More Devastation and Loss. Enough is Enough!

Whenever I come back to blogging and writing after dealing with medical issues, events, and personal losses, I get hit with more devastation.  

Within the past two weeks, I have lost two people very dear to me in different ways, from the same killer – the hemorrhagic stroke. First, I am now in Puerto Rico, where we put my ex-girlfriend’s brother Petie, to rest yesterday afternoon. When he didn’t show up for work the night of the 11th, co-workers kept calling him because it was unlike him to miss a shift. They called til his mailbox was full. His sister did the same when morning came.

It was two brothers and one sister, always looking out for each other long distance. She called consistently on the 12th, until someone answered his phone. The person on the other end was an NYPD lieutenant who broke the news to her. An autopsy was required because of his age (46), and on the 14th, the ME determined the cause as a brain hemorrhage.

Being there for me during my darkest hour, I felt that the only right thing to do as a friend, was be there for her. I loved Petie in a special way. We understood each other when it came to his sister. There was a wake in NJ for family, friends and co-workers on the 15th; we flew with his flight to Puerto Rico the 16th, had an all day wake the 17th til 10pm, and finally last viewing, church and burial, yesterday. What a week it’s been.

Two days after losing Petie, I lost a former co-worker who also suffered a hemorrhagic while sleeping. I remember working many shifts with him on over- nights. Between all the sick and injured calls we took, we always made time for some humor. One thing I knew about him was his history: hypertension. When I heard, the first question I asked was if he had still been taking care of himself. The answer was a resounding ‘Yes’. I hadn’t seen him much since my illness and the last I’d heard, he’d just recently (within the past 2-3 months) moved to Florida with his partner to start a new life. Though he passed in Florida, most of his family, friends and former co-workers still live in NJ, so he was being flown back for viewing, mass and burial. Unfortunately, I can’t pay my last respects to my friend and co-worker because I won’t be back from PR until next week. Thinking back over the past three years, out of four people who’ve had hemorrhagic strokes that I’ve known well, myself included, I’m the sole survivor. It’s hard to swallow, especially knowing that hemorrhagic strokes are the least common, with the highest mortality rate, of the two types. It makes me question why I was spared. Do I have a life mission? I know I’ve touched on this briefly in a earlier post or two, but it is really hitting me hard now.

I love writing. I say it all the time and I try focusing on it every chance I get. I ask myself sometimes too, if that’s one of the reasons death escaped me; so I could write about the killer that is a stroke: both ischemic and hemorrhagic. Am I supposed to be an advocate for those who can no longer speak for themselves? For those who left this world before their time? Or for those who think it can never happen to them and don’t take care of themselves the way they should? I don’t know. But I know that I am going to start something or somewhere along those lines. Everyone that has died was younger than 50. Younger than me. Enough is enough. There is too much loss going on and it’s got to stop. I’ve had my blog for over a year and I love it. I write it under a pen name; always have. Dont know if I will much longer. I used it because I wasn’t really comfortable sharing my story or being myself, bearing my naked soul for the world to see. I wasn’t ready. Now, I don’t care anymore.

Heck, for my fiction, I might just keep the pen name since I have authors to help when their new books come out, reviews that I’ve promised to make and writing that I need to complete. Everyone already knows me as Lilica/Lily or some variation of the two. Works for me…plus, I like it.  🙂

I’m lucky to be alive. Period. Maybe next post I’ll formally introduce myself. I don’t know anyone who’d write a memoir under a pen name. That being said,

I have no more free time to give devastation and loss that has infiltrated my life and tried to suck me dry. Get the hell out of my way; I’ve got shit to do.      LE Blake

That’s all for today, my dear friends. I’m here. I’m strong. I’m determined. Most of all, I’m just pissed.

 

http://www.merckmanuals.com/home/brain_spinal_cord_and_nerve_disorders/stroke_cva/hemorrhagic_stroke.html http://www.strokeassociation.org/STROKEORG/AboutStroke/TypesofStroke/Types-of-Stroke_UCM_308531_SubHomePage.jsp http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/symptoms-of-a-hemorrhagic-stroke http://jomurphey.blogspot.com/

Coming Clean About My Stroke-Part6

So, I’m finally back after taking a brief two-week hiatus. I apologize for that. I’ve done most of my catching-up, but not all. I will catch up by the end of the week. It is now time for me to continue to the last few parts of my Series posts. There should be no more than three or four after this that will bring you to up to speed about how I’m doing physically, medically, emotionally and psychologically in my life today.

