Bill's now en route to his home on Becker Road. Just got back from the airport, where with a note from his medical team, I was able to escort him to the gate and even on the plane to help stow his carry-ons. He didn't really need my help ... but it gave us extra time together and he didn't have to sit at the airport alone.
Man, was I emotional. Dad arrived in Madison on May 23. That was 96 days ago! Three months of living with someone and you get used to having him around. Sure, we had our moments, but for the most part we just enjoyed each other this summer. After three months, to have to hug Dad goodbye on a small plane with people around me jockeying for seats and storage ... that was tough. The cheesy, sad elevator music playing in the background at the airport didn't help. Nor did the fact that the last time I saw my mom was in an airport. I can still see her crooked smile and her waving at a big, pregnant me from afar. But somehow I managed to hold back tears and helped Dad get on his way. Then, I called Heather and cried, cried more at home, prayed, talked to my mom, wrote Dad a postcard, ate a yummy nectarine -- and now I feel okay.
Onward.
I can't reflect too much on the summer right now ... more to come.
A few notes on Dad's return: I think it will take some time for him to adjust. He IS the same person he was when he left months ago, but he's also changed. He's a bit slower and has difficulty communicating. This is the toughest part for him, and Bill's nervous about how well he'll be able to listen and talk to his friends and family. It got to the point here where we could almost read his thoughts, or at least extrapolate where they'd be going enough to have a conversation. We might be talking about our options as we look for a new car and he might say something like, "Did you see the safe?" which we would correctly interpret as Dad asking us about the safety ratings of a particular vehicle. It's totally possible to have a conversation with Bill; it just takes some patience. I know you will all help him feel comfortable. The best way to do this is to talk in short sentences, slowly. You don't have to speak any louder than normal. But he digests information best in small chunks.
Speaking of your communication with Bill, here's your official invitation to call him and visit him on Becker Road! You should know that starting Sunday, he'll be taking a second round of chemo. He'll only take it for five days, but it sounds like a pretty toxic medication that might leave him sick for awhile. So perhaps give him until that second weekend in September to recover. I know that he'll want to re-connect with friends and family, though. So he might just call you! Also, Bill's been real proficient at napping. So morning calls/visits might work out best, or even up until about 2 p.m., dinnertime or early evenings.
The blogging will continue ... look for a surprise guest blogger this weekend. Then Dad will be coming back to Madison for an MRI in mid-September, and I'll keep up with his trouble-making through phone calls with him and through Linda.
Phew ...
At the airport, Dad picked out an Automobile magazine to read on the plane and he wanted to treat me to some reading material, too. I picked a book called My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor. I heard Jill, a brain scientist, talk on NPR about how she had a stroke and lost her memory and ability to walk, talk, read and write in a matter of four hours. It took her eight years, but she made a FULL RECOVERY. Her stroke was on the left side of her brain, like Dad's tumor, surgery and treatments. In the book she talks about losing that logical, sequential left side of her brain and relying only on the intuitive and kinesthetic right side, similar to how Dad's operating. One review of the book says, "Transformative ... her experience will shatter your own perception of the world." I kinda feel that way about this past summer! But I'll still read the book.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Old World WI
On Saturday we took our last Wisconsin field trip with Dad for the summer. This time we headed south to the world's largest museum dedicated to the history of rural life. Old World Wisconsin is a site of more than 500 acres of land dotted with 60 historic structures from the 19th century. To create the museum, researchers traveled the state to find, rescue and relocate farm and village buildings. Not only can you tour the working farms and village center, but you can talk with people on each site dressed in era costume who are performing the daily chores and rituals from that time period -- milking cows, tending the garden, making bread, washing clothes. Old World is a special place.
Our kids love to go there. In fact one mention of the name "Old World," and MJ and Anna run upstairs do don their own prairie costumes so that can have the full pioneer experience!
It was Dad's first time at OWW, and his comment "This is an awesome place" pretty much sums up his feelings for the day. To get around Old World, you can walk and/or take a tram that travels gravel roads from farmstead to farmstead. Although we did ride the tram, we did quite a bit of walking. Only at the very end of the day did Bill make a small groan that his legs might be a bit sore. Otherwise, he held up well and enjoyed seeing the sights, taking pictures and having lunch under big oak trees.
Here are some shots from the day:
Three more days until Dad heads back to Ohio after three months in Madison. Stay tuned for more on visiting Bill on Becker Road...
