John Cox posted a blog post
Words Regarding My Stroke
(I've not proof-read this, so there's bound to be typos and other errors.)I had no idea that NHNE members would send me such supportive messages. I need to say "Thank You" to all for your kind and positive remarks. They are humbling. I'm feeling better with each day.When I got out of bed Monday morning around 6:30, I stumbled to the right and fell against a bedroom wall. I guess hitting the wall kept me from hitting the floor. Anyway, I righted myself while thinking, "My goodness. That's a bit strange." After giving the cats, Felix, Ricky, and Little Miss Midnight their breakfast----they are the rascals who woke me at 6:30----I was sitting at my Mac, drinking my one cup of caffeinated coffee that I allow, once a day.I started having a severe headache in the front part of my brain, behind my forehead. My vision blurred and started acting up. Words started moving horizontally across the screen. I took my blood pressure. It was 104/66 with a heart rate of around 75. I thought I should lie down and go to sleep. But instead I called the V.A. "advice nurse."When she said that I should call 911 is when I started to become a bit concerned. I asked if I couldn't get family to take me to the V.A. hospital's E.R. She said yes and by 8:30 I was being assessed and treatment started by E.R. staff. When five vials of blood were taken and an I.V. line started is when I thought that whatever it was could be serious.Oh, when the headache started, I thought: "Aneurism." I was very tired and slow of speech. Mark knew that something was going on because everytime I'd muster a word or a short question, he'd always end his responses with the word "dear" and "Just relax!" E.R. staff told me that I was being admitted to the hospital. Mark was already scheduled for routine blood work, himself, and so he was nowhere to be found. I kept asking the doc and nurses to please let Mark know that I was still in the E.R. but was being admitted. Well, it turned out that there were two John Coxes being admitted! Staff assumed I was the only one and, therefore directed Mark to the 8th floor. When he looked into John Cox's room, he saw a young, African-American. He told staff, "This isn't the John Cox I brought into the E.R. The nurse gasped saying, "There are two of them!" like we were a multiplying virus that needed to be contained.Mark was next directed to the 6th floor where I was eventually admitted. But I'd not yet arrived. It took him several more rides up and down the elevator before he finally saw me being wheel-chaired to a 6th floor room. All the while that he was running all over, I was still in the E.R. Anyway, I was to have had an MRI later Monday afternoon. Then it became Tuesday and then Wednesday. My attending doc finally said that he was discharging me home with an MRI appointment as an out-patient if I weren't taken to MRI by 4:30 Wednesday afternoon. Around 4:35 I started pulling my heart monitor leads off. I put on a pair of sweats that Mark had brought. And I put on my shoes. My primary nurse for Wednesday afternoon wasn't informed that I was going home if I weren't taken to MRI by 4:30. So, he got all wide-eyed asking, "You're going AMA?" About that time, 4:40, I was taken to the MRI exam. I was finally done by 7:30 or so.My nurse went over my nursing d/c paperwork when I discovered that the resident had put someone else's history into my notes. Oh, and I forgot, my nurse discovered that I'd already been administratively d/c'd because he couldn't any longer find my orders for medications or anything else related to me. Admissions told the nurse that I'd have to be re-admitted! So, I didn't get any of my afternoon meds. Or evening either. The resident came running down to my room exclaiming, "I hate discharge paperwork!" He said he'd been working on four discharges at once and had copied and pasted the wrong veteran's history into my medical record. My nurse had already gone down to make a corrected copy. (He put a piece of paper over the wrong stuff in my record and brought back his nursing d/c notes without the error. Finally, the resident looked at my MRI results, came back to my room and said, "You're discharged! Go home!" My son, Jack, was off work on Tuesday and Wednesday, anticipating that I'd be leaving one of those days. So, I got to go home with both Jack and Mark. My attending doc said that he thinks I've had a brain stem stroke and this was before being able to see the MRI. His provisional diagnosis was made based on a CAT scan, an EEG, sonogram of my heart, and the blood work. I wasn't experiencing one side weakness, wasn't having slurred speech, and had returned to walking without danger. So he diagnosed that the stroke wasn't in either one of my brain hemispheres.Oh, I forgot. Tuesday morning the medical team decided that I needed to donate another SIX vials of blood. So, the doc looked at eleven different blood tests instead of merely the original five. I was visited by physical therapy (P.T.), speech path, dietician, and I don't remember how many others. All of them were so young, including the six residents. I loved all of them! Oh another thing that's very funny and I've forgtten to write here: three of the six residents were with me one time without the other three. They all got out their stethoscopes and and were all over me! I'd never had three steths on me at the same time. I knew that I was helping them with their residency practice and I was glad to be able to. One of the very young docs was with me alone at one time. I said to him, "I am aware that I am speaking to the future. I am also aware that you are going to be an excellent doctor. I won't, most likely, be around but I know these things are true." I knew that, as a resident, he works 24/7, he is yelled at, and that he was exhausted and stressed. He smiled great big, so I know that my comment accomplished what it was supposed to. I asked him what specialty he was most interested. Interestingly, it wasn't neuro, it was internal medicine.Oh, one last forgotten experience. I wasn't afraid to die even though my physical brain had, initially, told my physical body to be upset. It was the primitive, animal-part of me communicating and certainly not my spiritual self. For sure, when I was on the 6th floor and in my bed, I thought: "I'm not afraid to die. I know that those who know me will be sad, but that's their problem!" I repeated this to Mark and Jack when they arrived later that same Monday evening. All three of us had a good laugh. And laughter is always therapeutic.If anyone has any questions or needs clarification of anything, please let me know.See More