Summer 2014
Of late I have received a lot of books about people in comas, people who have had strokes, and people who have cured themselves of all their ailments by eating healthier. While I appreciate the gestures, because I'm sure they are well intended, I'm not quite ready to start reading these yet. Instead, I go to the Clinton library and sift through the Amish romances, of which the new release shelf is stacked. Combine that with the surplus of vampire romance novels and the army of trolls that occupy the library every day after 3:15, to be honest, I am starting to worry about my brain specifically and the town of Clinton in general.
It has taken a long while to be able to read, not because I forgot words, but because it was difficult to focus on the lines. I started by reading children's books to my kiddos and have since moved on to large print editions of novels. (Thankfully, the Clinton library does know its demographic well: Amish romances and gigantic font are in high demand amongst the townspeople.)
Anyway, without great books to read, I have taken to re-reading my own blog. And frankly, it is hilarious. The next step then, is to start writing. Unfortunately I'm still finding it difficult to type with my left hand, and typing with just one hand is somewhat tedious. This leaves me at the mercy of the voice recognition system on my iPad. Does this still count as writing? I will leave that for debate, for now I will attempt to share my own coma tales. (To my frustration, the word "coma" is very easily mistaken for the word "comma," which makes writing about this a slow process.)
A quick background: last June I started a 90 day stay at the University of Wisconsin Hospital dealing with all of the drama that accompanies Catastrophic Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. While there I spent nearly 3 weeks on life-support. I had two or three strokes and a heart attack. (There are a lot of details of which I am unsure and want to know nothing about. ) I am certain, though, that it was terrible. Terrible for everyone. Terrible, terrible, terrible. But, if we can't find a couple of things to laugh about, it's even more terrible.
Early on, in June, I was at the hospital with a pulmonary embolism. This was before things progressed to catastrophic the proportions. Only shortly before, because at some point, in the general care room in which I was staying, I had a stroke. Of this I do not remember much, only that my room was suddenly filled with hospital staff and they were whisking me away to the TLC. "TLC?" I thought from the depths of a very pleasant dream like stupor, "That sounds nice." Later I awoke with a nurse leaning over me, her jacket, and its embroidered TLC logo in my face. "Trauma and Life-support Center!? That's not nice at all!"
Later, the TLC nurses and I shared the evening doing regular Saturday night things: talking about baby names, painting nails, inserting Catheters… just regular girls doing regular things. No, not that funny. How about this? Here I am, complaining about my reading material, probably insulting those who were so thoughtful to visit me and give such things to read and contemplate, when some who visited me after this first stroke had the audacity to tell me I was "lucky that this happened to me when I was so young". No, what would have been lucky is if this could have happened to me when I was like 102 years old. Then I could have said "I've had a great life!" and could've just called it quits. Thank you for the insight, though, Pastor. That's funny right?
It has taken a long while to be able to read, not because I forgot words, but because it was difficult to focus on the lines. I started by reading children's books to my kiddos and have since moved on to large print editions of novels. (Thankfully, the Clinton library does know its demographic well: Amish romances and gigantic font are in high demand amongst the townspeople.)
Anyway, without great books to read, I have taken to re-reading my own blog. And frankly, it is hilarious. The next step then, is to start writing. Unfortunately I'm still finding it difficult to type with my left hand, and typing with just one hand is somewhat tedious. This leaves me at the mercy of the voice recognition system on my iPad. Does this still count as writing? I will leave that for debate, for now I will attempt to share my own coma tales. (To my frustration, the word "coma" is very easily mistaken for the word "comma," which makes writing about this a slow process.)
A quick background: last June I started a 90 day stay at the University of Wisconsin Hospital dealing with all of the drama that accompanies Catastrophic Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. While there I spent nearly 3 weeks on life-support. I had two or three strokes and a heart attack. (There are a lot of details of which I am unsure and want to know nothing about. ) I am certain, though, that it was terrible. Terrible for everyone. Terrible, terrible, terrible. But, if we can't find a couple of things to laugh about, it's even more terrible.
Early on, in June, I was at the hospital with a pulmonary embolism. This was before things progressed to catastrophic the proportions. Only shortly before, because at some point, in the general care room in which I was staying, I had a stroke. Of this I do not remember much, only that my room was suddenly filled with hospital staff and they were whisking me away to the TLC. "TLC?" I thought from the depths of a very pleasant dream like stupor, "That sounds nice." Later I awoke with a nurse leaning over me, her jacket, and its embroidered TLC logo in my face. "Trauma and Life-support Center!? That's not nice at all!"
Later, the TLC nurses and I shared the evening doing regular Saturday night things: talking about baby names, painting nails, inserting Catheters… just regular girls doing regular things. No, not that funny. How about this? Here I am, complaining about my reading material, probably insulting those who were so thoughtful to visit me and give such things to read and contemplate, when some who visited me after this first stroke had the audacity to tell me I was "lucky that this happened to me when I was so young". No, what would have been lucky is if this could have happened to me when I was like 102 years old. Then I could have said "I've had a great life!" and could've just called it quits. Thank you for the insight, though, Pastor. That's funny right?
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