Tag Archives: Laura Ann Garren

Taking Care of the Caretaker

1 Jul

Here’s what happens when I have a flareup of my IBS/fibromyalgia. I awake exhausted, barely able to get out of bed. Everything hurts. My gut roils. I don’t feel that way every day, but when I do I can barely function. I have suffered bouts of increasing frequency, intensity and duration since summer of 2018, and so have had to ramp up my efforts to find effective treatment.

I can manage my symptoms, to a degree. Controlling stress is paramount, because it can trigger flare-ups. I maintain a very restrictive diet, which entails avoiding certain “trigger” foods that contain FODMAPs. These include a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, sauces, dressings, mixed spices, bread, cake, cereal, crackers, pasta, almost any processed food. I willingly forego eating what I know will make me sick; the problem is that triggers often lurk in other, seeming “safe” foods. One slip and I am sidelined for days.

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My doctor, Doug, has been very helpful. He referred me to two gastroenterologists,  neither of whom addressed my main concern, the IBS. Both wanted to order an expensive, invasive test to “rule out celiac”; I requested a test for Small Intestine Bacteria Overgrowth (SIBO), but neither would order it, so I got a home testing kit. The results were positive. Doug prescribed Xifaxan, an antibiotic that kills only the bad bacteria in the gut. I stayed fairly well for a few months, but my symptoms eventually returned. Due to the danger of resistance, repeated courses of any antibiotic are discouraged, so I had to consider other options.

Doug ended up referring me to the Mayo Clinic Gastroenterology Department (Arizona campus) where I can consult with IBS specialists. The cost of air fare, lodging, transportation, incidents and out-of-pocket medical expenses are high, but thanks to my wonderful support system, I have managed to raise funds for the trip. (I set up a crowd fundraiser through Go Fund Me.)

Thanks for reading and, to all who have helped me past, present and future. I couldn’t take care of myself, or Chuck, without you!

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

 

I Don’t Look Sick

13 Feb

I don’t look sick, but I am. I have an invisible illness, fibromyalgia, which causes  intermittent pain throughout the body; arthritis; fatigue and brain fog; and, possibly, my tinnitus. I also have irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), depression and occasional bouts of anxiety. All are connected to each other and to stress.IMG_2054

Stress produces harmful hormones that in large doses can damage the immune system, causing a variety of autoimmune conditions, such as I have developed in the time that I’ve been taking care of Chuck since his stroke in 2007 (and about which I published a book, Stroke Happens, in 2017). The fibromyalgia pain and the unpredictability of my IBS symptoms (bloating, cramps, constipation, diarrhea, fatigue and brain fog) make it difficult for me work reliably.

My symptoms have been sneaking up for years, but suddenly increased in intensity, frequency and duration in the summer of 2018 after a particularly stressful personal interaction. I have submitted to dry needling, physical therapy, food sensitivity testing and other labs; I have sought medical help from specialists, but none in my are (South Carolina) were able to help me, so I have been referred by my general practitioner to the Mayo Clinic.

Meanwhile, I am learning to let go of the things I can’t control–in other words, most of life’s events–and control what I can–that is, my reaction to those events. I practice yoga and meditation; exercise; engage in a hobby (bowling); schedule time daily to “play” (spending time with my dogs in the backyard); eat well (I’m a vegetarian); don’t smoke; and am at a healthy weight. I get an occasional massage, which is one of the best therapies for pain because it suppresses the pain response and stimulates the release of serotonin and dopamine, the feel-good hormones.

Lately, I located a podcast, Like Mind, Like Body, which featured an interview with a doctor specializing in pain. Afterward, I ordered his book, Unlearn Your Pain, and have been reading the material, which includes worksheets and writing assignments. I also subscribed to an app, Curable, which offers meditation, brain training, expressive writing and education designed to help people recover from chronic pain. I can report a significant reduction in my pain since I started these regimes, and I highly recommend them.