Our kids love to go there. In fact one mention of the name "Old World," and MJ and Anna run upstairs do don their own prairie costumes so that can have the full pioneer experience!
It was Dad's first time at OWW, and his comment "This is an awesome place" pretty much sums up his feelings for the day. To get around Old World, you can walk and/or take a tram that travels gravel roads from farmstead to farmstead. Although we did ride the tram, we did quite a bit of walking. Only at the very end of the day did Bill make a small groan that his legs might be a bit sore. Otherwise, he held up well and enjoyed seeing the sights, taking pictures and having lunch under big oak trees.
Here are some shots from the day:
Three more days until Dad heads back to Ohio after three months in Madison. Stay tuned for more on visiting Bill on Becker Road...
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Final week in Madison
Thank you and thanks again for continued card delivery! Cards from all over the country have included old pictures, long letters and even stickers for the kids (thanks, Tina!). Dad's always loved cards -- getting them and receiving them. So it's a special time of day when the mail comes and he sits down to open his letters. Reminiscing and laughing, he tucks each card away so he can look at it again later.
Yesterday Dad got a letter, card and pictures from his friend Laura. They were neighbors in Lorain on 2oth Street, where Dad was born and lived for about 20 years. The pictures showed Dad as a fat baby, tall adolescent on a bike and then a handsome young man taking Laura to the prom (and a few other dances!). He always wore his signature Bill smile. Laura, thanks for sending Dad some good memories.
Aside from opening mail, we've tried to keep things pretty low-key around here. No big field trips (although we're thinking of one for this weekend ...) Dad's been doing exercises that the docs gave him and practicing his speech. We take walks and he gets on his computer to check e-mail. He calls Linda and his friends and sometimes just sits outside on the Adirondacks, enjoying the nice weather we've been having. He watches the kids play and asks them 20 questions about the upcoming school year. We take our time during every meal. I got him a 500-piece puzzle that features a scene from Madison, so he's enjoyed working on that. Scott took yesterday and this afternoon off to help so I can do some school prep (we find out the kids' teachers today!). So Dad even spent time fixing a few things with Scott, and two nights ago they watched Gran Torino, featuring Clint Eastwood. Bill loves that movie and said, "That guy reminds me of me!"
I've spent time organizing and just thinking about logistics for Dad's departure on the 27th -- making sure he has enough prescriptions, figuring out plane logistics with Heather and Linda, taking him to get final labs in Madison and talking with docs before his final appointment here on the 25th.
I know Linda misses Bill, and I'm glad for both of them that he'll be home soon.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Quiet weekend
In the beginning of the summer, BC (before cancer), Scott and I planned to take the girls camping to Blue Mound State Park this weekend. I didn't want them to miss out on the fun, so I sent Scott with the girls to camp while I stayed home with Dad. He's still on the road to recovery, but it's slow-going.
Physically, he can walk and has good balance, but it seems like he's aged 15 years in terms of his coordination and capabilities. For Bill, a man who lives by the joys of physical labor and activities, this is frustrating. Dad and I had a lot of time to talk this weekend. We ordered sushi Friday night and I made a dish from farmers' market food Saturday night, and we ate our meals under the red bud tree on Adirondack chairs in the backyard. Now, I look out the window at these chairs and will always remember them as "our place." Dad really opened his heart during our meals. We laughed about the past, Dad expressed his gratitude to me, Heather, Linda, Scott and so many others, and he mourned about getting this disease and what it's doing to his body and mind.
I would think that Dad would be most upset by the snail-slow pace of physical recovery. But I think he feels that he can slowly build his strength, and he's okay with that. He's more hurt by his speech impediment. The right words just won't always take that path from his brain to his mouth. He can communicate, and I think he does a fine job! But often he'll used the wrong word or say something that doesn't make sense. Under the red bud tree, it became apparent that this really upsets him and he doesn't want, as he said, "People to think I'm dumb." I tried to tell him that none of his friends think he's dumb, and in fact most people are impressed at how far he's come. "I know, I know," he said, with me adding, "Dad, you're allowed to be sad about this. It's rough." He's spent so much time being positive, I was glad to see him share his fears and sadness.
Dad and I have had a lovely weekend. Went to the farmers' market together, took nice walks in the pleasant evenings, hugged and told each other how happy we were to be together. But it was also a time of grief and reflection as we finally sat down together and thought, "How the hell did we get here?" Brain cancer. Only three short months ago life was smooth and good.
