Things I find funny

Things I find funny

Tiny nurses with giant patients.

Thank goodness for Lift Team to hoist 200+ lb. people around. In ICU they had these air mattresses to help prevent bed sores, but they are very slidy. Jon, with his necessary head elevation, kept sliding down the bed toward to the foot, causing his legs to dangle off the sides. His tiny nurse, Bea, and I contemplated trying to pull him up by ourselves, then thought the better of it. He’s heavy when he’s awake—but unconscious? He could easily topple the both of us.

Jon’s answers, unfiltered.

OK, I hope this doesn’t sound mean, but some of Jon’s answers have been downright hilarious.

The nurse administering the pre-MRI questionnaire asked Jon standard questions of whether he had any tattoos, body piercings, implanted devices, metal plates, etc. He answered yes to every single question. (What a mental picture!)

When asked today “Do you know where you are?” He answered “A planned community.” We’re in Boca?

When asked earlier on, “Who’s that woman (pointing at me)?” He answered, “That’s my wife.” Then asked, “What’s your wife’s name?” He answered, “Ritchie.”

When asked the night he was transferred from ER to Keck “How old are your children?” He answered that they were both five.

When he hung up on Jeffrey earlier tonight:

Me: Jon! You hung up on Jeffrey!

Jon: Yes I did.

Me: I think he still wanted to talk!

Jon: I’m sure he did.

Things I am thankful for:

Jon’s life.

He’s here, with us, he’s still him. He’s making his way back. There are flashes of recognition, and tenderness, and humor. Tonight I put him on the phone with Casey, and he said the familiar “Hi Cay,” his nickname for him. He also hung up on his best friend Jeffrey because he was tired of talking (not subtle, Jon.) And when I was switching channels to find a program for him, he soundly rejected Law and Order SVU (“ugh, no”) and Lord of the Rings (unhappy grunt.)

Great medical teams, and especially doctors who talk to us.

Yesterday when his last angiogram came back in the clear, Dr. Lidermeyer said he looks so much better than when he came in, and that was a huge relief. I worry about reading too much into every change, so it’s great to know I’m not just indulging in wishful thinking.

Today I had a long talk with one of his doctors, Dr. Hsu, who co-directs the Rehabilitation floor, where Jon moved to this afternoon. He explained in detail why Jon’s chances of recovery were greater with intensive in-hospital therapy (I did not need any convincing, but apparently a lot of other families do, because they are so eager to get the patient home.) This is the part where I actually had the most questions, because recovery of brain function varies so much from patient to patient.

When Dr. Hsu came in, I had downloaded a Mahjong game for Jon on his ipod, and he had both the manual dexterity and the cognitive ability to play—without prompting. (Yesterday Alex had the bright idea to see if he would play solitaire on the iphone, and he did, quite enjoying it.) Every day I’m turning over in my mind the ways in which we can prompt his abilities forward. So I asked, what activities are appropriate? Puzzles? Lego building kits? Frankly, he said, it’s pretty amazing to see him working an ipod and playing mahjong a week after having a hemorrhagic stroke. Apparently the bleed was pretty big. And yes, all those are good ideas. (Score one for the wife!)

He also explained that often neurology patients will regain gross motor function before regaining cognitive function, so they might be walking around confused, but walking. Hmm,

In Jon’s case, it’s seeming more like a contact, or series of contacts, are loose and not quite touching. Like when you set up a pair of speakers, but only get sound from one side, or no sound at all, because the wires aren’t connecting.

Like tonight, when he had a nice long lucid phone conversation with Jeff, who was astonished at his verbal recovery. But I reminded him—Jon is learning the right moments when he’s expected to respond, and acting accordingly, but I’m not sure the expression of what he is really feeling is coming out. He’s re-connecting social cues, but do they really reflect what he’s thinking and feeling? It’s hard to tell.

He did not want the noodle dish from Chinatown. Nope. But happily downed the hospital dinner. Hmm. He said he didn’t want the noodles, and he didn’t eat it. (So I did, by the way—no sense in wasting it!) That was a real expression of “no!” Other times, his “no” and “yes” answers are less convincing, because he wants the questioner (us, the nurses) to be happy, so he gives the answer that he guesses we want from him.

Sometimes I worry that he is saying things I want to hear, just as an automatic response. But when I lay my head against him, and he says “What’s the matter, baby?” I know he still is in there, and that he still loves me, even if he thinks my name is Ritchie.