My physical manifestations of stress make my life more challenging that it has to be. I’m sure I’m not the only caretaker–or victim of stress–who is suffering from such complaints. I understand how frustrating it is, and I hope that by sharing my experience, I can help someone else find a path to healing. Please feel free to reach out with your experiences with chronic pain, caretaking and healing.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

The Dark Side of Caretaking

4 Jul

This entry is about the dark side of caretaking. I am grateful for many things and am fortunate in many ways, but I have additional emotions that come up from time to time and I need to express them. I often feel:

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  • Conflicted
  • Constrained
  • Trapped
  • Overwhelmed
  • Terrified
  • Anxious
  • Guilty
  • Resentful
  • Remorse
  • Sorrowful
  • Depressed
  • Angry
  • Lonely
  • Frustrated
  • Abandoned

It takes tremendous energy to fight these feelings. For instance, when I look at Chuck sitting in front of the TV day after day, I feel so sorrowful that he will never get any better. Sometimes I resent him because he is the reason I feel constrained; then I immediately feel guilty and remorseful. I feel conflicted most of the time because many of my feelings are at odds with each other.

I don’t always acknowledge or express my feelings because it’s exhausting. Inevitably, however, they leak out at some point (usually at night, when I wake up with a panic attack). The inability to move on and the responsibility taking care of Chuck sometimes grind me down. I feel abandoned when people seem to forget or acknowledge my situation.

I could continue, but I think this message delivers the information well enough. I guess what I’m asking is for people to understand and acknowledge the unchanging nature of my predicament.

I would also like to add that I deeply appreciate the various and overwhelming kinds of support I’ve received: money, surprise gifts, cards, calls and visits. Susie comes three or four times a year. Lisa, who lives next door, helps with shopping, preparing meals and cooking and emergencies, big or small. Dorian is always available to lend emotional support and encouragement.

Thank you for reading. If you would like to learn more about my experience of caretaking, please check out my book, Stroke Happens.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

Let Me Tell You About My Book

25 Oct

Stroke Happens: A Caretaker’s Memoir tells the story of my husband’s stroke and my role as his caretaker after he suffered a massive stroke in 2007, at the age of 56. I decided to self-publish through Amazon because, after submitting the manuscript to more than 30 publishing companies, I couldn’t get anyone to read it. (I still wonder, “Why do publishers have submission guidelines on their websites if they weren’t even going to look at submissions?” I still don’t have an answer.)

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Finally, I overcame my reservations about self-publishing, realizing I have nothing to prove since I published The Chattooga River: A Natural and Cultural History (2013) through The History Press.

If you follow my blog and find it helpful, please read my book for more a detailed account of my journey through the tumultuous emotional landscape of stroke recovery. I hope my experience can help others find answers, feel validated and reach acceptance in their role as a caretaker; or simply be informed by my description of one aspect of the human condition

Thank you for reading. Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

Suffering is Optional

20 Apr

For Robert

I attended a beautiful and moving memorial service yesterday for a woman who died suddenly and too young. I did not know her but went through school with her brother; her sister and mine are close and my sister couldn’t make it, so I stood for the family. Her father was our beloved family vet, and the death of his daughter makes the second child he has lost.

The service, as these things do, got me thinking about the nature of life and death, love and loss, and how we try to make sense of it all and sometimes don’t succeed. Someone read a passage from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ account of her research on what happens after death. I found myself greatly moved by the poignancy of her ideas, although I’m not sure I believe in an afterlife. I wonder if these are stories to us by our egos, terrified by the thought of annihilation.

My former classmate spoke about his sister and his great love for her, which in itself was heartbreaking and beautiful. But he then had the courage to speak of what he called his rebelliousness, alluding, I think to his own doubts. Having lost two siblings seems almost unbearable; but he also has watched his father lose two children. He carries more than his own pain. He implied that he also carries profound questions, if not anger, about the unfairness of it. Why, in fact, does life have to be so hard?

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I have asked myself this on many occasions. When I feel myself being sucked into this question, which cannot be answered, I try to recall some wise words I once read.  Bad Things Happen to Good People was written by the Rabbi Harold Kushner, upon learning that his three-year-old son had a cruel, incurable disease and would die young. I find it difficult to relate the eloquence and profundity of the book in just a few words, but the underlying principal was that the question we should ask ourselves is not, “Why?” but “Why not?

By way of illustration, a parable: once a woman lamenting the death of her only son approached Buddha. She begged him to bring her son back to life. Buddha told her to bring him a poppy seed from the household of a family that had not known tragedy. She went from door to door, only to return to the Buddha empty handed but filled with the understanding that no one gets out unscathed.

Our lot in life, which Thomas Hobbes described as “nasty, brutish and short,” includes suffering. It is inescapable. There are innumerable ways to suffer–death, disease, disablement, divorce, to name but a few—and the only control we have over these events is our reaction to them. We grieve, we get angry, we torture ourselves with regret. In the end, though,  we desire peace and happiness, and we must try find it despite the tragedies that befall us.

