Worst Summer Ever Continues

So a lot of things were blurry at this point.

I pieced together most of it with the help of my folks. Sometimes they were reluctant to tell me all the things I went through, but frankly I find it all fascinating.

So I coded at the beginning, but the medical staff got my heart going again, And, I don't remember seeing anything cool at all. So that's a bummer.

And apparently I had pneumonia while I was in the thick of it all and had that tube thing in my mouth. The medical staff had to drain fluid out of my lungs with a tube or something they stuck down my throat. Again, I don't remember that all. Bummer again, as that seems like something I would want to remember.

So to pick up where I left off, I was at Mount Vernon Hospital recovering and listen to 70s sitcoms that my room neighbor was watching.

I went off solid foods to machined foods and back to real food. Fruit, Jello and Ginger Ale got me through all that.

I continued to do my physical therapy and daily walks as I was weened off my heavier medications. This is when I started to develop a general dislike of my nurses. I started noticing little things they would do or actually say they were going to do and didn't. Admittedly, I was just being surly and annoyed at my situation, and you can't see what goes on outside the room and how busy the nurses are with people who were in much worse shape than me.

Nevertheless.

Towards the end of my stay at Mount Vernon, I couldn't wait to leave. The Fourth of July holiday bumped my day of release back a bit, but eventually I rode home with my stepmom in her Cadillac SUV. A very nice vehicle actually.

Home was no longer my single man apartment in Alexandria. My wife and sister and some neighborhood kids had moved my things out and into my wife's basement.

Home was now back in my parent's basement. It was weird at first, but comfortable enough and I got used to it. My days in recovery mostly consisted of sitting quietly and watching television. Taking medicine three times a day and learning how to walk properly again. My gait was more of a lumber, I would keep my feet about shoulder length apart, which would keep me upright.

Fortunately, they had cable. I had cut the cord as they say about a month before my stroke and this was a very welcome opportunity to watch all the shows I had left behind and check out a few movies here and there.

So, I got to get back into my guilty pleasure, "Maury" and the procedural grind of "Law and Order" and "Law and Order: Criminal Intent." These shows would chew up my days awake and I would go back to sleep at night.

I didn't dream, and each day I woke up featured a few seconds of dread and confusion waking up in a new place. After a few months that went away. I couldn't sleep on my back as I had a bit of swelling on the back of my head where the brain surgery took place. I did rediscover the joy of afternoon naps, as I healed up, which was lovely.

I was getting better, using my cane to get around, but something was a bit amiss.

EDIT--Almost forgot to give a RIP shout out to Phife Dog. ATCQ was a major part of my high school years.

Gonna miss you, P.

(Wow, my face was fat in that picture)

Am I in Love with the Girl Serving Lunch or just high on Medication?

So eventually, I wind up back at Mount Vernon Hospital which is for recovering patients I guess.

I got the window side, which wasn't exactly a big win, but it was better than not having it.

The days dragged by very slowly and you kind of fall into a rut, doing the same things over and over. Fortunately, I had a pretty large music collection to listen to on my phone and a pair of headphones to pass the time.

I highly recommend 70's Soul Music to keep your spirits up if you wind up in the hospital. That and some serious doses of Funk are the way to go.

The days were broken up into sections by the different types of rehab I would go to during the day.

There was Occupational Therapy which was helping me do the things I would be doing while getting back to work, and daily activities. That means I basically worked on going up and down stairs, walking down hallways and getting up and out of chairs.

My Stroke affected my sense of balance (no more dancing for me, ya'll) so I was using a wheelchair quite a bit, to roll around from place to place.

I think I enjoyed this part because I could still walk and use my legs. I got to treat the wheelchair as a luxury. Had I been permanently bound to a wheelchair, I'm sure my attitude would've been much worse.

Fortunately, the Stroke didn't affect my higher executive functions which means I could still talk normally and remember my past. So they decided to give me a pass on the Speech Therapy.

They had to check on my brain to make sure I still understood how things worked, so I got to do word problem worksheets every day during the week with one of the designated helpers. Let's call him, John.

John and I would work on logic worksheets for about an hour or so after I did my morning walking exercises. They weren't hard at all on their face. But, I did have a bit of trouble just getting the mind to focus and address the logic puzzles and ordering problems I was presented with.

Once I worked out the fog, this was the best part of the day, just because it was the easiest of the tasks I had to do. Eventually, John told me my brain seemed fine based on my performance on the worksheets and I could focus on the physical things.

