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On April 17th 2005, I apparently had a stroke. It happened on a hike in the woods in South West section of Monson, my home town.
It was fortuitous that I was not alone, having promised Donald P. that we would take a walk on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Don is the retired husband of a classmate of mine,
with problems of his own. He handled the situation well.
The rationale for the hike was to find the old stage coach road which ran between Springfield and a mineral springs in Stafford Springs, one that John Adams & wife were known to frequent.
One section of this old road is known (from Lower Hampden Road the Bumstead Road.) it passed through Stage Coach Lake (from which the artificial lake/pond got its name.)
I had speculated that the Western section of road ran in back (south) of my Brother's house, crossing a discontinued section of Alden Thrasher Road.
I had previously walked the East branch of the road up to Butler Road and on this occasion, wanted to hike the Westward branch toward Hampden.
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We parked Don's truck at my Brother's house (about 5 miles from my home in downtown Monson) and started our walk, down (South) on Alden Thrasher toward Bradway Road, the going was easy, and we missed the crossroad, and ended up at a pond on an estate just short of Bradway Road.
We doubled back and took the Westward branch of the intended old road.
We walked down about a mile or so until there was no sign of a road on which to continue - we passed at least one cellar hole and a still standing outhouse, which probably not there during Adams' day.
At what appeared to be the end of road, I thought I saw something of a structure off to the North, and I went to get a closer look.
That was about 3:00 PM when the fun started.
My body must have sensed something, my mind did not recognize, because I sat down on a rock and it was down hill for me from there on.
I never lost consciousness, but my right side was not responding, as I attempted to light my pipe, and gradually fell from my sitting position to the floor of the forest.
I attempted to get up by myself and with Don's help, but to no avail.
After some discussion, Don went for help, and I was left alone, for how long I do not know, I think about 45 minutes before I heard voices off in the distance and I yelled 'over here !'
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In the time between Don's departure and when the search party showed up, I never lost consciousness, and attempted to right myself, but all I could manage was a hands & knees position, my right side particularly my lower extremity would not respond - I realized that I was in trouble, but I did not have a sense of fear, just frustration.
My rescuers finally arrived and complemented me on my orange shell (making it easy for them to spot.) I was noted for wearing it when walking the back roads (about 100 miles worth, ) They then proceeded to cut that orange shell (the one they just complemented) off me, so they could take my blood pressure, and other vitals, and put in an IV, saline solution, I presume.
Now I was on my back with some sort of a board under me, they quickly immobilized my head, and all I could see for the trip to helicopter were the sky and those naked trees.
They talked (the first responders. not the trees) to me all the way, and informed me of what they were doing, from the board to the mule (apparently an ATV with a flat surface on it for transporting an injured person (I never got a look at it because my head was immobilized,
all I could see was blue sky punctuated by naked (leafless) trees (the trees, not the first responders) rising to meet it. )
The series of questions they kept asking was did I know where I was, what day, month, and year it was, I understood why they were asking and cooperated.
This continued, in the copter and at Baystate, until one of the questions was who is the president, which apparently my answer, or the manner in which I responded (displeasure) made them laugh.
My hat is off to Don, for acting appropriately under a stressful situation, and the Monson Police & Fire Departments for their professionalism - by the way, I did get my hat and mangled orange shell back.
On the way out to my ride in the sky,
I asked them to call my Brother David, but apparently they couldn't reach him.
However, Don's wife, Gail, asked a neighbor, also a classmate of ours to go over to our house, to assure my 91 year old Mother that everything was under control and to find out who to call.
- Gail P. and Joannie W., you both done good, thanks to both of you.
Family & friends support through this ordeal has been amazing, but not unexpected - while my Mother needed more support than I did, they were there, siblings, offspring, cousins, neighbors, everybody.
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Back to me, and my journey. We arrived at the copter, so they told me, but the only confirmation I had was the underside of the rotor blade.
There were two people inside, who again asked the same questions, but this time I saw helmets, of the sort you see on pilots in the movies.
After a short 5 minute ride to Baystate emergency room, the same questions, plus what medications I was on, were asked. (the first responders may have also asked, but I do not remember)
I do not remember how long I was in emergency before getting transferred to the fourth floor, but it was that evening, I do not remember the doctors, but I do remember I could not move my right leg nor toes and my right arm wasn't much use either. I did have feelings in both when they jabbed me, but my leg and toes would not respond to normal commands.