On Friday I got a letter from Karen in Georgia, a dear from of Dad and Mom's from way back. She sent a heartfelt note that brought me strength. She also sent three old pictures. In the first, I am a new baby lying on my back in a cloth diaper, clenching a chubby fist, with a grand smile and fat cheeks. A second picture shows another baby Lisa with a more sober (and funny!) look, swinging in one of those rickety old wooden baby swings, wearing a bonnet and booties. In the third picture, Karen's 2-year-old son stands next to my Dad, who is sitting on the floor holding me. In a sky-blue shirt, Dad's giving a mustache smile with his healthy hair sweeping across his forehead. Looking at those photos, I was in awe at the changes that occur in almost 40 years, but when MJ saw the last picture she sweetly said, "Grandpa looks the same!" Gotta love kids.
Before the kids left to go camping, MJ came outside where Dad and I were sitting and cried that her pink Mary Jane Croc broke. She held up the dirty shoe, and I was about ready to say, "Those have seen their last days, MJ." But Dad said,"Let me try to fix it." I thought there was no way...the plastic strap was ripped from its hole. But Bill got out his knife and with shaky hands, cut a new hole then put the strap back together. During the Croc surgery, MJ and I were both crossing our fingers, quietly watching him. As minutes went by we saw that he would be able to fix it. Never underestimate Bill!
Physically, he can walk and has good balance, but it seems like he's aged 15 years in terms of his coordination and capabilities. For Bill, a man who lives by the joys of physical labor and activities, this is frustrating. Dad and I had a lot of time to talk this weekend. We ordered sushi Friday night and I made a dish from farmers' market food Saturday night, and we ate our meals under the red bud tree on Adirondack chairs in the backyard. Now, I look out the window at these chairs and will always remember them as "our place." Dad really opened his heart during our meals. We laughed about the past, Dad expressed his gratitude to me, Heather, Linda, Scott and so many others, and he mourned about getting this disease and what it's doing to his body and mind.
I would think that Dad would be most upset by the snail-slow pace of physical recovery. But I think he feels that he can slowly build his strength, and he's okay with that. He's more hurt by his speech impediment. The right words just won't always take that path from his brain to his mouth. He can communicate, and I think he does a fine job! But often he'll used the wrong word or say something that doesn't make sense. Under the red bud tree, it became apparent that this really upsets him and he doesn't want, as he said, "People to think I'm dumb." I tried to tell him that none of his friends think he's dumb, and in fact most people are impressed at how far he's come. "I know, I know," he said, with me adding, "Dad, you're allowed to be sad about this. It's rough." He's spent so much time being positive, I was glad to see him share his fears and sadness.
Dad and I have had a lovely weekend. Went to the farmers' market together, took nice walks in the pleasant evenings, hugged and told each other how happy we were to be together. But it was also a time of grief and reflection as we finally sat down together and thought, "How the hell did we get here?" Brain cancer. Only three short months ago life was smooth and good.
On Friday I got a letter from Karen in Georgia, a dear from of Dad and Mom's from way back. She sent a heartfelt note that brought me strength. She also sent three old pictures. In the first, I am a new baby lying on my back in a cloth diaper, clenching a chubby fist, with a grand smile and fat cheeks. A second picture shows another baby Lisa with a more sober (and funny!) look, swinging in one of those rickety old wooden baby swings, wearing a bonnet and booties. In the third picture, Karen's 2-year-old son stands next to my Dad, who is sitting on the floor holding me. In a sky-blue shirt, Dad's giving a mustache smile with his healthy hair sweeping across his forehead. Looking at those photos, I was in awe at the changes that occur in almost 40 years, but when MJ saw the last picture she sweetly said, "Grandpa looks the same!" Gotta love kids.
Before the kids left to go camping, MJ came outside where Dad and I were sitting and cried that her pink Mary Jane Croc broke. She held up the dirty shoe, and I was about ready to say, "Those have seen their last days, MJ." But Dad said,"Let me try to fix it." I thought there was no way...the plastic strap was ripped from its hole. But Bill got out his knife and with shaky hands, cut a new hole then put the strap back together. During the Croc surgery, MJ and I were both crossing our fingers, quietly watching him. As minutes went by we saw that he would be able to fix it. Never underestimate Bill!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Funny stuff
You people are quick! Cards for Bill are slowly making their way from across the country to my mailbox. This means so much to him and makes him continue to feel connected.
Babs sent a sweet boating-themed card. A friend of my friend Janel -- this is someone I've never met, but she must be a special person! -- sent Dad a card from Dayton. Boating friends are coming through with good humor and fine penmanship, I might add. And long, lost friends from Lorain Products have jumped on the card wagon.
