My father had a stroke last week.
I think I needed to see that in writing to really have it sink in. All our lives will be different from here on in - we just don't know how much yet. I thought about writing something when it happened but I think I was too stunned to clarify my own emotions.
Initially his tests were really good - they didn't think it was too severe, but as Day 1 in the hospital progressed, his test scores regressed and it looked like it was more serious that originally thought. He began to be confused. He was forgetting words, and where he was. He forgot who we were, and couldn't remember the word "wife". He is a strong, tall man still in good physical shape. Proud. And stubborn. By Day 2 the doctors began making light, well intended jokes: "just their luck" that he is strong enough and stubborn enough to tear out all the tubes every time he woke up.
That morning a specialist read his most recent CT scan. She confirmed that there was more blood than originally suspected, and that it was causing a great deal of pressure on his brain. He wasn't able to touch his index finger to his ear. He would only eat ice cream.
He was in a lot of pain for the first few days. My mother said could see it in his eyes although he tried not to show it. She blew up a family photo so he could have it near his bedside, and so she could test him on who was in it.
My folks were on holiday in Florida when this happened. None of us kids were there - we were at the end of the phone for the first few days. We all wanted to race to them but she said no. And my youngest brother and his wife were already scheduled to join them for Easter weekend. They arrived Thursday - two days after he went to the hospital. In time to see his confusion, and pain. In time to send an email trying to be strong while telling us the same thing. My father didn't recognize my brother that day.
Friday morning I called my mom. She had only just arrived at the hospital; armed with photos and prepared for another emotional day. I was prepared to hear that he was still confused and disoriented. She sounded a little different when she answered. Then she asked me to hold on. The next thing I heard was my father's voice. "Hi Miss. (That's what he calls me). How are you"? We spoke for a couple of minutes - he told me that he'd had a stroke and was in the hospital. And that he didn't remember much of the days prior. I was driving and had to pull over for my tears. It was my dad. He was back with us. We didn't lose him.
That was Good Friday. A really Good Friday.