On occasion, I got to go outside and walk around a bit to practice walking. It was pretty hot last Summer, but I had plenty of shorts and tee shirts to wear and my folks were grabbing up dirty clothes and washing them pretty regularly.

After the trips outside, I was usually pretty tired out so those trips were usually at the end of the day.

I came to discover Darkness was my new nemesis. The lack of balance I was suffering (the Stroke affected my cerebellum and inner ear) made not being able to see my surroundings quite treacherous and I could not maintain my balance or keep my body upright in darkened areas.

It's amazing what we take for granted until it's gone.

During this time I went through a few different roommates. I didn't really get to know any of them very well and I didn't remember their names because I was usually watching TV or listening to music on my headphones.

There was one older gentleman who was in pretty rough shape. He didn't leave the room as often as I did, which I can only assume was because of his age and the severity of his situation.

Let's call him Mr. Jenkins. He was in his 70's and he did make sure to watch Sandford and Son and Good Times in the evenings. I love those shows and made sure I was awake when he watched them and I would listen to the show through the curtain dividing us.

Each room had two beds and two TVs, with curtains dividing the room. The TVs did not have area specific speakers. so whatever you watched, basically everyone watched.

I didn't really watch the shows Jenkins watched in that I have seem most of the Sandford and Son and Good Times, but I did listen and enjoy the audio. Eventually, they moved him upstairs and I didn't see him anymore. That may have meant something as far as his health issues, but I never asked about much about it.

I have always had a theory that people always like the things they first got attached to in the prime of their lives. So I assumed that Jenkins was large and in charge back in the 70s when these shows first aired. I started watching the reruns of those shows in my youth and always liked them.

During this whole stage of my recovery, I was apparently having swallowing issues. I kept being put on different menus. From regular food, to machine-processed foods to clear foods. Hospital food is bad enough, but getting shaped semi-liquid waffle type mush was maddening.

Fortunately. they gave me Jello (everyone likes Jello) and Ginger Ale along with the other things. So, I wasn't eating a lot of food.

Eventually, this too did pass and I got back to real food. Just in time to as I had convinced Tammy to bring me some pizza from Valentino's near where she lived (and where I no longer lived, I was told).

Things were getting better...slowly.

Hospital Drugs are For Real

So eventually I wake up. Tired, confused and hurting.

Most of this part is what I've been told and what I can recall from the haze I was in constantly from the brain surgeries.

I did not like this mouth tube in my mouth. Allegedly (cause I don't recall), I tried to take it out a few times and my mother had to tell me, it would hurt and possibly kill me if I took it out and eventually that sunk in and I stopped screwing with it.

So my folks came to visit and the doctors told them what happened: I had a stroke and they called in an expert from nearby to come clear and repair the veins in my head. Apparently, I was possibly not going to recall things up to and including who my family was, who I was and all kinds of things.

But not so much for me. After being kept unconscious to not deal with the pain, eventually I came out of the woods and remembered mostly everything.

According to Tammy, who has experience with this type of thing as a nurse, the nurses were giving me Propofol or some such thing because sick people such as myself in this type of situation tended to become bitter with their care givers after awhile and that drug helped me not remember things.

Well played, nurses.

During this time, I was told I was hallucinating regularly seeing people who were not there and having nonsensical conversations with my nurses.

I do recall, trying to explain the sad tale of Craig Mack to a few of my nurses. Craig Mack is a rapper who had a pretty decent rap album in the early 90s. He even had a massive hit with "Flava' in Ya Ear." Unfortunately for him, his success was right before the Notorious B.I.G. came on the scene and flew past him. Puff Daddy (the CEO of Bad Boy Records) latched onto Biggie and pushed Mack to the side. While Mack did eventually get his second album. it was not particularly good and many would say it was because Combs wasn't paying attention.

Sidenote: The name Biggie Smalls, originated as a role played by Calvin Lockhart from the film "Let's Do it Again" which was the sequel to "Uptown Saturday Night." He also had a stroke and died in the Bahamas in 2007.

Small World.

Obviously, my explanation did not come out that rationally.

I also recall being convinced there were a series of murders being committed and I felt terrible (there was not--I was on medication people) about the whole situation. My ranting got so bad I do recall being taken for a brain scan one night.

Good Times.

As they brought me off the medications, the delusions subsided and eventually I was transferred from Fairfax Hospital to Mount Vernon Hospital to recover.

But, something happened and I was sent back to Fairfax Hospital for awhile.

While I was bedridden for a bit, I was tube free and started healing up. Eventually, I was gotten up to go for walks and to begin working on my balance and motor skills again.