********************

The days after Christmas flew by. I was doing extremely well and, as I mentioned in Part 5, I graduated from the ‘Buzz-master’, as it affectionately came to be called. I was walking around more confidently with my walker, maneuvering the corridors like a pro. I did well on shower days and was able to wash myself with little to no assistance (of course, sitting on the shower chair). The only problem with shower days was the excruciating pain when the water hit any part of my left side. It was like fire. I was on Neurontin at the time because the doctor said it would help my ‘nerve pain’. I would take it at night before bed. At first it knocked me out. That’s about it. More on that another time.

I continued to kick butt in all my therapies. The therapists even went so far as to order my home supplies (port-o-potty-for those “I don’t think I can make it moments” (yeah, I know), shower chair, my very own walker). This development, of course, gave me hope that I would be going home in time for New Year’s, which was only a few days away. The doctor had a meeting with my case worker, my nurses, and all my therapists, and they all felt that even though I was progressing extremely quickly and doing very well, they were not comfortable enough with me going home in time for New Year’s. They all felt I needed a little more inpatient rehab time. I was upset, but not hysterically so. While I wanted to go home, I knew I still had work to do, so I didn’t fight it. I kept doing what I had to do; since the house I live in has a few stairs, that’s one thing I always did in PT, up and down the stairs.

Same in OT.  I did a great job overall, especially when it came to anything having to do with daily living – hair, teeth, shower, etc. Getting dressed wasn’t too bad as long as I wore big shirts (couldn’t lift left arm, compromise)  and tanks instead of bras (same). I could put on loose-fitting socks and pants, but I’d have to be sitting  in bed for socks and lying down for pants. It was a lot of work. I had the most trouble with the little things, buttoning small buttons, fishing out little items from the putty ball with my left hand, things like that. Although they gave me some trouble, I was able to take some of the items they gave me and work on them in my room and on my bed.

I know my precious Lhasa Apso Sophie came to visit me between Christmas and New Year’s. I love that hairy little thing so much! I don’t know what I’d do without her. She came one of the family visits. The rehab hospital allowed it every so often.

ST was giving me the most trouble. It wasn’t that I couldn’t communicate; for the most part, I could be understood clearly. My problem was my inability to find my words, to pull them out of my brain when I needed them. The problem was my inability to have simple conversations where there is a ‘change’ or a ‘conflict’ of some sort. It’s almost like in the books and stories we write. Once the ‘conflict’ came in, I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t focus, would become extremely flustered, would stutter so bad that you couldn’t understand what I was saying and would get to the point of frustration that I would burst into tears and shut down. Yup, I was going to need some work.

New Year’s Eve came and after a couple of morning therapies, the rest of the day was mine. Everyone I knew was working. I spoke to my daughter, my son-in-law and some close friends. I read a little, watched some TV, and practiced make-believe checkbook balancing and math problems. Then I watched some more TV. I think there were even some marathons going. I know I probably watched.  It had already been decided that everyone was going to do their own thing for New Year’s 2012, whether it was work, party, stay home or whatever.  I figured I was just going to watch TV and the countdown like I did when I was a kid. I didn’t even make it to the ball drop.

All of a sudden, it’s morning, it’s a new year, and I made it! Sweet. It’s a holiday and I’ve got the day all to myself and I plan; I plan for all the changes I’m going to make in 2012 and beyond. Why? Because I’m still alive. It’s now 2012 and by the grace of God, I’m still here. So, obviously, I have things to do…right?

I’m sorry Part 6 took me so long to get out to you, so I’ve already started on Part 7. Until next post, love you guys. And yes, I have a couple of between posts due; nothing like playing catchup is there? Hugs.

