October 26th
Yesterday was October 26th, 2012, a Friday.
In 1993, 19 long years ago, it was a Tuesday, and I was still driving bus for Regional Transit Service in Rochester (NY), a public company, the supplier of transit bus-service in Rochester and environs.
I was driving a killer run, eight straight hours on the main drag through Rochester, stop at every stop.
No let-up at all, just one break in mid-morning, about 15 minutes (just long enough to leave my bus and go to the bathroom at a hospital).
The run had a logistical advantage. It started at 5 a.m. (an ungodly hour), but relieved in front of the bus-barns at 1:30 p.m. I could walk right to my car in the company parking-lot. I didn’t have to wait for a ride from downtown Rochester, the usual relief-point. Doing so might add a half-hour to my daily time commitment, wake-up alarm to back home in garage in 12 hours.
Of that I got paid for eight hours — I only drove bus eight hours.
When I lived in Rochester bus-driving was a fairly-good job. I could work the rush-hours, and/or take kids to-or-from school.
Rush-hour trips might be a pleasant ride in the country, and school-trips meant being off with pay if school was off.
I couldn’t do work like that living out in the country. I was 40 minutes from work instead of five minutes.
My killer-run was “city-work.” It ran every weekday. There was no canceling if school was off.
I had just spent the previous weekend in West Virginia chasing Nickel Plate #765, the best restored railroad steam-locomotive running.
They run it hard, and can.
I’m a railfan. and have been since age-two —I’m 68.
I persuaded my brother-from-Boston to attend.
Getting there was an all-day drive on Friday October 22nd, then chase 765 Saturday October 23rd, then drive back home Sunday October 24th — a drive of about eight hours solid, which I doubt I could do any more.
I managed to work my killer-run the next day, Monday October 25th, although it wasn’t easy. I could barely stay awake.
That night I got up about 1:30 a.m. to go to the bathroom, and as I was standing over the toilet, BAM! I felt my whole being dip.
A clot passed through an undiagnosed heart-flaw, partially blocking blood-flow to my brain.
I was having a stroke, although I didn’t know it. At that time we didn’t know what a stroke was.
Double-vision began, but I went back to bed, planning to get up at 3 a.m. as usual.
My condition did not improve, so I called in sick, thus suddenly ending my 16&1/2-year career of driving bus.
Time marched on. If we’d known it was a stroke, I could have been taken to the hospital and administered clot-busting drugs, minimizing the brain-damage.
About 8 a.m., my condition having not improved, we called my doctor.
He advised my going to the hospital. My wife would drive, since I still had double-vision.
My wife had no sense of direction, but I was able to direct her on the long drive to the hospital despite double-vision.
Thus began my long recovery; it lasted about two years.
First was hospitalization (and testing), about two weeks, then inpatient rehabilitation in another hospital, about a month, and then home for outpatient rehabilitation.
By the time I reached the first hospital, it was much too late to administer clot-busting drugs, so all they could do was monitor.
I slowly degraded as brain-tissue died, but then I began to recover.
My doctor came in, wrung his hands, and told my wife I’d be a vegetable for the rest of my life.
It made me mad. Through incomprehensible jabbering I declared I’d prove him wrong.
And so began my long recovery. My left side was paralyzed — there was no brain-tissue to drive it — but other brain-tissue apparently took over.
Same with my speech. My original speech-center had been killed by my stroke. But apparently remaining brain-tissue took over, brain-tissue not designed for speech.
-So my speech is slightly degraded. I have a hard time putting words together. But I can pass for normal.
-Similarly my balance is slightly degraded. I do balance-training working out at the YMCA, which makes a difference.
-My third problem is poor emotional control, manifested in an increased tendency to cry — or laugh.
I have that fairly under control.
So 19 years later I’m told my recovery was miraculous. —I ride motorcycle, which I was told I’d never do. But no one tells me that! I was ornery.
(I think ”orneriness” is key to successfully recovering from a stroke, depending on how much damage it did. What’s happening is rewiring one’s brain so that previously unused brain-tissue can do what the killed part did.)
Linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-skee”) of the New England Patriots, who had a stroke similar to mine, recovered and went back to playing professional football.
October 26th is significant for other reasons:
—1) My sister’s birthday is today, October 27th. She was slightly younger than me; born in 1945 instead of 1944.
She died last December of pancreatic cancer. She never made 67.
—2) My wife has since died of lymphomic cancer. That was last April 17th, a little over six months ago. (She was 68 at that time, like I am now.)
—3) A friend lost her husband to melanoma October 26th of last year. He was the best friend she ever had, like me and my wife.
Another friend suggests my life is defined by my wife dying; we were married 44 years.
I think not. I’m devastated and heartbroken, but I’ve always thought my life was defined by my stroke. I still have tiny consequences. My speech is slightly compromised, my balance is slightly degraded, and I tend to cry more than the average person.
The heart-flaw that caused my stroke was repaired years ago; open-heart surgery. The surgeon owned a Ferrari.
In 1993, 19 long years ago, it was a Tuesday, and I was still driving bus for Regional Transit Service in Rochester (NY), a public company, the supplier of transit bus-service in Rochester and environs.