For example, Dick and Laura, colleagues from Dad's Lorain Products days, sent a long letter with several good Bill stories that really epitomized his (wacky) sense of humor, his entrepreneurial spirit and the way he wears his heart on his sleeve.
I hope you guys don't mind, but here's an excerpt from their letter:
I told Laura about the time probably in the late 1960s when (Bill) first grew a beard. For the benefit of Lisa, or anyone else who may read this note, in the 1960s the company was under the direction of the founder C.P. Stocker. To say the company dress code was conservative would probably be an understatement! All men were required to wear buttoned shirts with a tie, and the women had to wear a dress or a skirt -- no slacks. Although at that time in the 1960s facial hair was becoming quite stylish, no one working in the offices at Lorain Products wore a bear -- until Bill. In his usual "push the envelope" style, one day word spread among the young guys that, "Bill Beecheler is growing a beard!" While many guys were interested in growing a beard themselves, no one did immediately. We waited to see if Bill got reprimanded, or maybe even fired! After several weeks, during which Bill's beard could not have escaped the notice of the higher-ups, he shaved it off. I'm not sure if he was asked to, or if he felt he had made his point, but shortly afterward, others were growing beards. I'm curious, Bill, did anyone ever pressure you to shave that beard?
Funny. First because it's just hilarious to think that a beard was so risky ... I mean can you imagine all these young dudes whispering about Bill's beard? But also, I can't picture my Dad *without* a beard!
Anyway, thanks a bunch to Dick and Laura and so many others.
So I guess I should mention that Dad's back at my house! Hospital stay and rehab are behind him, and he's focusing on continued healing so he can make the trek back to Ohio at the end of August. More to come on that, because again I will enlist all of you wonderful friends and family to give him a warm welcome home. We are truly blessed to have you all in our lives.
Babs sent a sweet boating-themed card. A friend of my friend Janel -- this is someone I've never met, but she must be a special person! -- sent Dad a card from Dayton. Boating friends are coming through with good humor and fine penmanship, I might add. And long, lost friends from Lorain Products have jumped on the card wagon.
For example, Dick and Laura, colleagues from Dad's Lorain Products days, sent a long letter with several good Bill stories that really epitomized his (wacky) sense of humor, his entrepreneurial spirit and the way he wears his heart on his sleeve.
I hope you guys don't mind, but here's an excerpt from their letter:
I told Laura about the time probably in the late 1960s when (Bill) first grew a beard. For the benefit of Lisa, or anyone else who may read this note, in the 1960s the company was under the direction of the founder C.P. Stocker. To say the company dress code was conservative would probably be an understatement! All men were required to wear buttoned shirts with a tie, and the women had to wear a dress or a skirt -- no slacks. Although at that time in the 1960s facial hair was becoming quite stylish, no one working in the offices at Lorain Products wore a bear -- until Bill. In his usual "push the envelope" style, one day word spread among the young guys that, "Bill Beecheler is growing a beard!" While many guys were interested in growing a beard themselves, no one did immediately. We waited to see if Bill got reprimanded, or maybe even fired! After several weeks, during which Bill's beard could not have escaped the notice of the higher-ups, he shaved it off. I'm not sure if he was asked to, or if he felt he had made his point, but shortly afterward, others were growing beards. I'm curious, Bill, did anyone ever pressure you to shave that beard?
Funny. First because it's just hilarious to think that a beard was so risky ... I mean can you imagine all these young dudes whispering about Bill's beard? But also, I can't picture my Dad *without* a beard!
Anyway, thanks a bunch to Dick and Laura and so many others.
So I guess I should mention that Dad's back at my house! Hospital stay and rehab are behind him, and he's focusing on continued healing so he can make the trek back to Ohio at the end of August. More to come on that, because again I will enlist all of you wonderful friends and family to give him a warm welcome home. We are truly blessed to have you all in our lives.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Rehab
Bill continues to make a good rebound after his seizure on July 28 and hospitalization since then. He's been at the in-patient rehabilitation unit for five days now and is scheduled to be released on Wednesday. When he first went in to rehab, the nurses told me it could be up to three weeks in the hospital. But he's improved so quickly that they think a week of rehab it all that he needs. (Although they love his enthusiasm and high spirits and hate to see him go!) Doesn't mean the cards won't still be important, for those of you responding to my request for a card shower. Just means that he'll get to read some at my house versus in the hospital.
