the stark reality of what was happen-
ing was finally beginning to sink in,
and relief because my most reliable
connection to the outside world was
seated at my elbow. She would protect
me. I was certain of that.
Later, I saw a face peek around
the curtain. Our daughter, Nicole. I
wanted to leap out of bed and em-
brace her, but all I could do was lie
there like a beached whale. It’s unset-
tling to have your children see you so
vulnerable, and for a moment I felt
desperate. Almost ashamed.
I had always presumed my daugh-
ter saw me as a figure of strength, as
someone who would protect her. I had
a sense of having let her down. Of dis-
appointing her.
She leaned over and kissed me.
“Oh, Dad,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” I said, sounding like I was
chewing on rubber bands.
READY FOR REHAB
That afternoon, a rehab doctor ap-
peared at the end of my bed. At first,
he told me, they’d thought my stroke
was fairly mild. Nothing showed up
on the CT scan. But a second scan re-
vealed I’d had an ischemic stroke—an
obstruction in a blood vessel—on the
left side of my brain, resulting in the
paralysis of my right extremities.
“What caused it?” I asked.
“We don’t know. I’d guess hyper-
tension. Your blood pressure was very
high. But you have other conditions that
could have been contributing factors.”
Risk factors for stroke include high
blood pressure, diabetes, high cho-
lesterol, sleep apnea, and being over-
weight. I qualified on all fronts.
“The good news,” the doctor said,
“is that a bed has become available in
rehab. You’ll be put on a six-to-eight-
week intensive rehab course, followed
by eight weeks as an outpatient. You
need to be willing to work hard. What
do you think?”
“Yes, I can do it,” I answered, al-
though at the moment my body sug-
gested otherwise. “Count me in.”
The next morning, Pat and Nicole
were both there when a man and two
women arrived to take me for a walk.
With one swift movement, they had
me perched on the side of the bed.
“We’ll walk as far as Nicole, OK?”
I stood, slightly stooped, look-
ing across the room at my daughter.
I shuffled, my left foot lifting, my
right foot dragging behind. Each step
seemed like a gigantic task. I almost
lost heart halfway across the room,
but I refused to give in.
I walked a distance of only 20 feet,
but Nicole seemed excited and ap-
plauded. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “You did
it. I’m so proud of you!”
“Congratulations,” the therapists
chimed in. “You’re ready for therapy.”
“I’m so hungry,” I said. “Even a
bowl of gruel would be nice.”
A young nurse lifted my wrist and
took my pulse. “We’re not allowed to
give you anything to eat. Not until the
Swallow Lady has been to see you.”rd.com 109Health