Stroke anniversary
Sixteen long years ago, on this date, October 26, 1993, I had a stroke.
I was still, at that time, driving transit bus for Regional Transit Service (“RTS”) in Rochester, NY, as I had done 16&1/2 years.
I had a run that pulled out at 5:05 a.m., and then drove eight straight hours — no break.
It was a killer, but I chose it because it got me done in front of the bus-station around 1 p.m.
Wake-up alarm to in-the-garage was about 11&1/2 hours, the shortest portal-to-portal I ever had.
I had just helped my younger brother chase restored Nickel Plate steam-locomotive #765 near Charleston, WV.
It was an enjoyable adventure, but doing so entailed an arduous day-long drive home from Charleston via Erie and Buffalo, 6 a.m. to about 6 p.m.
That was the weekend, and I managed to work the following Monday, despite lack of sleep.
That was October 25.
At about 1:30 a.m. Tuesday, October 26, I got up to go to the bathroom, and suddenly BAM!
It felt like a giant dip had occurred in my whole being.
It was a thrombosis; a clot had blocked off blood-supply to part of my brain.
We didn’t know what it was.
If we had, I could have gone immediately to the hospital for clot-busting drugs.
I had double-vision, slurred speech, and facial muscles that sagged on one side of my face.
All the classic symptoms of a stroke, but we didn’t know that.
Since I had to get up at 3 a.m. anyway, I thought I’d just go back to bed.
But at 3 a.m. no changes, so I called Transit to call in sick — thus suddenly ending a 16&1/2 year career of driving transit bus.
We called our health-center later that morning, and they said get to the hospital.
So began our hour-long journey to Rochester General.
Despite double-vision I was still able to direct my wife.
We got there about 10 a.m., and walked into Emergency.
By then clot-busting drugs were too late, I guess; and I was told to wait.
I waited all day, and had to spend the night alone in Emergency.
And during this time the segment of my brain denied of blood was slowly dying.
The next day they got me a room, and so began the frenzied search of why I’d had a stroke despite being in fabulous physical shape.
Long-story-short, I had an unknown heart-defect, a Patent Foremen Ovale (“PAY-tint four-AYE-min oh-VAL-ley;” “PFO”), a hole between the upper chambers of my heart, that had allowed a clot to pass toward my brain. —A clot that would have normally been filtered out by my lungs.
This is the same heart-defect linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-ski”), of the New England Patriots, had. —He had a stroke too.
The PFO was determined after a slew of tests, the final of which was ramming an ultra-sound probe down my esophagus, because ultra-sound wouldn’t see past my breast-bone.
They wanted to repair the defect right away — an open-heart surgery.
But I was so messed up I deferred.
I got worse-and-worse over time — my speech was reduced to lightning-speed gibberish.
A doctor came in and declared my wife would have to cart me around like a vegetable. “I’m gonna prove you wrong, Doc!” I shouted. It was probably undecipherable, but I wasn’t caving in to that.
I started to slowly improve, perhaps because I was ornery, and therefore working fast.
Start trying to do things immediately, and apparently what’s left of your brain rewires to do what the killed part did.
Rehabilitation went on over a year; first in the hospital, then as in-patient rehabilitation at Park Ridge Hospital, then at Rochester Rehabilitation as an out-patient at home.
Rochester Rehabilitation is an adjunct of the Al Sigl Center (“SIG-uhl”) in Rochester. (Sigl was a radio announcer, I guess.)
Rochester Rehabilitation has a driver-education program for stroke-survivors, and eventually cleared me, which included going back to riding my motorcycle. —I was told I never would.
Then the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper hired me — they had to moxie to hire a stroke-survivor.
It turned out to be the best job I ever had; nowhere near the income of Transit, but much more fun.
For a long time my perception of reality was degraded, so I wasn’t sure I was even alive.
But now I’ve been on this planet long enough after the stroke where my perception of reality isn’t degraded any more (or I’m accustomed to it).
Most people seeing me think I’m completely normal, and never knew I had a stroke.
This includes all my tub-thumping Christian siblings who say the only things wrong with me could be solved by —1) church, and —2) becoming a REPUBLICAN Conservative just like them.
Other things are —A) switching to the Bill Gates PC platform instead of using a MAC, and —B) trading my utterly reprehensible Honda motorcycle for a Harley Davidson.