We've all spent time visiting Dad in rehab. Scott's been a loyal supporter and is the most popular visitor in Dad's book. Yesterday Scott didn't make a stop to see Dad (you'll see why below), and Dad kept asking about him. Almost every time I'm with Dad, he makes a comment like, "Lisa, you got a good man!" And darn, I can't help but agree with him. Of course Bill also welcomes visits from Anna and MJ, who like to snack on hospital food (!), watch Grandpa's TV, ask the nurses for bandaids, or climb on Gramps in his bed:
Another visitor is my sis! Heather arrived Saturday and will stay for a week to hang out with Dad and help plan the next phase of his care. Heather's a gem. It's tough for her to leave Charlotte and Chuck, but she's a trooper (and I hope she bring them next time!).
Last night, Sunday, we asked for a pass so Dad could leave his rehab unit and join us at home for dinner. I made a carrot cake and Scott grilled burgers. It was good to see Bill back at the head of the table, eating up a storm. After dessert we sat around and chatted about work and rehab, a neighbor stopped by, and Anna read Gramps some books. Then he started nodding off and Scott took him back to the hospital.
Today we have a meeting with people in the rehab unit to talk about their recommendations for Dad's care after he leaves the hospital. We'll talk about when he might be able to go back to Ohio. He's never complained about being in Madison and in fact has had a nice time. But we all know in his heart he longs to see his friends and family and be back at the house on Becker Road. I will miss him when he goes, but I hope he gets his wish soon.
We've all spent time visiting Dad in rehab. Scott's been a loyal supporter and is the most popular visitor in Dad's book. Yesterday Scott didn't make a stop to see Dad (you'll see why below), and Dad kept asking about him. Almost every time I'm with Dad, he makes a comment like, "Lisa, you got a good man!" And darn, I can't help but agree with him. Of course Bill also welcomes visits from Anna and MJ, who like to snack on hospital food (!), watch Grandpa's TV, ask the nurses for bandaids, or climb on Gramps in his bed:
Another visitor is my sis! Heather arrived Saturday and will stay for a week to hang out with Dad and help plan the next phase of his care. Heather's a gem. It's tough for her to leave Charlotte and Chuck, but she's a trooper (and I hope she bring them next time!).Last night, Sunday, we asked for a pass so Dad could leave his rehab unit and join us at home for dinner. I made a carrot cake and Scott grilled burgers. It was good to see Bill back at the head of the table, eating up a storm. After dessert we sat around and chatted about work and rehab, a neighbor stopped by, and Anna read Gramps some books. Then he started nodding off and Scott took him back to the hospital.
Today we have a meeting with people in the rehab unit to talk about their recommendations for Dad's care after he leaves the hospital. We'll talk about when he might be able to go back to Ohio. He's never complained about being in Madison and in fact has had a nice time. But we all know in his heart he longs to see his friends and family and be back at the house on Becker Road. I will miss him when he goes, but I hope he gets his wish soon.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
How about another card shower?
Forgot to thank Dad and Linda's boating friends Gary and Debbie. Dad and Linda were scheduled to see them on their way home through Michigan to Ohio on July 29, but it wasn't meant to be. Instead, Gary generously flew to Madison on Tuesday morning to visit with Dad then helped Linda drive Dad's car to Detroit where she spent the night with them, heading home Wednesday morning. What nice friends.
Dad's in his rehabilitation room already! It's big, with his own private bath. Patients can leave their room with assistance and head to the cafeteria or community room to mingle with others. But mostly they are there to work -- 3 to 4 hours of intensive speech, occupational and physical therapy. I know I already mentioned this, but it's a pretty incredible program, right inside the hospital where he can still be monitored by his doctors as well as his therapy team. I'll give you more details as we see how it takes shape.
Token Bill, he has a good attitude going in to this program. But it's going to be tough. So I'm wondering if any of you wonderful friends and family out there would be willing to send him cards again. Yesterday when I was with him he asked if he got any mail. He misses his people back home in Ohio and surrounding areas. And now on top of that he's got a long hospital stay and rigorous rebounding ahead of him. I thought it would lift his spirits if I could bring cards in to his room and hang them up every day. (He has saved and re-reads all the cards from his b-day!) So if you have time to pick up a card and send, again, my address: 1202 Tramore Trail, Madison 53717.
Thanks much to all.