Related articles

• Coming Clean About My Stroke-Part5 (lilicasplace.com)
• Coming Clean About My Stroke-Part4 (lilicasplace.com)

Coming Clean About My Stroke-Part4

So, it was time to say goodbye to the hospital and hello to rehab. I was nervous and really excited. Excited simply because I actually made it out of the hospital. It was going to be an awkward trip for me. That I knew. I was all bundled up in bed with my bags on a chair next to my bed. I was waiting for the ambulance that was going to be transporting me from the hospital to the rehabilitation center. What was I going to do? Or say? These were my people. I may not know them, but it hurt my heart knowing that they were coming to get me; doing what I should

(c)LEBlake

be doing for someone else. I want to say they arrived about lunch time. I’m not exactly sure. They were professional and polite. It was a male and a female. That I remember. I couldn’t aid them in any way since my left side was useless and my speech was poor, so I sat there and smiled a crooked post stroke smile.

They put me on the stretcher and my belongings placed on top of me. Off we went. I was in the back with the female EMT and the male drove. She introduced herself to me as she was going through my file and started writing her report. As she went through my file, she noticed my occupation. “Oh wow. You’re an EMT too. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”  I did my best to let her know it was OK and began to explain what happened. She listened intently and never made me feel bad for struggling with my speech. She told me more than once that it was OK and she understood what I was trying to tell her. I still became so frustrated, that I couldn’t help but shed a few tears on the way.

I wish I could remember her name, but unfortunately I can’t. I saw her a few times during my stay at the rehab hospital. She made it a point, she eventually told me, to jump the job when she could to take me to my plasmapheresis appointments when she could. That made me feel good.

So we finally get to the rehab hospital. I’m taken to the brain injury unit and not the stroke unit. I guess because of the type of stroke; I don’t know. . . I’m greeted by the nurse and my case worker is there also. I’m taken to my assigned room and gently placed in a wheelchair by my new-found EMT friends. 🙂 I haven’t met my roommate yet because it is, in fact, lunchtime. While my paperwork was sorted out, I’m taken three doors down to the little dining area and served lunch. My first day was uneventful. I met my roommate later that evening. The damage from her bleed was worse than mine. She was a very nice, heavyset lady who couldn’t remember anything. She was a good twenty-five years older than me. Her brain injury was the result of a severe car accident. She was funny though. That I do remember.

The second day was not so great. It started out well enough. It had only been a few days since the Foley was removed, my muscles weren’t strong enough to keep me continent through the night. In that respect, I was like a child again and needed to be “changed”. Humiliating is an understatement when trying to explain how I felt. All I could do was apologize. All the reassurances didn’t make me feel better at all. Professionally, I know it’s natural for accidents to happen after a patient has been with a Foley for so long. God Bless them for trying to make me feel comfortable though!

I needed help from my bed to the wheelchair and could not go to the bathroom without assistance. That, I was OK with because I knew I couldn’t stand and turn by myself. Baby steps. I had my first Occupational Therapy session that morning and it consisted of learning how to wash my face, brush my teeth and hair, and attempting to get dressed (with her help, of course). That took my whole hour. Then came breakfast. Next was Physical Therapy. That wasn’t too bad either. I did most of my exercises in my wheelchair. After PT I was wheeled back to my room and helped into bed. I had lunch delivered to my room so I could watch TV. My Social Worker comes in soon after. She takes a seat next to me and has a stack of reading material in a binder that she went over with me briefly. She tells me I’ll probably be interested in reading it when I have some free time. It had information on stroke survivor support services, exercises, resources, articles and a ton of other information. I told her I would read it after I finished Speech Therapy, which I had after lunch.

So far so good, right?

So, the staff brings me my lunch and I enjoy it while watching whatever show it is on TV. When I’m done, the Speech Therapist comes to pick me up for my first Speech Therapy session. This session only lasted a half hour and it felt like an eternity. I was so flustered and confused from the start. I stuttered, stammered, and struggled to find the words I was looking for when she asked me questions. We tried to do a few simple exercises. I was able to complete some, but not all. The therapist said I did fine considering it was our first session. She gave me some ‘homework’, and we would go over it the next day. When the session was over, she wheeled me back to my room and asked if I wanted to go back to my bed. I told her no, that I wanted to read the binder that my Social Worker had given me. She said OK and left.