What vestigial stroke-effects I have are: -1) poor balance, -2) dropsy, the tendency to drop things, -3) lability, increased tendency to cry (although I think this is more degraded emotional control), and -4) poor concentration, although this is mainly the disinclination to continue a long read.
All of these are controlled enough for me to pass as a normal person.
—And for my zealot siblings to loudly declare I’m completely recovered.
My all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, points up every stroke-effect as aging — he’s younger than me.
Well yes, I am old (the oldest — 13 years older than him, a mere pup); but he’s never had a stroke.
(And I hope he never does.)
• “Nickel Plate steam-locomotive #765” is a restored Nickel Plate Berkshire (2-8-4) railroad steam locomotive, owned and run by Fort Wayne Railroad Historical Society (FWRHS) of Fort Wayne, IN. (“Nickel Plate” is the New York, Chicago & St. Louis Railroad, called the “Nickel Plate” long ago by a New York Central executive because it was so competitive. The railroad eventually renamed itself the “Nickel Plate.” Norfolk & Western Railroad bought the Nickel Plate years ago, and N&W has since merged with Southern Railway, to become Norfolk Southern. Nickel Plate never actually attained New York city; it stopped at Buffalo.) —765 is the best restored steam locomotive I have ever seen, mainly because it can and is run hard. —On this excursion in WV, it had been disguised as Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad “Kanawha” (“ken-AH-wah”) #2765, also a 2-8-4. (The excursion was on the original C&O main.) The Nickel Plate Berkshires (“Berks”) were a version of Lima Locomotive Company’s (“LYE-mah;” not “LEE-muh”) SuperPower locomotives; also built by Lima. They had phenomenal steam capacity, and could run hard and fast at speed. A number of railroads purchased “SuperPower” locomotives, Nickel Plate being one. Nickel Plate used them for high-speed freight service. —They are also a gorgeous locomotive, and have a fabulous whistle.
• “Rochester General” is a hospital within northeast Rochester; one of two major hospitals in Rochester. There are others, including Park-Ridge, but that’s out in the suburbs.
• The “Patent Foremen Ovale” was long ago closed with open-heart surgery.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.
• A “MAC” is an Apple Macintosh computer.
I was still, at that time, driving transit bus for Regional Transit Service (“RTS”) in Rochester, NY, as I had done 16&1/2 years.
I had a run that pulled out at 5:05 a.m., and then drove eight straight hours — no break.
It was a killer, but I chose it because it got me done in front of the bus-station around 1 p.m.
Wake-up alarm to in-the-garage was about 11&1/2 hours, the shortest portal-to-portal I ever had.
I had just helped my younger brother chase restored Nickel Plate steam-locomotive #765 near Charleston, WV.
It was an enjoyable adventure, but doing so entailed an arduous day-long drive home from Charleston via Erie and Buffalo, 6 a.m. to about 6 p.m.
That was the weekend, and I managed to work the following Monday, despite lack of sleep.
That was October 25.
At about 1:30 a.m. Tuesday, October 26, I got up to go to the bathroom, and suddenly BAM!
It felt like a giant dip had occurred in my whole being.
It was a thrombosis; a clot had blocked off blood-supply to part of my brain.
We didn’t know what it was.
If we had, I could have gone immediately to the hospital for clot-busting drugs.
I had double-vision, slurred speech, and facial muscles that sagged on one side of my face.
All the classic symptoms of a stroke, but we didn’t know that.
Since I had to get up at 3 a.m. anyway, I thought I’d just go back to bed.
But at 3 a.m. no changes, so I called Transit to call in sick — thus suddenly ending a 16&1/2 year career of driving transit bus.
We called our health-center later that morning, and they said get to the hospital.
So began our hour-long journey to Rochester General.
Despite double-vision I was still able to direct my wife.
We got there about 10 a.m., and walked into Emergency.
By then clot-busting drugs were too late, I guess; and I was told to wait.
I waited all day, and had to spend the night alone in Emergency.
And during this time the segment of my brain denied of blood was slowly dying.
The next day they got me a room, and so began the frenzied search of why I’d had a stroke despite being in fabulous physical shape.
Long-story-short, I had an unknown heart-defect, a Patent Foremen Ovale (“PAY-tint four-AYE-min oh-VAL-ley;” “PFO”), a hole between the upper chambers of my heart, that had allowed a clot to pass toward my brain. —A clot that would have normally been filtered out by my lungs.