Dad's in his rehabilitation room already! It's big, with his own private bath. Patients can leave their room with assistance and head to the cafeteria or community room to mingle with others. But mostly they are there to work -- 3 to 4 hours of intensive speech, occupational and physical therapy. I know I already mentioned this, but it's a pretty incredible program, right inside the hospital where he can still be monitored by his doctors as well as his therapy team. I'll give you more details as we see how it takes shape.
Token Bill, he has a good attitude going in to this program. But it's going to be tough. So I'm wondering if any of you wonderful friends and family out there would be willing to send him cards again. Yesterday when I was with him he asked if he got any mail. He misses his people back home in Ohio and surrounding areas. And now on top of that he's got a long hospital stay and rigorous rebounding ahead of him. I thought it would lift his spirits if I could bring cards in to his room and hang them up every day. (He has saved and re-reads all the cards from his b-day!) So if you have time to pick up a card and send, again, my address: 1202 Tramore Trail, Madison 53717.
Thanks much to all.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Another comeback
Linda leaves to go back to Ohio today. She has to get ready for school. I know it's very difficult for her to leave Bill, and we'll sure miss her. But she will be back on Labor Day and at that time -- or perhaps late September -- she plans on taking Dad home with her. We've made these plans before and they didn't pan out, but that's where we stand right now.
Remember a few days ago, Dad couldn't finish a sentence? What a difference a day (or so) makes! Sunday I intended to take a "day off" from the hospital. (I spent time doing normal stuff like organizing kids' rooms and my office. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit how much joy this brought to me! It's all about control. I have no control over what's happening to my dad ... but I can sure defeat clutter, dominate dust and sort through clothes like an army sergeant ordering troops: Size 5, you go here! Size 8, over there!)
Anyway, I did end up going to see Dad Sunday night and was greeted with a clear and happy, "Hey, Lisa!" Then, we actually had some semblance of a conversation. What a feat. Coming from a static seizure and questionable prognosis to asking me about my job and knowing the day and date and talking to Heather on the phone. Sounds pretty uninspiring but I could barely contain my surprise and relief.
I do not know how my Dad bounces back like this. He's done it four times now. I tend to think it's something in his genes. A will to survive. Fierce determination, belief in himself, eyes always on the prize. Yesterday he was asking about how he got here, dates, did he eat? "No, dad, you didn't eat for a few days." He was bummed about being asleep so long, "You mean I missed four days? Geeze!"
I explained to Dad the option of an in-patient therapy program. He'd be moved to another unit in the hospital where they have a gym and cafeteria. You spend 3-4 hours per day in intensive physical, occupational and speech therapy. And you get to wear regular clothes, yahoo! Most people might be depressed at the prospect of more time -- maybe a few more weeks -- in the hospital, but not dad. "That sounds great for me. I want to be rehabilitated."
This is how he's approached life. It reminds me of how it might have been for Dad and Mom to literally build there own home back in the 1970s. At the time, they had very little cash. But this didn't stop my Dad from planning a nice cedar house a wooded lot. He and Mom (who was pregnant with Heather) would go to the clearing on Becker Road every day after work and pound nails, haul boards, join in on the construction. I was there, too, running in the woods to find frogs and toads or eating my dinner on a table made from discarded lumber. My Dad's always set high goals, so why would it be any different now?
Remember a few days ago, Dad couldn't finish a sentence? What a difference a day (or so) makes! Sunday I intended to take a "day off" from the hospital. (I spent time doing normal stuff like organizing kids' rooms and my office. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit how much joy this brought to me! It's all about control. I have no control over what's happening to my dad ... but I can sure defeat clutter, dominate dust and sort through clothes like an army sergeant ordering troops: Size 5, you go here! Size 8, over there!)
Anyway, I did end up going to see Dad Sunday night and was greeted with a clear and happy, "Hey, Lisa!" Then, we actually had some semblance of a conversation. What a feat. Coming from a static seizure and questionable prognosis to asking me about my job and knowing the day and date and talking to Heather on the phone. Sounds pretty uninspiring but I could barely contain my surprise and relief.
I do not know how my Dad bounces back like this. He's done it four times now. I tend to think it's something in his genes. A will to survive. Fierce determination, belief in himself, eyes always on the prize. Yesterday he was asking about how he got here, dates, did he eat? "No, dad, you didn't eat for a few days." He was bummed about being asleep so long, "You mean I missed four days? Geeze!"
