A Life Changing Event

On Mother’s Day, my wife Bonnie suffered a stroke — meaning a blood clot to her brain. Fortunately, she was at a church service with her daughter and sister, and they rushed her to the ER.

I had been “investing” until about six in the morning and wasn’t at church with them. I got a phone call as soon as she was checked in. We all agreed that spreading out the visitors was better than all three of us being there at once, and that I would come later in the day to relieve them. My daughter-in-law wasn’t at all sure Bonnie was going to survive this. I started crying when I heard this.

Two hours later I got a call and was told that the nurse said I should get there fast.

SHIT!

I pulled myself together as best as I could and got to the ER. They are trying to get a blood sample from Bonnie, and Bonnie is thrashing around, loudly screaming in gibberish. Bonnie’s full name is Bonita, meaning “pretty” in Spanish, but now she is ugly. Her face is contorted in pain/rage/confusion. I hold one arm still while a nurse draws blood. While I outweigh her 2-to-1 and can easily immobilize one of her arms, this is the first time in our relationship that I have used my strength to overpower her and it bothers me a lot. But for now, at least, it is necessary.

They wanted to do tests, such as an MRI of the brain and CAT scans, but Bonnie is thrashing around so much that they would have to sedate her to do this. She has “Do Not Resuscitate” and “Do Not Intubate” medical directives on file and if they slightly over-sedate her and she goes into respiratory or cardiac arrest, they would not be allowed to revive her. So, they are hesitant to give her tranquilizers.

On the spur of the moment, I decide to bring out my iPhone and start playing “Could I Have This Dance” by Canadian pop-country artist Anne Murray. This is “our song.”

Although the song was in the soundtrack of the 1980 movie “Urban Cowboy,” and has been played at many thousands of weddings over the years, it’s the song I had used to teach her to waltz thirteen years ago. The waltz has become Bonnie’s favorite dance, and whenever we are out dancing, we request this song. We claim the song is ours — although many other couples make the same claim.

When the music started, Bonnie immediately quieted down. She started to sing the song, off key and in gibberish, so I began to sing along with her, also off key, but not in gibberish. When the song ended, I played it again.

After three or four repetitions of Anne Murray, I switched to some of her other favorite songs. She remained quiet and relatively docile. The nurse was amazed and told the powers that be that Bonnie was now quiet enough to get the MRI and CAT scans. I accompanied her to the room where they did this, playing songs on my phone. For safety reasons I was removed from the room when the machines were working, but my phone remained, playing songs, and Bonnie remained quiet enough for them to get accurate readings.

From the ER, they transferred Bonnie to an Intensive Care Unit, where each nurse has only two patients to monitor. While she was 1000% better the following day, she couldn’t remember anything that happened the day before after going to church.  And although ICU was no longer necessary, they kept her there for the remainder of her hospital stay because there was no available “next level down” hospital room.

It was an actual stroke, albeit a relatively mild one, and brain damage was done. Her memory is perhaps 90% of what it was, and she doesn’t recognize people as well as she used to. But she’s alive and functioning at a reasonable level. There is some follow-up therapy that needs to be done.

Although I have help, I am Bonnie’s chief caregiver — and she needs more now. This means I have to re-prioritize how much time I spend away from the house. We ordered her a medical guardian unit to wear so she can call for help if she needs it. She’s good about wearing it every day, and sort of good about having her cell phone with her most of the time. When I go over plans for the current day and upcoming days, I know I will have to go over these plans two or three times.

Although we expect she will recover a little and eventually have nearly the same amount of energy she had before, when brains get damaged, they don’t regenerate all that much. 

While there is no doubt in my mind that I will be with her, helping her, for as long as we both shall live, both our lives have changed. I’m now spending more time at home. I’m not gambling nearly as much. This may change eventually. I don’t know.

It’s not what I foresaw. It’s not what I wanted. But it’s the right thing to do now and both of us are doing the best we can.