Out to Pastoral

by John Idol

HILLSBOROUGH, NC—(Weekly Hubris)—1/3/11—I reached down to pick up a pair of pants and, suddenly, my right side went numb and my right leg folded under my weight. Down I went, tumbling into a table as I fought to keep my balance. Then, I slipped to the floor, aware, as I tried to call out to my wife, that I could command only the speech of a drunkard: sloppy sounds, mumbled sounds, practically inhuman sounds, really scary sounds.

Lying there, blubbering, I rushed to let a worst-case scenario play out. “What,” I asked myself, “if this is only the first act in the Big One, the opening scene in something similar to what happened to my Uncle Orlando Garcia shortly after his retirement and left him speechless, unable to move, even feed himself, totally dependent on my Aunt Zella for 15, bed-ridden years?”

Trained as a nurse and strong in body and mind, she could care for him, but my wife, a victim of a muscle disease (dermatomyositis) can scarcely lift a cup of tea to her lips. “What would happen to us? What if I had spoken my last understandable word, written my final essay, cooked my last meal, made my last bed, driven her to her last doctor’s appointment, helped her dress for the last time, baked her last pork roast?

What if this is not any worse than it appears to be, but I still sound like the village drunk when I try to speak?”

The drama became too painful to permit further scenes, and so I yelled even louder for my wife.

She was in her bathroom and busy with her make-up, but she finally heard, over the chatter of a morning news program, my blubbery call. Her frightened look told me instantly that she recognized the seriousness of my situation. Only in the most garbled of sound could I tell her what I thought had happened to me—“a s t r o k e, a s t r o k e, a s t r o k e.”

We live in a retirement center, under a life-care program, as I’ve written in an earlier piece, and a push on a pendant around her neck brought a response team, including a nurse. My right side was still dead to the touch when they came, and my speech more than drunkenly slurred. The team asked if I could move my right arm or leg, told me to squeeze extended fingers, and directed me to follow a point of light on the tip of a small flashlight; none of the commands could I follow for a period of five or more minutes. My situation was beginning to look desperate.

Then, before despair could make a full entrance, I began to come around—feeling came back, my speech was clear enough to be understood, and I could follow commands, could actually squeeze so hard with my right hand that the nurse appeared ready to cry, “Uncle.”

Nevertheless, she said, “I think you should go to the hospital to have some tests run.”

I agreed.

By this time, a team from the local EMS had come to our apartment and stood ready to take me for tests. Off we went through snow and sleet on slushy roads in town where accidents were occurring everywhere, a condition that made the ambulance’s slow and the emergency room so crowded that I had to be stashed in a hallway.

Even so, the ER nurse soon began to examine me and a doctor swept in to say that a battery of tests awaited me: X-rays, a CAT scan, an MRI, and ultrasound exams of my heart, carotid arteries, and the major artery leading from my groin down to my right leg.

For the next few hours, between tests, I remained in the ER hallway; the flow of patients stayed heavy; the ailments mixed. One elderly woman suffered from some sort of gastrointestinal problem, a painful one, and she moaned aloud and unceasingly prayed between moans for Jesus and God to help her.

The staff’s workload seemed too heavy for them to assist her immediately, and the poor woman began to complain of their tardiness. “Please, God, help, please, Jesus, help! I’m hurtin’ somethin’ awful.” Perhaps her prayers were being answered when she was taken away for tests.

Meanwhile, I was pushed hither and yon for my own tests, and what an exhibit of modern medicine did I see. X-rays and CAT scans I knew about, but was ignorant of a trip through an MRI and the machines and methods for sonic exams.

For my voyage through the MRI tunnel, I was asked what type of music I’d like to hear. “Classical,” I said, “preferably something by Bach or Mozart.”

“What about Beethoven?” the attendant asked.

“Fine with me,” I said.