I explained to Dad the option of an in-patient therapy program. He'd be moved to another unit in the hospital where they have a gym and cafeteria. You spend 3-4 hours per day in intensive physical, occupational and speech therapy. And you get to wear regular clothes, yahoo! Most people might be depressed at the prospect of more time -- maybe a few more weeks -- in the hospital, but not dad. "That sounds great for me. I want to be rehabilitated."
This is how he's approached life. It reminds me of how it might have been for Dad and Mom to literally build there own home back in the 1970s. At the time, they had very little cash. But this didn't stop my Dad from planning a nice cedar house a wooded lot. He and Mom (who was pregnant with Heather) would go to the clearing on Becker Road every day after work and pound nails, haul boards, join in on the construction. I was there, too, running in the woods to find frogs and toads or eating my dinner on a table made from discarded lumber. My Dad's always set high goals, so why would it be any different now?
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Hard day, answered prayer
I know this blog is about Bill' story, but we're all a part of it. Yesterday was tough for me. But I'm allowed to have bad days, so I had one. I haven't seen my kids (in Cincinnati with grandparents) for almost 10 days, Scott left yesterday (to get the kids) and I'm grieving for my Aunt Barb and unable to attend her funeral today. And at the hospital yesterday, sitting in Dad's room, watching him struggle to eat, it was too familiar. His loss of personality this time around reminded me of my mom's experience fighting cancer. This comparison was too much to bear, so I grabbed my bags and practically ran out of the room.
On the drive home, I wept and cursed and prayed that God would help me to stop feeling alone and to just have faith. Still reeling, I called Heather. As usual, she had wise words. I moped around the house and got the mail. A letter came from "From the families of Troop 549." This is my Girl Scout troop that I co-lead with my friend Sherry. It will be the fourth year for our 9 girls. The families sent a gift card for a hotel get-away. The accompanying note had Psalm 62:8 at the bottom: Trust in Him at all times. I cried again, this time tears of relief. I've never had a prayer answered so directly!
I started to regain my trust as I took a long bike ride through beautiful countryside then came home, showered, and headed out to dinner with Linda. At cheesy Cheeseburger in Paradise, Linda and I both got silly from our delicious mojitos. We laughed and smiled and agreed that, in spite it all, it's been a great summer, and we're lucky to have each other as a family. Linda is amazing. She's optimistic about Dad's recovery and sees him improving day-by-day. She mentioned his physical strength, his history of comebacks and his willingness to fight. "That's good. We'll take that," she said.
This morning Linda and I went to church. Pastor Jeff stopped me after the service and asked that I read his sermon from last weekend. At first I thought this was an assignment since I missed church! (Kidding.) But Linda must have told him I was struggling. His instinct that his sermon would help me was right on target. Here's an excerpt:
Jesus' presence does not necessarily still wind and calm waves, and plant us safely on shore. To be honest, there are times when I wish Jesus would promise more than his presence. I wish for miraculous healing of people I love whose suffering breaks my heart. I wish he would say, “be healed, your faith has made you well,” but he doesn’t. Rather, he says, “It is I. Be not afraid.” Jesus' presence strengthens us with courage to stay in the boat and keep your oar in the water. Jesus’ presence strengthens us with courage to keep rowing through the night toward the light of the day. I long for healing. Nevertheless, I will take what I can get, and settle for courage, because without courage, we drift toward the darkness of despair.
So sorry no news on Bill in this blog. I'll see him later and give you an update. But for any of you struggling, and as a prayer for those who struggle around the world: Keep your oars in the water.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Hospital: Days 3 & 4
Dad's still in the ICU but will possibly move to a general floor today, Saturday. Things always churn a bit slower on weekends in the hospital, so we'll see.
His progress is measured by baby steps, but he's moving forward.
Yesterday: He started making sense and even looked at his heart rate/oxygen monitor and said, "What is this?" He sat up for the first time again. He chuckled and grinned a few times (mostly at Scott!). He tried hard to make a conversation but just got the first part of most sentences, like "I guess that..." or "Actually, I think that you..." -- so we were never quite sure where he was going with his thoughts, but he was going somewhere.
Today: I came in and Dad greeted me with a hug! This is major. I sat at his side on the bed and he reached both arms around me and pulled me toward him, patting my back. We take these simple acts for granted until they become milestones, such as in cases like this. He also ate independently for the first time today. In fact it was funny because several nurses were eyeing his scrumptious-looking lunch. He responded, "Well, I better get to it before they do." And that he did.
