Mom and the Brain Aneurysm

Note: I'm hijacking Dad's blog for a post or two - to bring you info on mom.

No. They are not brought on by stress. No. This has nothing to do with mom working doubly to both bring in money and take care of dad. Stress-related aneurysms are a myth. It just happened. Mom had the worst headache of her life while brushing her teeth, thought to herself "I hope this isn't what Wayne goes through daily," then blacked out. She awoke on the bathroom floor with her back to the door, listening to my dad talking to my sister on the phone.

Dad, thanks to all the deities in the universe, had enough sense to call Alyssia. She spoke with mom. I called and spoke with mom. She called Joe to come be with dad, and then 911; all after just having a brain aneurysm.

I knew something was very wrong because she always knows it's me immediately, but had insisted to the fireman that was present that I was the 911 dispatcher. We had all thought she just hit her head while fainting. Dad got up because he's a tough ol' man and was about to give the person pounding at his front door at sleep-time some lip, but stopped at the restroom because the dogs were barking and sniffing under that door.

I can give you the detailed rundown - but I am breaking down and need a break. These are tears of joy, of course, because Mom survived, and even had a successful craniectomy to reverse the aneurysm. Most people die the moment one happens. Mom is a rock.

Surgery Aftermath...

Dad is right back on track. He went back into physical therapy last Monday, only a short week after returning home from surgery.

I think he's as elated as the rest of us it was only a few days hospital stay. For as long as we have all been in one over the last year, it's still an alien location. Everyone can't help from regressing, even if just for moments at a time, and it's gut-wrenching to so powerfully have memories of that short year ago.

Thankfully, contrary to that, Dad is getting better daily. Little hints of his past self eek their way out, reminding us that he's still in there, like a child groggily awakening for an unwanted school day. A couple of weeks ago, he watched his first Warriors game since before the accident. That brought up happy tearful emotion in all of us. Keep it coming Pop. Keep it coming.

A bunch of cannibalistic turkeys.

Surgery...

Dad has been on the recovery trail for quite some time. He's improving daily, even among the setbacks. He now walks, and even has some use of his left hand.

Currently, one of those setbacks has to do with his gall bladder. It needs to go, so he's going under the knife. 4 days recovery in the hospital will go by in a snap of the finger. I look forward to his path again becoming unencumbered.

Head injuries do not make you any shorter.

The Jokester

Dad's sense of humor has improved greatly since the accident. I don't know if he's lost his ability to filter himself and he had this humor hidden away before, or if he's just being honest and I'm taking it as funny. He's a pleasure to be around.

He's doing well. He says he's not getting the sleep he needs, but i suspect he feels like he's just not waking up at 100%. It may never come, but I'm certainly hopeful it will.

I had a dream last night that he was driving. I can see it happening again, albeit a long way down the road (pun not intended).

Home again, home again...

He lit up. He was no longer lost. Suddenly everything was his... "Quit moving my table. What are you doing on my bed?"

The dogs showed the excitement that i was internalizing. They hadn't seen pop in almost six months. They licked his face. He let them.

Welcome home, pop.

Dad goes home today...

170 days.
5 months, 17 days.

Today he goes home. I'm headed to the hospital now to pick him up.

Chapter 2 begins.

And he hates boats...

going home...

I'm in tears. I can't help it.

Today I thought about the day dad's heart stopped.

I also thought about getting that phone call from mom. The only thing she said as i answered the phone with some non-sequitur witticism was "Eddie, This is serious. Your father fell." I knew it was more than that. Without any details, I immediately sent a simple email to all my immediate coworkers. "I just got the call. I'll be stepping out for the rest of the day."

I have memories of things i don't wish on even my worst of enemies.

Seeing him on that first day, in that first hour in the emergency room. His face bloodied and looking of fresh hamburger, i couldn't tell what was actually left of him. I could see teeth through his nose. Blood was caked on his ears marking the path of which it first poured. He was bound to a gurney, and being a big man myself i couldn't help but chuckle under my breath as I noticed his arms were only resting on the straps used to hold him down securely. I put my hand on his chest and leaned over to address him directly. "You've done well. If you need to go, we will be ok. I love you dad."

I remember the first words he said to me after regaining conciousness. "I need to take a shit."

Today, from the vantage of sitting in his wheelchair, i looked over at him on the couch at my mother-in-law's on this only fourth outing from the hospital since March 3rd. He was lying on his side, eyes closed, with his hand resting over the misshapen half of his skull. In less than two weeks he's going home. He's going home.

I just got a text message from my sister. She said, "Hello to you on this beautiful day!" How fucking corny. I'm crying again.

I think he's saying, "And that's why they call me big poppa."

P.S. I needed mention one other thing. He walked from the car, to the couch on his own with help from a single crutch and only guidance from me and Mom.