Counting my Blessings

The caller said, “This is Innovis ER, please hold.” Then I heard my dad’s voice in the background. Finally he got on the line and said, “I’ve had a stroke.”  I am grateful he was able to call and that it hadn’t been some nurse or doctor. He actually drove himself to the ER. Dad likes to tease, and he said the only tricky thing was telling the gas and brake pedals apart.

On the two-hour drive to Fargo, I kept checking in with my feelings because I simply wasn’t too worked up. There was an inner knowing, a reassurance that everything would be all right. My beloved husband kept checking in with me, too, and preparing me. I am grateful for a partner who has my back.

Dad was just being moved from the ER to Critical Care when we got there. He’s a bit of an eccentric, a performer. For twenty-seven years he was artistic producer and conductor for the Fargo Moorhead Opera Company. Dad has a loud voice and a commanding presence. If you are not sure if you’ve ever met him, then you haven’t met him. He’s a little bit unforgettable. Mostly, this is mortifying to me. Let me give an example. Many years ago Dad was having stomach problems. His doctor ordered some crazy test to track Dad’s brainwaves. He was to wear a contraption on his head for 24 hours. Most people would be fitted and then go home to watch TV or nap. Dad went car shopping.

As Dad was being wheeled out of the ER, one nurse admonished him to behave himself, and another suggested he not sing (so loud).

The doctor told us that the weakness in Dad’s hand and leg, and his slurred speech would take several weeks to improve noticeably. He warned Dad that his singing would be affected because of the speech problems. “You can just perform drinking ditties,” I said. But Dad was having none of this. By Thursday, two days after the stroke, I found him in the hospital walking (sprinting?) around the halls and passing the nurses’ station, according to him, 50 times. I am grateful that Dad has such a strong will.

I spent all day Thursday with Dad, getting him settled into his house, hiring a cleaning service, helping him do little things like put a new needle on his old record player. His fine motor skills aren’t great and when he walks, he looks as though he is going to tip over. He has been cleared to drive.

That Dad has recovered so much, so quickly is a testimony of the power of prayer, and also the great power of the mind. Edgar Cayce said the mind is the builder.

But there was another kind of miracle going on for me while spending time with Dad. It is as though I have been given some special grace to have patience and listen respectfully to what Dad’s needs are rather than simply telling him, as I’ve done in the past. The less I pushed him to reform, from some sense of duty or fear of losing him, the more I could tell he felt calm and empowered. Dad kept saying to his many callers, “I guess I have to lose weight and can’t eat salt or sugar anymore.” And then he’d talk about needing sugar in his coffee. In the past, I would have thrown away the sugar and done a thorough search of the house for contraband candy bars and chips.

I don’t need to control my dad so much anymore, although I still feel the need to apologize or explain his behavior to strangers when we are in public. That is a different grace I am still waiting for. I am grateful for the patience and grace to just be, rather than to react and over-react.

I talked to Dad this morning to see how he did on his first night alone at home. He was up early and had already mowed the lawn. Then he told me about falling off the riding mower. I’m still unsure about if he was kidding me or not. He said he’d leaned over to pick up a branch and fell. For lunch, he was going to have a ham sandwich. He thought the ham might still be good. Dad hates wasting food. He’d talked to his neighbor who told him that once you have a stroke, you’d have another, and another until the BIG one. “That is her belief,” I told Dad. I am grateful that Dad hasn’t had food poisoning, mind poisoning, or a mower blade cut off his leg.

There may be a moment when this grace lifts a little and I feel afraid of losing my father from this earth plane and wish I could go back and control him better. There may be a moment when I break down and need to cry like a little girl who just wants to be protected by her strong daddy. In those moment, I know there will be another sort of grace at work, the kind that allows me to be gentle with myself until I too can recover my strength.