I took the binder off the tray table where I left it and opened it on my lap. The next thing I know, a bunch of brochures and papers fall out of the binder and onto the floor. I close the binder and figure I’ll just bend over and pick the papers up. As I lean forward and reach for the papers, my wheelchair topples over and I go with it, cracking my head on the floor as it goes. I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to do. I want to get up on my own, because I’m just a stubborn ass sometimes. I’m laying in a ball underneath my wheelchair demanding my body to move, to get the hell up, to DO SOMETHING! And she tried, she did. With everything I had in me, I tried to move the wheelchair and roll myself over, but I couldn’t do it. Defeat. I refused to call out for help. I stayed, curled up in that ball, amid all those papers with tears streaming down my face, not uttering a sound. I just kept praying that if I calmed down a little bit more and focused harder, I would be able to drag myself to the bed and up eventually. I don’t even know how long I was down before the nurse happened to pass by the room and notice me down and called whatever the code word is for a person on the ground, maybe twenty minutes or half hour. Next thing I know, there are three people in my room, lifting me up off the floor, checking to see if I’m OK and putting me back in bed.

The doctor had to come check me because I had a nice sized hematoma on my forehead. My family had to be called because that’s the facility protocol. From that moment on, for the next week or so, I was on protective ‘lock down’. My wheelchair and bed were fitted with a device that would sound an alarm when it sensed that I was trying to get up. Really?!? Talk about punishment.

That was the second most depressing day I had while at inpatient rehab. I think about how helpless I felt that day and know that I’ve come a long, long way.

That’s it for this week’s post. I hope to have Part 5 up by next week some time. As always, love you guys!

Related articles

• Why Are Stroke Rates Rising in Young People? (everydayhealth.com)
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Coming Clean About My Stroke-Part1

Physical therapy had gone well for my knee, back and hand. I had lived with some friends in NJ since I had separated from my partner in August. I would get picked up on weekends to come back to PA. We would talk about the problems that led to our separation and if there was any possibility of reconciliation. It didn’t really look that way to me, but we continued to talk about it and I continued spending my weekends in PA, from Friday to Sunday.

NOVEMBER 20, 2011

We had just gotten to PA from NJ. I had promised one of my roommates that I would finish the first draft of his term paper on Assisted Suicide for one of his classes. 😦 My ex was in the family room downstairs watching a football game. It must have been about 9pm or so. At some point, I had to go to the bathroom, so I went upstairs. I got up and felt a tremendous heat from the back of my right foot that rose up my body. Then it was like a rubber band snapped the back of my neck. It was the worst pain I had ever felt; yet it only lasted about 30 seconds. Immediately after, I had the worst wave of nausea hit me. I knew that something was terribly wrong, but I didn’t know what. I called out my ex’s name but didn’t get a response until the fourth time I called. At that point, I was practically screaming.

We both worked EMS and as soon as my ex came upstairs, I said I needed to go to the hospital. I don’t usually go to the hospital for anything. I hate hospitals. All I had to say was something is NOT RIGHT and we NEED TO GO NOW. That was all it took. I was in pajamas. I put on my sneakers with help. I could barely walk by myself. My ex got me to the car and helped me into the passenger side, and left. The last thing I remember after leaving the house was reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over again. We weren’t half way to the hospital before I began to seize in the car and vomit myself. (I was given this information long after my return home from rehab.) My ex considered pulling over to call an ambulance, but knew it would be quicker to haul ass in the car.

I do have some vague memories at the Emergency Department; of being wheeled into the CT room, looking at my left arm jerking uncontrollably and wondering what was going on, doctors and nurses buzzing around me, but not quite comprehending what they were saying to me, hearing a loud whirring noise, feeling huge, heavy headphones on my ears and a flight medic telling me that everything was alright. That was it.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

The CT scan showed an extensive bilateral sub-arachnoid hemorrhage. I was flown by Medivac that night to the nearest Level I Trauma Center because my hospital was not equipped to care for me. In the early morning hours of November 22, I underwent a right frontal craniotomy for the clipping of a pericallosal anterior cerebral aneurysm rupture. I had been re-intubated later in the week secondary to post surgery seizures.