But it was Beethoven interrupted by whirrs, clatter, seeming crashes, knocks, pecks, and hammerings: a maddening composition more befitting a crazed Liszt than a deaf Beethoven. It was not a joyful sound unto the Lord.

I was happy to move from the MRI to the Echo lab for a test on my heart. There I heard blood splash through and could see it pumping away. The image looked something like a sonogram showing a fetus, and I jokingly asked the operator if it were a boy or girl. “Twins, I think,” she smilingly replied.

The sonic exam of my right leg artery proved how old and impotent I am.

The test, performed by a phallic-looking wand squeezing along the path of the artery, was conducted by an attractive young woman. If the test had been done in my 20’s or 30’s, a part of me now dormant would have snapped to attention so quickly and stoutly that it would have ripped a hole in my shorts. Not now. At 78 and diabetic, I could only observe in bemused wonder my lack of lust.

All tests having shown no evidence of clotting, I was discharged the following morning after receiving prescriptions for Plavix and Zocor and advice on more sensible eating. Being knocked flat by a T.I.A. —a Trans Ischemic Attack, or Stroke Light—plus my wild imaginings of experiencing The Big One, I’m sure have left me a wiser man (if shivered to my timbers).

Editor’s Note: for further information on stroke and T.I.A.’s go to: http://www.everydayhealth.com/stroke/am-i-having-a-stroke.aspx?xid=G_&s_kwcid=TC|21761|warning%20signs%20of%20stroke||S||7090452192&gclid=CLfS57mykKYCFQJN4Aod302ong

In brief:

Am I Having a Stroke? Do you know the common symptoms of stroke? Learn what they look and feel like so that you’ll know when to get emergency help.

By Diana Rodriguez

The window of opportunity to successfully treat a stroke is short—about three hours—so awareness of stroke symptoms is important. Maybe you think you can spot stroke symptoms in someone else, but would you know if a stroke was happening to you?

Stroke Symptoms: What Can Happen

Mark Alberts, M.D., professor of neurology at the Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine and director of the stroke program at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, lists these common stroke signs:

• Trouble with speech or having difficulty talking—you may struggle with finding words, slur your speech, or find yourself unable to speak
• Trouble understanding what other people are saying to you
• Feeling weak or numb on one side of your body, especially if it strikes you suddenly—you can’t move your face, one leg, or one hand
• Having trouble with coordination on one side of the body, especially when it happens all of a sudden
• Seeing double or having trouble focusing on objects or people
• An excruciating headache that comes out of nowhere

Headache is a stroke symptom that many people may not know about, but it’s a serious warning sign. You may dismiss a headache as an everyday occurrence, but a stroke headache is one that hits you hard and fast, and with no apparent cause. And while migraine headaches have been linked to increased stroke risk, this doesn’t feel like your average migraine either. Dr. Alberts describes it as the “sudden onset of the worst headache of your life,” and he says, “Call 911 and get to the hospital if you notice any of these symptoms.” Don’t waste any time by contacting your doctor, instead.

Stroke Symptoms: What It Feels Like

Lily U. Burns of Boston suffered an ischemic stroke two and a half years ago at the age of 33. Her boyfriend was with her at the time, and what he heard and saw was some mumbling, a drooping of her mouth, and her inability to respond. Immediately, he recognized those symptoms as stroke signs and took her to the nearest hospital. But a stroke feels different to the person who’s having it than it looks to someone else. As Burns was having her stroke, here’s what she experienced:

• Nausea
• Stumbling
• Thinking she was speaking but not being able to talk
• Awareness of what was happening but not being able to do anything about it
• Memory loss

While her boyfriend answered questions and doctors quickly worked on her, Burns’s mouth was paralyzed by what was happening in her brain.

“I was 100 percent aware of what was happening, but unable to give any kind of answer. I couldn’t answer a single question, and in my head I knew I couldn’t answer,” says Burns. “The best way to describe it is being locked in your own head. You are physically unable—it’s like a switch shuts off—you can’t talk to anyone.”