had four out of five ... and then Rick called from Las Vegas, so that left just Veronica and Jordan (Tim's wife and daughter who were both there earlier today) for a full house.

When Bettie is awake like this she looks just completely natural, as if she might pop up and say "Hey, why don't we all go bowling or something". But she doesn't. She can't.

I guess it's a little much to expect 100 percent improvement every day. At that rate she would be home in a week. (Yikes, we'd better wash up the dishes, just in case that happens. :) This slow improvement is trying. But hey, it's improvement!

Once again, I missed Dr. Heide's visit, but some of the boys were there. He says she's not out of the woods yet on several issues: blood thinner is one and feeding tubes is another. These will require some decisions soon.

Verbally, she is about the same. She will occasionally volunteer comments that are coherent. For example, yesterday when Deana arrived for a visit, she gave a resigned shrug and look and said "Heart Attack". Of course she had a stroke, not a heart attack, but it said she knew she was in the hospital for something ... and she does have a heart condition (atrial fibrillation) which likely contributed to the stroke. So it shows some thought process going on there.

Still getting movement with the right leg and maybe the right arm too, though it is definitely behind the leg in progress.

I'm thinking that she is using facial expression more than normal as a means of communication. The expressions are pronounced and very cute, though often not appropriate to anything going on or being said around her. For example, she will show mock surprise or mock exasperation at comments. To me it's saying "I'm not sure what you said, but I heard you and I want you to know that I'm here".

In summary, not much change from yesterday; but not going backward either.