Point of View

oh, this is godawful weather around here in Washington, so I'm typing this at 5am when it's cool. Okay, I thought I'd share the experience it was to have a stroke from my point of view.

First let me clear up a myth-conception: you don't feel it coming on. It's not like Fred Sanford grasping his chest screaming that he can feel that here comes the "big one". I didn't notice anything until i just couldn't move my fingers, and had the worst instant headache ever. Felt like a WWF cage match in my skull. I needed to sit down immediately. What happened at this point was my famously high hypertension reached a new world record and burst a blood vessel in me brain.

As strokes go, if you had to have one, select this type, a bleed out. It's the best type to have for mortality rate and recovery. My brain space was filling up with blood and snuffing out nerves with the pressure. In my case it damaged my number 3 optical nerve on the right side, and a cascade of nerves on the left. Usually, a stroke effects one side or the other randomly. Mine started on the right and crossed over to the left, effecting the number 7 nerve on my face, then the limbs downward. Ignoring the massive headache, it feels like your body is falling asleep, pins ans needles and numbness. I made it to bed before my legs stopped functioning, where the headache and brain pressure made me throw up everything I've ever ate.

I should say, t this point, don't screw around, call 911! Your chances of 100% recovery will be much higher the sooner you have medical help. I of course didn't want to go to a hospital, just to lay down in a dark room. But as Whitney, my girlfriend told me later, an I had no clue, was that i was mumbling, my arms went slack, and I was trying to get up but couldn't, like a bird that can't fly, so he just flutters on the ground helplessly.

If you ever saw Mission Impossible 3 when the small bomb went off on Felicity's brain, and her eyes roll all weird and get dark...It was like that. Like a small bomb going off on your brain, but you live.

When the paramedics show up, they aren't delicate. my apartment has scrape marks and dings from equipment and a failed attempt to get a gurney downstairs and in my room. Also don't wear a shirt you want to keep, they'll just gonna slice it off with a knife like an experienced serial killer skinning a victim.

I don't remember anything from the ICU, other that I was being asked the same questions over and over to see if i have any brain damage. I thought it was 1987, but I'm like that normally, and I never remember the date. made me look a bit damaged I imagine. I was there for about 3 weeks with tubes out of my arms and my feet with pressure casts to keep my circulatory system running. I am also told I accidentally scratched my own face and head, I was so burning up, and scratched my leg raw, and those beds are a bitch to relax in. Luckily, from time to time, i was moved o a device called the Stroke Chair that was very comfortable in comparison. Lots of head scans too.

Now I was lucky. I had bleed out, and not a bleed in, so I didn't need any drilling in my skull to alleviate pressure, and got to the hospital in time to lower my blood pressure, so my brain was already healing and draining by the time i got there. Now it was on to rehab to start making new neural pathways for my limbs and eyes through therapy.

The doctors gave me 6 months recovery, but i love proving authority figures wrong and was released to go home in 6 weeks, but that took some very very hard work. And I saw others just give up and not do the therapy. Period. That was sad to see, others just not caring anymore. I drew and walked and played guitar, and Beatles Rockband was coming out in a few months...I wanted to get better. Also it was so unfair to Whitney to stifle her life for my crippled ass. I pushed myself to exhaustion.

And now I'm 95% recovered in my limbs. I even walk without a wheelchair or cane now. I do strongly recommend playing Rockband a lot. Got my fingers and balance back with that. So, if you ever hear anyone dissing video games as pointless wastes of time, tell them how it helped Mr recover from a stroke, and tell them to shut the hell up.

SO, remember to get BP check ups with a good doctor (my former one was an ass) learn about the medication you take (Dr. Ass forgot to prescribe a pill that activates the other pills he gave me). Remember that a Stroke has no warnings, and call 911 without delay. Don't let my misery be in vein. I'm signing off now was the sun is coming up and I'm starting to feel the heat..,.

Least I can feel.

Progress Report

My progress so far since I have been home: Ive got about 95% of my arm and it no longer looks like a smurf arm I guess, I can play Rock Band at medium finally one of my "long term goals" simply because Beatles Rock Band comes out September and I need to be expert again. I'm starting to use my left leg and I got my swanky new glasses so I dont look like a freak with double vision and space goggles. I can actually read now and more importantly play Left 4 Dead. My PT and OT are going well. My current doctor is a complete bitch and stresses me out. She "yells" at me all the time and she hates my blood pressure machine. She also spits blood out of her eyes like a Brazilian toad if you dont answer her quickly.

I take 11 pills a day to get my blood pressure lower than that of a frieghtened bunny. And I finally got my handicapped placard and ID card. I also filled my prerequesite of going to IHOP for breakfast as a temporary handicapped person. Its state mandated.

I also now enjoy being pissed off at people who abuse handicapped parking or places that arent handicapped friendly. There are such bastards out there who park in these reserved spaces just to be closer to a store or bank. Reading a book, talking on a cell phone or eating a sandwhich.

