My Husband Had a Stroke: Now What?

Three weeks ago, my husband had a stroke.  At age 52, my husband had a stroke on a late morning weekday when he was getting ready to go to work.  I noticed him standing in the bedroom by the dresser drawer where his socks are kept.  He was oddly still.  I approached him and saw that the right side of his face was twisted into an exaggerated droop, his right lips pulled downward.  He opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out.


Thanks to reading health-related articles in magazines and newspapers, plus a television newscast or two, I was pretty certain that he had experienced a stroke.  I knew that he had to get to the hospital immediately.  I told him, "We're going to the hospital," and he walked to his closet.  I slid my feet into a pair of shoes and found him in the closet, croaking something about needing a shirt to wear.  I grabbed a shirt for him and we hurried to the car.  The fact that he did not object to going to the hospital shows that he too knew this was a serious issue.


Thankfully, we live within 5 miles of the nearest hospital.  I pulled up to the emergency room bay and dropped him off where he exited the vehicle and went inside.  Looking back, that was kind of ill-conceived on my part, but that's what being in a hurry can do to you.  In less than 30-seconds, I was by his side.  I discovered him standing next to a small desk where an admissions nurse stood.  She looked at me and said, "Can I help you?"  It turns out that since my husband couldn't speak, she assumed he was waiting for me.  "I believe my husband's had a stroke," I told her.  I couldn't believe how stoic-like the nurse was as she turned toward an office door to our left and asked a man to "Take a look."  Why weren't they rushing us into the emergency area where my husband would be immediately surrounded by caring health-care workers who would administer to him with great haste?  Looking back, I'm glad I was calm and didn't make a scene that would have done us no good.  The hospital staff did the right thing by projecting cool heads regarding our situation.


The gentleman's name tag stated that he was an R.N.  He asked me some questions about how long ago "it" happened and I told him about 20 minutes total.  My husband and I were led to a nearby examination room where I felt relieved that some sort of treatment was going to begin.  My husband's blood pressure top number (systolic) was approaching 200.  His oxygen level was good at 98%.   Blood was drawn and medications were dispensed.  An emergency room physician visited us within 10 minutes.  For some lucky reason, we were the only visitors to the E. R. in our town of 85,000 at the moment.  


My husband's facial droop was much improved.  The orderly, a male nurse, and a female doctor in her late 30's frequently asked my husband to "smile" so that they could check the droop on the right side of his face.  I am estimating that the droop was almost-gone in 25 minutes and most certainly gone or undetectable within 40 minutes. 


The doctor came and went, ordered an EKG, and then came in to have "the talk" with us.  "Sir," she said, "Are you aware that you are diabetic?"  Incredulously, he shook his head in the negative.  And, she continued, "Your glucose is 300.  Ideally, it should be less than 100."  We gasped.  "And your cholesterol, the LDL, is 120.  That's not terrible, but it's not great either.  And, lastly, your blood pressure if of great concern.  Sir, when is the last time you visited the doctor?"  That's when the guilt hit me.  I had been bugging my spouse about getting an annual checkup for a few years.  I started bothering him about it every few months after he turned 50 -- but, he did not want to go.  I know, deep down inside, that if I had insisted he go to the doctor, and in fact, MADE the appointment for him, we may not have been in the situation we were in now.


The doctor told us that my spouse had experienced a severe "cluster" stroke.  The cause of the stroke is not entirely known, but it could have been caused by a small particle of cholesterol that breaks off in the ceratoid artery (neck area) and travels to the brain.  There are other possible causes or contributing factors but one of them most certainly is diabetes.


I could have lost my husband forever on the day that my husband had a stroke.  I think I knew then, there in the emergency room, listening to the doctor talk about his stroke, that our lives were changed forever.  And, I was correct.  The last three weeks have taken the two of us to doctor's visits that include a neurologist, cardiologist, speech therapist, and endocrinologist.  Those visits could have been avoided if we had just made that ONE visit to the family doctor to check on our health.


I've learned so much about what changes in our lives need to be made now that my husband had a stroke.  Sure, things could be better -- but they could also be so much worse.
CHAPTER ONE 3/31/2014

Attack of Potato Chip Woman

Let's pretend that you are famished and have not eaten in 2 days.  You are sitting in an empty room at an equally empty table.  A man walks into the room and offers you a bag of cookies or a bag of chips...but there is a caveat; you may choose only one bag.  Which would you select?  The bag of chips or the cookies? If you say "Neither, I would choose broccoli," then a pox upon you.

Seriously, though, I wish illness upon no one.  In fact, I myself had quite a scare myself.  You see, yesterday I had an attack...a potato chip attack; and I am still reeling with remorse.  More on that in a minute.

Much like driving a car without GPS, I made a maneuvering error in the grocery store yesterday: I went down the "chip aisle," or as I like to call it, "Pandora's Box." And yes, I bought a bag of potato chips.

We all know that it is okay to indulge in potato chips every now and then, and everything in moderation, blah-blah-blah.  However, when it comes to a sinfully crunchy bag of chips, the word "moderation" holds little meaning for me.  Why snack on a single serving of 12 chips (120 calories) when you can snarf down half a bag (calorie total unknown). 

You probably think that I am remorseful and full of self-loathing because I ate SO MANY chips yesterday, don't you?  Perhaps you believe that I am consumed with guilt for my gluttony. 

If so, you are incorrect. The root of my regret lies in...French onion dip.  No potato chip feast is complete without French onion dip.  If you have never been blessed enough to enjoy this evil-good combination of foods, don't start now or you could end up like me, greedily opening a bag of chips on the way home from the grocery store.  Darn, it's hard to drive when you're dipping a potato chip into dip.

But, I digress; my self-disgust lies with the fact that I bought "Fat Free" French onion dip.  Why in the heck did I destroy my date with snack royalty by purchasing fat free dip?  Perhaps I was subconsciously planning to eat the entire bag of chips and was looking for caloric redemption.

Fat free dip, for those who are not condiment-savvy, tastes like Elmer's glue with seasoning; it's not worth buying and certainly not worth wasting a chip-fest on.

So, take it from me, my chip-eating brethren.  Enjoy your fried morsels of potato goodness with  full-on, sour-cream based French onion dip.  If a love like this is wrong, I don't want to be right.