I was driving a killer run, eight straight hours on the main drag through Rochester, stop at every stop.
No let-up at all, just one break in mid-morning, about 15 minutes (just long enough to leave my bus and go to the bathroom at a hospital).
The run had a logistical advantage. It started at 5 a.m. (an ungodly hour), but relieved in front of the bus-barns at 1:30 p.m. I could walk right to my car in the company parking-lot. I didn’t have to wait for a ride from downtown Rochester, the usual relief-point. Doing so might add a half-hour to my daily time commitment, wake-up alarm to back home in garage in 12 hours.
Of that I got paid for eight hours — I only drove bus eight hours.
When I lived in Rochester bus-driving was a fairly-good job. I could work the rush-hours, and/or take kids to-or-from school.
Rush-hour trips might be a pleasant ride in the country, and school-trips meant being off with pay if school was off.
I couldn’t do work like that living out in the country. I was 40 minutes from work instead of five minutes.
My killer-run was “city-work.” It ran every weekday. There was no canceling if school was off.
 |
| Nickel Plate #765 (it masqueraded as Chesapeake & Ohio #2765 on this trip, since it was on a C&O line). |
They run it hard, and can.
I’m a railfan. and have been since age-two —I’m 68.
I persuaded my brother-from-Boston to attend.
Getting there was an all-day drive on Friday October 22nd, then chase 765 Saturday October 23rd, then drive back home Sunday October 24th — a drive of about eight hours solid, which I doubt I could do any more.
I managed to work my killer-run the next day, Monday October 25th, although it wasn’t easy. I could barely stay awake.
That night I got up about 1:30 a.m. to go to the bathroom, and as I was standing over the toilet, BAM! I felt my whole being dip.
A clot passed through an undiagnosed heart-flaw, partially blocking blood-flow to my brain.
I was having a stroke, although I didn’t know it. At that time we didn’t know what a stroke was.
Double-vision began, but I went back to bed, planning to get up at 3 a.m. as usual.
My condition did not improve, so I called in sick, thus suddenly ending my 16&1/2-year career of driving bus.
Time marched on. If we’d known it was a stroke, I could have been taken to the hospital and administered clot-busting drugs, minimizing the brain-damage.
About 8 a.m., my condition having not improved, we called my doctor.
He advised my going to the hospital. My wife would drive, since I still had double-vision.
My wife had no sense of direction, but I was able to direct her on the long drive to the hospital despite double-vision.
Thus began my long recovery; it lasted about two years.
First was hospitalization (and testing), about two weeks, then inpatient rehabilitation in another hospital, about a month, and then home for outpatient rehabilitation.
By the time I reached the first hospital, it was much too late to administer clot-busting drugs, so all they could do was monitor.
I slowly degraded as brain-tissue died, but then I began to recover.
My doctor came in, wrung his hands, and told my wife I’d be a vegetable for the rest of my life.
It made me mad. Through incomprehensible jabbering I declared I’d prove him wrong.
And so began my long recovery. My left side was paralyzed — there was no brain-tissue to drive it — but other brain-tissue apparently took over.
Same with my speech. My original speech-center had been killed by my stroke. But apparently remaining brain-tissue took over, brain-tissue not designed for speech.
-So my speech is slightly degraded. I have a hard time putting words together. But I can pass for normal.
-Similarly my balance is slightly degraded. I do balance-training working out at the YMCA, which makes a difference.
-My third problem is poor emotional control, manifested in an increased tendency to cry — or laugh.
I have that fairly under control.
So 19 years later I’m told my recovery was miraculous. —I ride motorcycle, which I was told I’d never do. But no one tells me that! I was ornery.
(I think ”orneriness” is key to successfully recovering from a stroke, depending on how much damage it did. What’s happening is rewiring one’s brain so that previously unused brain-tissue can do what the killed part did.)
Linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-skee”) of the New England Patriots, who had a stroke similar to mine, recovered and went back to playing professional football.
October 26th is significant for other reasons:
—1) My sister’s birthday is today, October 27th. She was slightly younger than me; born in 1945 instead of 1944.
She died last December of pancreatic cancer. She never made 67.
—2) My wife has since died of lymphomic cancer. That was last April 17th, a little over six months ago. (She was 68 at that time, like I am now.)
—3) A friend lost her husband to melanoma October 26th of last year. He was the best friend she ever had, like me and my wife.
Another friend suggests my life is defined by my wife dying; we were married 44 years.
I think not. I’m devastated and heartbroken, but I’ve always thought my life was defined by my stroke. I still have tiny consequences. My speech is slightly compromised, my balance is slightly degraded, and I tend to cry more than the average person.
The heart-flaw that caused my stroke was repaired years ago; open-heart surgery. The surgeon owned a Ferrari.
• “The Bus-Barns” are at 1372 East Main St. in Rochester, large sheds for storing buses inside. An operations-administration building was attached. We bus-drivers always said we were working out of “the Barns.”
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I 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 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
posted by BobbaLew at 5:51 PM
1 Comments:
Well, you are a miracle, Bob.
You are a miracle and a survivor.
You give encouragement to those who may be on that road.
You deserve the Ferrari.
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