I'll get more on that later when I can I start typing on my own.

Beef Wraps and Wrap Ups

Where I left off from the last blog, I suffered a stroke on my birthday and I lost movement on my left side. So, as continued....

My girlfriend, Whitney, mentioned that everyone she knew that was a stroke victim was effected on the left side. Which I thought was interesting. Anyway... the doctors determined that I didnt have any permanent damage to my brain, just some blood on it. I was responding very well to the physical therapy and the tons of drugs including the late night catheters and blood sugar raids that left my finger infected. Thank you student nurses for stabbing the same finger over and over. The nurses I had were wonderful and kept me calm. Even the ones that hit me in the face with my gait belt by mistake and caught my foot in the bed rail. Whitney stayed every night by my side and only went home to feed the cat. She even rubbed the toy cat on my real cat and brought it to me so I would still feel like my kitten was there. So enter, comfort kitty, which purrs, kneeds, and meows. If it pooped and bitched, it would be just like having Josie there.

I dont remember anything about the week stay in the ICU except flashing the nurses and using the excuse that it was my birthday, which was true. At least that is what I was told I did. I remember most of my 2 1/2 week stay at 4 west rehab, including the food which was dry and tastless and the applesauce tasted like monkey poop, but they had wonderful cheeseburgers and beef wraps. Which I only found out a few days before I left that I could special order.

Now I am finally home with improved vision, I can slightly move my left leg, but I cant play video games yet, which really sucks, but I know it will bac sooner that I think cause I NEED to play Beatles Rock Band when it comes out. I'll update later as things go by.

The birthday curse strikes/my fear of Guitar Hero

I promised I would blog, but I have been in the hospital for almost a month. As past readers would know, I have a birthday curse. Even though I gave my best efforts to avoid it, it struck back with vengeance. I was playing Guitar Hero: World Tour awaiting the face-melting lead in Billy Idols "Rebel Yell", when I was struck down by a stroke which literally melted my face. Which leads me to believe that either Guitar Hero is a portal to Hell, or Billy Idol is the demon spawn. And mind you that this is after I broke my phone at work by dropping it in the toilet and being locked out of my work for half an hour. I thought going home was the safest bet. Actually, now that I think about it, it was the safest because I could have been on a forklift or using power tools. Then Whitney saved my life just by being there and calling the ambulance because the cat cant call anyone because she doesn't have opposable thumbs. Damn evolution. When the ambulance came for me, they stuck tubes up places that tubes do not belong and shaved parts of my body without even asking. And I was shipped away to Southwest Washington Medical.

I was in ICU for a week with almost no food or water and tons of IVs and student nurses who cause finger infections for blood sugar tests. I was finally released to the inpatient rehabilitation wing of the hospital where I had the worst room mate you could ever hope for. He was always bitching and shat himself constantly. His farts woke up the dead. Literally, I mean, there were a few people from the morgue downstairs wandering around trying to figure out how big of a duck it was that could have been stepped on. I thought dogs had snuck into the room and took large dumps at my feet. He also watched sports constantly on the TV he hogged. I HATE sports. Not only that, he watched the ESPN highlights of the sports he just saw.

The IVs gave me a painful blood clot and nurse Barry wacked me in the eye with a gait belt.

...to be continued...

Meanwhile...

Yes, It has been months and months since I've blogged!

And, "why" you may very well ask. Well, you may. You also might be yelling "I'm out of toilet paper!!!" from the bathroom, hoping your significant other will hear you and toss you a new roll, much like a SWAT might lob a smoke bomb into an unsecured room. Then again, if you were otherwise occupied, you wouldn't be reading this... and then there's always a laptop...

Buy I digress. That's how you can be sure this is me here.

I haven't been writing, because I haven't been annoyed by anything!

I'm in a very good and happy place right now. I am so enjoying my new family with Whitney, and occasionally the "demon cat" with the unassuming name of "Josie". Everyday just seems a good thing. Coming home to someone I love and know she waiting for me to come home as well. yeah. Me. Who'd thunk?

This is the one. Has to be. Her birthday is just one day less than mine. She enjoys all my geekiest moments. Puts up with my tics and quirks. Loves MST3K. And yet she thinks she's lucky to have found me!

Yup, this one is short. But, next week is my birthday, so something is bound to happen. You know all the restaurants are going to be pissed at us for both of us qualifying for free meals. This year, i'm going to demand that instead of the service help singing Clappy Birthday, they do a Rappy Birthday! I can beatbox and throw in some "what up"'s, dawg! That I would sit through.

And, The Cat Came Back...

It is time to make Spaghetti. The really cool and yummy kind from Kraft Dinners in the green box. But, I'm not eating alone this time: Theres a small black monster sitting in her seat at the table awaiting her cherished pasta.

