He was doing so well.
My father had a stroke on January 28, 1999. He was unable to speak right (expressive aphasia), and was very tired. He lost some strength in his leg and arm as well.
We called 911 and he was rushed off to St. Mary's Hospital, near Golden Gate Park. There he was eventually put into their fantastic Acute Rehabilitation Unit where he had Physical, Speech, and Occupational therapy twice a day each, during the week. (Once each on Saturday, and Sunday was a day off.)
They did some fantastic work with him before sending him home, but that wasn't the end of it. We had therapy at home for a while, again with some great people that really did wonders. Once they decided he could go out, he was signed up for outpatient therapy at the incredible Ben Berman center at St. Mary's.
Again, they worked with him, twice a week, on things like how to sit and stand, balance, and strength. By the time he was discharged, our big problem was getting him to use his cane when he walked -- he didn't think he needed it. (Truth be told, most of the time he didn't.)
His speech ability was better than before as well. We play games several times a month, and he was coming up -- on his own, and in the time limit -- with good answers for Scattergories, and giving good enough descriptions that others could guess the correct word in Catch Phrase.
He finished his class at the Fromm Institute, and we were attending the concerts at Stern Grove. He was helping clean up the house, and folded all the flyers for the Second Annual Urban Adventure. Life was good.
Then it all came tumbling down.
Wednesday, July 7th, he fell. By Saturday, we were at the Emergency Room, cursing the doctor who had said not to worry about it and my own mis-diagnosis.
As I see it, Wednesday night, he had a TIA (Transient Ischemic Attack), causing the fall. It got better by Friday, but Friday night he had the real stroke, resulting in a severe headache. Saturday he lost the use of his right leg, followed by his right arm. By Sunday morning, the right side of his face had slumped a bit, and he had a bit more trouble with word finding.
Due to his having been in less than six months prior, we were worried that he would not be put in the Acute Rehabilitation Unit. Luckily, Dad has a great doctor, and he was moved to the 4th floor.
One lucky thing happened -- they caught the probable reason for his strokes. Rachel and I were visiting when Rachel noticed he was breathing heavily. (She notices things like that more than I do.) Dad's doctor happened to be there, and he checked his heart rate, which was irregular. He ordered an EKG right away.
It turns out that Dad's heart occassionally goes into atrial fibulation wherein the upper chamber of the heart sort of quivers instead of pumping. In this condition, the blood can start to clot, which, once the heart gets back into its proper rhythm, turns into a bullet to the brain.
Not a happy prospect.
So they put him on Heparin and Cumadin (the same drug, except the former is a liquid administered through an I.V. and the latter is a pill.) Cumadin takes a while to take effect, so they start it right away, and give him the Heparin as well until the Cumadin kicks in.
Cumadin is a blood thinner -- also used as rat poison, by the way -- and has its own problems. One of the problems is the possibility of serious bleeding, either internal or external.
So of course, Dad had to develop a Hematoma in his right leg. They're not exactly sure what caused it at this point, but they have to deal with that before they can start his therapy in earnest.
As if that wasn't enough, his gout is flaring up in his left knee and ankle, and his right elbow. Mind you, it doesn't help that he doesn't admit to being in pain.
So, for the time being, I'm spending as much time as I can at the hospital. Luckily, I'm able to work there, so I'm not going broke. Long's Drugs, my current client, is fantastic about the whole situation. They allow me to telecommute three days a week (more if I don't need to meet face to face with anyone) anyway, to make it easier to take care of Dad, so they don't really care if it's from home or from the hospital.
All in all, it's rather frustrating. He was doing so incredibly well, and now we're back where we started -- or maybe even worse off.
In other news, Rachel is mostly moved in. We hired some movers last weekend to bring over her furniture, and move Cornellia's stuff out. We don't have our bed yet, but we have Rachel's, so we're now sleeping in my folk's bedroom.
I guess it might give some people the willies, but it doesn't bother me. It's certainly different enough, since we painted it the weekend before (the same weekend Dad had his stroke.)
Anyway, Rachel only has a bunch of boxes from the garage to repack into Conticos and bring over to the garage at Paloma, and, of course, the Collection. (If you didn't know, Rachel collects Donald Duck stuff. I haven't counted lately, but I estimate she has about 1000 different items.)
I'm really hoping we'll have time to actually photograph each piece as we pack it up to move it, but I don't know if that will happen. Time is of the essence, of course, and the start of the new school year is fast approaching.
I guess that about sums it up. I'll just add, since this is my first entry, that I wonder if my estranged siblings will use this as a means of keeping tabs on what's going on in my life. Well, good on 'em then.