It's tough to think about gaging someones acuity of body and mind by their ability to pick up a fork. But, hey, that's our reality and we might as well jump in, accept it and be proud of how far he's come. Remember, this is his fourth big comeback. After his initial seizure and diagnosis and each of two brain surgeries, he's had to struggle to relearn basic skills -- eating, talking and walking. And each time he's succeeded. We expect nothing less this time around because my Dad is a fighter.
On another note, yesterday afternoon I met with a lovely woman from the UW Foundation. She's a development director for the school of medicine here at the University of Wisconsin, trying to help raise money for a variety of research and teaching endeavors. I sat down and talked to her specifically about volunteering to do some writing for her work with funding GBM and cancer stem cell research.
I didn't get to blog about this yet, but a few weeks ago, Dad, Linda and I were privileged to visit with stem cell researchers here on campus and tour Dr. Kuo's lab with him. This was an incredible experience. Dr. Kuo is a neurosurgeon researching GBM. Read more about him and about cancer stem cell research at UW. Dr. Kuo's working in stem cell research to develop novel cancer therapies. One picture from a presentation helped bring this down to my English-major-brain level. A scientist showed a group of cancer cells in blue with a yellow cell in the middle labeled cancer stem cell (CSC). Check out the graphic on Wikipedia. Dr. Kuo is trying to target and kill these CSCs. Think of it as killing the messenger, which in this case you want to do. The CSCs are thought to actually generate tumors through the the stem cell process of self-renewal, versus regular tumor cells that are unable to generate new cells. Kill the CSC and the tumor eventually shrivels and dies.
So I thought as a ditsy Enligh major, if I can translate some of his work and profile him and his scientists for the general public, maybe it would help. Madison is magnet for stem cell research. And since I unfortunately have intimate knowledge of the havoc wreaked by cancer, I thought it made sense to get involved in this way. I gotta do something. I know Dad would be all for it.
His progress is measured by baby steps, but he's moving forward.
Yesterday: He started making sense and even looked at his heart rate/oxygen monitor and said, "What is this?" He sat up for the first time again. He chuckled and grinned a few times (mostly at Scott!). He tried hard to make a conversation but just got the first part of most sentences, like "I guess that..." or "Actually, I think that you..." -- so we were never quite sure where he was going with his thoughts, but he was going somewhere.
Today: I came in and Dad greeted me with a hug! This is major. I sat at his side on the bed and he reached both arms around me and pulled me toward him, patting my back. We take these simple acts for granted until they become milestones, such as in cases like this. He also ate independently for the first time today. In fact it was funny because several nurses were eyeing his scrumptious-looking lunch. He responded, "Well, I better get to it before they do." And that he did.
It's tough to think about gaging someones acuity of body and mind by their ability to pick up a fork. But, hey, that's our reality and we might as well jump in, accept it and be proud of how far he's come. Remember, this is his fourth big comeback. After his initial seizure and diagnosis and each of two brain surgeries, he's had to struggle to relearn basic skills -- eating, talking and walking. And each time he's succeeded. We expect nothing less this time around because my Dad is a fighter.
On another note, yesterday afternoon I met with a lovely woman from the UW Foundation. She's a development director for the school of medicine here at the University of Wisconsin, trying to help raise money for a variety of research and teaching endeavors. I sat down and talked to her specifically about volunteering to do some writing for her work with funding GBM and cancer stem cell research.
I didn't get to blog about this yet, but a few weeks ago, Dad, Linda and I were privileged to visit with stem cell researchers here on campus and tour Dr. Kuo's lab with him. This was an incredible experience. Dr. Kuo is a neurosurgeon researching GBM. Read more about him and about cancer stem cell research at UW. Dr. Kuo's working in stem cell research to develop novel cancer therapies. One picture from a presentation helped bring this down to my English-major-brain level. A scientist showed a group of cancer cells in blue with a yellow cell in the middle labeled cancer stem cell (CSC). Check out the graphic on Wikipedia. Dr. Kuo is trying to target and kill these CSCs. Think of it as killing the messenger, which in this case you want to do. The CSCs are thought to actually generate tumors through the the stem cell process of self-renewal, versus regular tumor cells that are unable to generate new cells. Kill the CSC and the tumor eventually shrivels and dies.
So I thought as a ditsy Enligh major, if I can translate some of his work and profile him and his scientists for the general public, maybe it would help. Madison is magnet for stem cell research. And since I unfortunately have intimate knowledge of the havoc wreaked by cancer, I thought it made sense to get involved in this way. I gotta do something. I know Dad would be all for it.
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