This is the same heart-defect linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-ski”), of the New England Patriots, had. —He had a stroke too.
The PFO was determined after a slew of tests, the final of which was ramming an ultra-sound probe down my esophagus, because ultra-sound wouldn’t see past my breast-bone.
They wanted to repair the defect right away — an open-heart surgery.
But I was so messed up I deferred.
I got worse-and-worse over time — my speech was reduced to lightning-speed gibberish.
A doctor came in and declared my wife would have to cart me around like a vegetable. “I’m gonna prove you wrong, Doc!” I shouted. It was probably undecipherable, but I wasn’t caving in to that.
I started to slowly improve, perhaps because I was ornery, and therefore working fast.
Start trying to do things immediately, and apparently what’s left of your brain rewires to do what the killed part did.
Rehabilitation went on over a year; first in the hospital, then as in-patient rehabilitation at Park Ridge Hospital, then at Rochester Rehabilitation as an out-patient at home.
Rochester Rehabilitation is an adjunct of the Al Sigl Center (“SIG-uhl”) in Rochester. (Sigl was a radio announcer, I guess.)
Rochester Rehabilitation has a driver-education program for stroke-survivors, and eventually cleared me, which included going back to riding my motorcycle. —I was told I never would.
Then the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper hired me — they had to moxie to hire a stroke-survivor.
It turned out to be the best job I ever had; nowhere near the income of Transit, but much more fun.
For a long time my perception of reality was degraded, so I wasn’t sure I was even alive.
But now I’ve been on this planet long enough after the stroke where my perception of reality isn’t degraded any more (or I’m accustomed to it).
Most people seeing me think I’m completely normal, and never knew I had a stroke.
This includes all my tub-thumping Christian siblings who say the only things wrong with me could be solved by —1) church, and —2) becoming a REPUBLICAN Conservative just like them.
Other things are —A) switching to the Bill Gates PC platform instead of using a MAC, and —B) trading my utterly reprehensible Honda motorcycle for a Harley Davidson.
What vestigial stroke-effects I have are: -1) poor balance, -2) dropsy, the tendency to drop things, -3) lability, increased tendency to cry (although I think this is more degraded emotional control), and -4) poor concentration, although this is mainly the disinclination to continue a long read.
All of these are controlled enough for me to pass as a normal person.
—And for my zealot siblings to loudly declare I’m completely recovered.
My all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, points up every stroke-effect as aging — he’s younger than me.
Well yes, I am old (the oldest — 13 years older than him, a mere pup); but he’s never had a stroke.
(And I hope he never does.)
• “Nickel Plate steam-locomotive #765” is a restored Nickel Plate Berkshire (2-8-4) railroad steam locomotive, owned and run by Fort Wayne Railroad Historical Society (FWRHS) of Fort Wayne, IN. (“Nickel Plate” is the New York, Chicago & St. Louis Railroad, called the “Nickel Plate” long ago by a New York Central executive because it was so competitive. The railroad eventually renamed itself the “Nickel Plate.” Norfolk & Western Railroad bought the Nickel Plate years ago, and N&W has since merged with Southern Railway, to become Norfolk Southern. Nickel Plate never actually attained New York city; it stopped at Buffalo.) —765 is the best restored steam locomotive I have ever seen, mainly because it can and is run hard. —On this excursion in WV, it had been disguised as Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad “Kanawha” (“ken-AH-wah”) #2765, also a 2-8-4. (The excursion was on the original C&O main.) The Nickel Plate Berkshires (“Berks”) were a version of Lima Locomotive Company’s (“LYE-mah;” not “LEE-muh”) SuperPower locomotives; also built by Lima. They had phenomenal steam capacity, and could run hard and fast at speed. A number of railroads purchased “SuperPower” locomotives, Nickel Plate being one. Nickel Plate used them for high-speed freight service. —They are also a gorgeous locomotive, and have a fabulous whistle.
• “Rochester General” is a hospital within northeast Rochester; one of two major hospitals in Rochester. There are others, including Park-Ridge, but that’s out in the suburbs.
• The “Patent Foremen Ovale” was long ago closed with open-heart surgery.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.
• A “MAC” is an Apple Macintosh computer.
posted by BobbaLew at 3:35 PM
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