A few months ago, I wrote about the wonderful time I had sharing my life with two kittens. And the missing part of that life when they were taken away. Well, one day, my friend Nikki called, and we talked about the rain, the park and other things. And, I had to ask about the little black kitten and if she's alright.

It seems she's bothering the family dog, and Nikki has to give her up. When she asked me if I'd like to keep her, I was shocked that i said yes defiantly, without even a thought. That's not usually me, I'm a morass of conflicting contradictions. Sometimes, I can't even choose a pencil if there's more than one.

When she came back home to me, she was tiny, and cute, and quiet, and well behaved. She was timid, but remembered me within the day. She was called Gigi, but never answered to it. I sat her down and we went through names with a soft "J" sound she might like better.

"Gigi? Jenny? Jackie? Jlo?"

She just tilted her furry head, and looked elsewhere for entertainment. That dust ball will do for now.

"eh, Josie...?"

And her head snapped back to me as she ran up and caressed my leg. She had chosen, and it figures she'd want to be named for a "Pussycat". What a nice pretty pretty kitty! So well behaved!

Lets jump to now, shall we?

That tiny fluffball with a wallflower attitude made it to her terrible teens. She's a big solid womanly cat with a loud persistant meow, and gigantic attitude. Loads of personality and ready to headbutt with me on everything. She runs about like she's late for everything and on crack. She only takes the time to look at me, knock something down off a shelf, then gives me a "whattcha gonna down about that?" stare. She rips up toilet paper rolls, and slides across the floor like a runaway train, making me wince when I hear DVDs and glass items crashing to the ground.

I now get instant parental headaches, and I wonder what I did to deserve such a fricken bratty feline. I treat her so well, and sometimes even spoiler her more than I really should. Most times I can't sleep because of her antics, and her nightly attempts to destroy. Why in the hell did I say "yes" all those months ago?!

I get my answer as I type this. A hear the soft padding of paws tromp up to me, and leap up upon my computer desk. She has a plushy jingle ball in her month and looks at me. I hold out my hand and she drops the ball into my palm. I guess it is play and fetch time. We do this for hours. She also brings me her leash, and I know it's time for walkies. This is stuff only dogs do, y'know. And when I come home, she greets me with loud purrs and a hunched leg rubbing. And I know when I fall asleep in my chair again, she'll crawl up and curl into a ball on my chest.

She's my little girl. Pain in the ass and all.

Such is a fathers folly. Maybe I should get her a new sibbling.

Ding! The spaghetti is done! She gets her small plate of simple noodles (her absolute favorite, beyond treats and catnip!), and we talk about her day...

Contractual Obligation Blog

I'm forcing myself to sit my ass down and write this.

Yes, it has been a while since I wrote anything, but I do have a good reason: Life's been too good to me to bitch about. Hell, I probably have 4 or 5 subjects to write about, and then it snows outside, or I feel like a walk, or whatever...and I put off the internet! What?! How can this be?! Look for a pod casing! It looks like Michael, but something just ain't right with dat boy...

So, Let me backtrack a bit.

Let me tell you about my best friend Whitney.

Oh crap, when I say this, it's going to not only sound bad, but I'll actually hear all of you smirk, but we met online. I will now pause for all of you to stop making "internet girlfriend" jokes, and "cyberchat" references. I'll step out for a quick pee.

All done yet? Okay, I'll wait some more and putter about the kitchen. Alright, rein it in, I have a blog to do.

Anyway, we "met" on her net TV show. I loved perusing various video chats and adding my 37 cents. After all, I have brilliant comedic timing, or so I have been told. I also like knocking down the usual rude chatters. And when I made a joke or reference, she actually kept up with me! Not only that, we'd turn out to do a long improvisational sketch, as we'd both be quick enough to keep the jest ball rolling. Naturally, we talked loooong after the show was done, and we became the best of friends. The kind you can talk to about anything, and know they're not trying to find an excuse to be somewhere else.

After six months of this, she got the bright idea to meet for Christmas. I was nervous as crap thinking Chris Hanson was going to jump out at the airport and ask if I could have a seat. What if the internet persona was a ruse? What if she's a homicidal maniac who's going to drop me into a pit and make me put lotion on my skin or I'll get the hose again? What if she's a he, and he's fanatical about his level 80 dark elf in World of Warcraft, and stinks of Cheetos and feet? What if she's Richard Simmons finally coming to get back at me for all the dark (but true) stories I told about him?

Have you ever met someone and it's as if you've known them you're entire life? As if they were a part of your mindset, and you didn't notice the missing part until it was spackled in. From minute one, it was as if we've known each other forever. And It was the best holiday i've ever had...and the quickest. When it was time to go, Whitney started to cry at the airport. I was afraid that people would think I slapped her like I was Sean Connery.

So, my December was quite busy. Oh, and guess who's moving in with me in a few months? Can't help it, she makes brilliant cookies, and the cat likes her. And when she was here, the house became a home.

Merry Christma..er...Happy ne...Inauguration hoedown, I guess...