At around 2:00 AM the following Monday morning, (my normal time to get up to urinate) I tried to move my toes on right foot, and they responded, but I still could not raise my leg. Things continued to improve that AM. They got me on my feet less than 18 hours after my apparent stroke, but I could not walk, I could not get that damned right leg to move, but within 26 hours I was walking on my own.
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As soon as I proved to them that I could walk unsupervised, they couldn't hold me down
- I walked around and around the Wesson ward, gaining strength & stability. Sleeping was another matter - I was uncomfortable & frustrated when I couldn't get my hip to move, to change positions - I even had difficult getting into bed, after my initial walkng forays, but that too, improved in short period of time.
The tests they administered, regular echo sonogram , MRI, TEE (echo sonogram? - which was not half a laugh (TEE HEE) which was another view of the heart via a sensor they place down one's throat into the stomach, they had to put out for that one. And for each test, I got a free ride on my back or in a wheelchair, as if I were an invalid, which I was when I got there, but not long after.
My speech was somewhat affected, I could talk, but my responses to questions were abbreviated - I could not find the words for my normal, wise-ass, I mean, more witty & verbose replies.
Plus, I was more emotional. Again, it was frustrating on both accounts.
Monday. I had visitors, my Sister Jane, Robin, my Daughter, my Son Eric, and my friend Paul, and lastly, on Tuesday, my Daughter brought my Mother in, in time to hear their plans to send me home. My Brother David, picked me up Tuesday about 4:00 PM, and about 48 hours after the initial event.
The staff at Baystate was professional and I was compliant, although I was impatient at times, since I couldn't read (no glasses)- I was bored.
But my tale doesn't end here - when I got home, my family expressed their disappointment that I had declined physical therapy, but rather agreed to a evaluation from a VNA person (Linda C.)
who showed up on Wednesday - fortunately my Son was present to witness the evaluation, which confirmed my assertion that I did not need therapy, and another evaluation was scheduled for the following week.
The issue was my ability to navigate the stairs down to the basement, my Bear Cave, where my computer is.
Eric was ready to move it upstairs, which I regarded as a family attempt to curb my pipe smoking.
She cleared me for the navigation of the stairs, and gave me some exercises for the my lazy leg.
Eric also had other issues, such as living will, health care proxy, an issue made public with the legal struggle over the Florida case of the comatose woman; and alternate names on checking & brokerage accounts.
He was diplomatic & tactful.
I agreed to most, but stated that I wanted to designate the health care proxy to someone who would not benefit from my demise - not so much because I did not trust them to make an objective decision, but the internal conflict it might cause them, and people questioning their decision.
Subsequent discussion was on a GPS 911 cell phone service.
I have resumed my daily routine, getting up before 6:00 AM, walking 0.5 miles to the Woodbine Country Store to purchase a newspaper, (getting & giving grief (teasing)) and across Main Street to the Norcross House (cafe) for coffee and a bagel, reading the paper & doing my daily crossword puzzle and being entertained by the good natured teasing among the regulars & the staff, again, getting and giving words of questionable wisdom & wit. Then home to Mother and down into the Bear Cave to work on my computer.
Once again, I wish to pay tribute to the first responders (Monson Police & Fire,) to Donald P. for his efforts on my behalf, and to thank Gail & Joannie,
plus family & friends for their coverage & care of Mother in my temporary absence.
Waxing philosophically - Living in a small town does have its advantages, where one is known & recognized, not that the initial response to the crisis would have been different.
The difference lies in the degree of care & concern afforded me & my family when the news got around, and
not because I was the guy in the orange shell walking the back roads of Monson, but because I shared a history with many of the other townies, or my family might have known their family, or I might have dated their Mother in High School.
It does not matter that I moved away and spent 2/3s of my life in other places.
I kept coming back and now have come home to stay.
I do not know how really special Monson is, I would imagine similar bonds can and do exist in many other small towns and perhaps in larger towns, and even within neighborhoods in cities,
but I do know that Monson, my hometown, is quite special to me, and it didn't take stroke in the woods to realize this, only to better appreciate it.
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