The exercising was funny. I was in bad shape and couldn't walk straight or for very long.

I remember being impressed at how clean the hospital was. During the days, between meals I would see the cleaning staff come and go on their rounds. This helped me pass time.

I had the Stroke (as I had been told) in early June. The days came and went as people came to visit and I spent most of the Summer of 2015 in a bed.

I could still talk and remember things, so the experience wasn't too bad. Although, honestly being able to recall my life pre-stroke kind of sucks in that you remember all the things you can't do, all the things you used to do and how hard it will be working back towards the life I had before.

Of course the alternative was death, so we can deal with the bad news just fine considering at that point it was nice just to still be here among the living.

The failure of my marriage, no longer being in the Army, and the growing pile of bills seems to not weigh upon me so much when you stack those things up next to the lack of living the doctors had suggested to my people.

Plus. my mom went out and got me a new phone while I was in the hospital. This was very cool. I gave her my old phone and she put me on her Verizon plan with a new LG phone. Fortunately, all my music and important stuff was on my phone's memory card, so the transfer was easy.

It's all about the small victories for awhile people.

The End of the Beginning or is it The New Beginning of The End? Irregardless, its gets weird...

I had officially turned over a new leaf. And I felt really good about it.

I was done drinking, partying and all the sketchy stuff in between. The night before, I went to bed nice and early, and even skipped looking at any porn on my computer. Had few glasses of water and slept like a baby.

That morning, I got up early, and had a light breakfast with a glass of water. Things were going to turn around and I was making it happen. I put on some gym clothes and I was going to run the mile or so to the gym after a warm-up and some stretching.

I started my jumping jacks and felt odd for a second. I felt a bit dizzy, but I pushed forward into my push-ups. I did about 20 and stumbled to my feet, just barely.

The entire room was spinning and I couldn't walk. I fell on the couch and waited for the feeling to pass.

It didn't. And I got nervous.

I closed my eyes and walked from memory back to my bedroom. The apartment was so small, it was pretty easy. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling, once I was safely on my bed.

Nope, room was still spinning.

I fished my cellphone from my pocket and called my friend Tammy (a nurse and not her real name) because this wasn't a hangover and it wasn't anything I had felt before. She could hear the distress in my voice, but ever the professional, she said I was probably dehydrated. I thanked her and hung up.

Yeah. That's it. I'm dehydrated. I've never felt extremely dizzy like this before, but hey, I'm getting old and I want to believe in a simple explanation.

I stumble to the kitchen and pull a Gatorade from the fridge and chug it.

The room is still spinning and my head is starting to hurt.

I decide to go back to bed and sleep it off.

Off course, I'm not tired in the slightest and the room is still spinning. My vision is just pulling down and to the left over and over again as the panic sets in.

Then the stomach starts to rumble and I crawl to the bathroom.

I put my head on the toilet seat (I had just cleaned it, the night before. And yes, it sounds a little gross) as the cellphone rang back on my bed. I mumble a curse and crawl back to answer it.

My folks are calling to see how I'm doing after they went out for breakfast. I'm trying to tell them I'm fine as I crawl back into the bathroom and throw up all the Gatorade I just drank. It was blue if you were wondering. I tell them I will call them back and get off the phone.

Three minutes later, I throw up again, mostly water. I make it back to my bed and it starts to dawn on me that this is not like anything I've ever done to myself and it is not normal.

I lay still on my bed with my eyes closed for about five minutes before I decide I should probably call my wife at her job. It occurs to me that I probably freaked my folks out throwing up while on the phone.

I was reluctant, but I seemed to be getting worse, not better. I open my eyes and glance at my phone.

Since this whole debacle started, its been 15 minutes.

So I call my not quite ex-wife, Shauna (not her real name) at work, We have been separated for a couple of years, but we're adults and try to be civil like normal folks should.

I guess she hears the panic in my voice (I get colds, twice a year maybe and broke an arm when I was 12--so I don't really do hospitals) and agrees to come take me to the nearby hospital.

I lay on the floor of my bedroom until she calls and tells me my building door is locked. I knew this under normal circumstances, but I forgot this time. I manage to get on my feet and slowly walk to the building door to let her in with one eye closed and my hands out in front of me, slightly hunched over.

I gather myself and we leave to go to the hospital. She drops me off to go park and I stumble inside.

There's a line at the receptionist desk (of course) and I slump onto a bench. The security guard notices me and offers me a wheelchair which I get in and put my head in my heads and sit quietly.

Shauna comes in and we check in. After about five minutes they call me back.

I start giving them my info and that's the last thing I remember...