Sometime after surgery, a Hematologist was brought in to check my blood work because some numbers were off. I was diagnosed with an idiopathic case of Thrombotic Thrombocytopenic Purpura (TTP), which is a rare blood disorder that causes blood clots to form in the small blood vessels around the body, and leads to a low platelet count (thrombocytopenia). I’d never had any hematological issues in the past, that’s why it is classified as idiopathic in nature (arising spontaneously or from an obscure or unknown cause). I’ll explain more about treatment I underwent in one of the later posts.

The first week and a half after surgery was “wait and see” because there were so many complications. More than once staff had to stop visitation for everyone except immediate family. It was at this point my (full-time) supervisors had a meeting about what to do if the worst case scenario were to play out. . .I died. I worked for the City; even though it is a small one, the EMS agency I worked for (and technically, still do) was close and tight-knit. The EMTs wouldn’t have worked if one of their own had “fallen”. They were figuring out who they would ask to cover the City for my funeral if it were to happen. To this day, I still find myself having difficulty wrapping my brain around how close I came to not being anymore.  Even though I still have bad days when the pain is really bad or I feel depressed because my focus is worse than usual, I know I’m still luckier than a lot of others. The smell of fresh rain, Sophie’s kisses on my cheeks, and the fact that I can still hug my family and friends is a constant reminder to me. I thank and love the Powers that Be (God) always for my second chance at Life.

I went off on a bit of a tangent there, sorry. . .

I will continue with Part 2 in the next few days. I need a breather. Seriously.

Love you guys.

 

Welcome!

 

Hello all! I started this blog under the pen name Lilica (Lily) Blake in February of 2013,  and welcomed everyone to my little corner of the world. I am was somewhat new to the world of blogging, but I’ve gotten better since then, thanks to an amazing network of blogging buddies and friends that I’ve made. I started this blog to chronicle my writing journey, but then it began morphing into my struggles with health recovery and personal losses. I’m not going to get into it on my About page since most of it is contained in the blog itself.

In a nutshell though, life had a funny way of getting me back into writing.  I was a single mother at 22, worked full-time, went to school, occasionally did side work in addition to my obligations and responsibilities. They were all priority. After rupturing an aneurysm in my brain in November of 2011, and having to undergo emergency brain surgery secondary to a hemorrhagic stroke, I finally realized that life is far too short to continue putting my dreams on hold. That’s when I started lilicasplace.

When I started blogging about the struggles I was having, I thought this was a good outlet for me. I was able to get my thoughts on paper (screen) and practice my skills… right? When I suffered losses of people close to me from the same thing I had, it was a call to action for me to start the second blog I have, called My Miracle Life. You should stop by some time. Somewhere in there, I came clean and introduced myself by my given name.

Let’s do this again. Hi, my name is Eva Solar and lilicasplace is the blog I run under my pen name for anything writing or book related and My Miracle Life is my second blog where I post about life post brain hemorrhage and life’s little celebrations. There I use my given name; don’t worry, some of my earliest friends and followers still get confused!

I’m still on my journey towards publishing my first novel; it’ll just take longer than I expected. I’ve been a loyal member of a wonderful writer’s group founded by the amazing Alex J. Cavanaugh called the Insecure Writer’s Support Group since my second or third month blogging. We ‘meet’ the first Wednesday of every month. If you are a writer as insecure as I am, this is the place to go! They have amazing resources, a website, Facebook page, and just published a FREE e-book, The Insecure Writer’s Support Group Guide to Publishing and Beyond. I’m proud to say I was able to contribute an article to the Anthology.

Any advice, comments, resources or feedback offered will be humbly accepted and appreciated, as always.  I follow a lot of blogs, read a lot of articles and get a lot of eBooks. I’m always trying to research. I’m a firm believer in helping our fellow writers with their accomplishments by helping them promote their work, posting book reviews, author interviews, and blog tours. We should always have each others backs. I’m just sayin’. 🙂

You can tweet me, comment me, Facebook me, Pinterest me, email me…they’re all good! I even have boards on my Pinterest that look for protagonist and antagonist types to inspire me. Feel free to look me up and pin away!! If you follow my boards, I’ll be sure to invite you. I love inspiration.

Thanks for stopping by my blog and have a great day.

Lily aka Eva… Now that you all know my real name~  🙂

(Updated January 24, 2015)

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