I rely on stories like Kushner’s, or Buddha’s, to help myself find peace, which can be so elusive. Everyone suffers; no one is exempt. Since I have accepted this simple, profound concept, I have found it easier to live. Life does not have to be nasty and brutish, at least not all the time; especially if we remember that pain is inevitable but suffering is optional.

If you are reading this and you are suffering, I wish you peace.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

Strokenomics

20 Mar

Strokenomics refers to when you find that you or a loved one has suffered a stroke and are forced to live within new means. Hopefully, you have invested in a supplemental long-term disability. If not, I strongly urge you to do so before someone has an unexpected health catastrophe. It bears repeating: if you have not already done so, buy extra long-term disability insurance, which will provide much-needed extra income if you or your spouse become disabled or chronically ill. Furthermore, it will enable your or the loved one to be placed, should it be necessary, in a private healthcare facility as opposed to one run by the state; or it will offset in-home care, which can be very expensive but can greatly relief the burden of caretaking/enable you to be cared for in your home.

Unfortunately, our timing was bad. Chuck and I were on the verge of buying a policy when he had his stroke, and the difference in our disability income would have been as much as $3,000 per month. Needless to say, I have found ways to economize. I’m sharing in case anyone else in a similar situation might benefit.

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First, I buy 95% of my clothes (and household items such as glasses, pots and pans, etc.) from thrift shops. Even if I could afford to buy new clothes, at this point I don’t know that I would (unless I win the lottery, my secondary plan). An additional benefit is that I’m not supporting outsourcing, and my carbon footprint may be reduced by about 10%, according to Patrick Barkham in an article, “10:10 Fashion: Can I Give Up Buying Clothes for a Year?” in the on-line version of “The Guardian.”

Giving up meat (I’m a vegetarian for moral, ethical, environmental and economic reasons) will reduce the grocery bill, as well as lower your carbon footprint and diminish cruelty to factory-farmed animals. According to a study conducted by the Environmental Working Group, “Lamb, beef, cheese, pork and farmed salmon generate the most greenhouse gases. With the exception of salmon, they also tend to have the worst environmental impacts, because producing them requires the most resources – mainly chemical fertilizer, feed, fuel, pesticides and water – and pound for pound, they generate more polluting manure.”

Some other ways to save include:

  • Eat out less.
  • Don’t go to the movies.
  • Lower your thermostat a couple of degrees by day and even more by night.
  • Recycle paper you use for the printer by using the other side for drafts; or rip them up and use to jot down notes or lists.
  • Sell stuff you don’t want on eBay.
  • Clip coupons.
  • Look for bargains or two-for-one sales.
  • Buy secondhand furniture from consignment stores.
  • Buy a used car, or at least a low-mileage or hybrid vehicle.
  • Don’t get another pet.
  • Buy lottery tickets. (Just kidding. Sort of.)

As I mentioned, I’m sure there are additional ways apply strokenomics. I hope mine help someone out there!

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

Get What You Need

16 Feb

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Chuck loved Valentine’s Day. He would draw me a little cartoon in the morning before going to work. When he came home, he would bring flowers and a card. For a few years after the stroke, I keenly felt the loss of this silly holiday. Everyone (at least on Facebook) was getting flowers or candy or making plans for dinner. My sweetheart, once so thoughtful, doesn’t even realize it’s Valentine’s Day; and if he did, he would be unable to get me a gift. For a long time, I felt sorry for myself on V-Day, but then on one February 14th, I decided to feel gratitude and was moved to share on Facebook:

“I was tempted to feel sorry for myself today, but then I remembered all the times Chuck brought me flowers when it wasn’t even St. Valentine’s Day. I’m lucky that I found someone who genuinely caring, thoughtful, generous, and so many other wonderful things. He still is, even if he can’t express it in the tradition ways. I’d rather have him here, as is, than all the flowers, candy, and ‘Be Mine’ cards in the world. Plus, he’s given me the biggest gift of all: a way to express MY love in a way most people aren’t called upon to do, by taking care of him.”

Forty-eight people “liked” the post and 15 people commented.

“Laura, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day!!! What a fabulous valentine for your husband!!! What a beautiful spirit you have!”

“I don’t know your story, but I’ve never heard a sweeter Valentine!”

I was so touched. Each time I got another replay, I felt I had received a little Valentine.

In the words of the Rolling Stones, “You don’t always get what you want…but if you try sometimes…you get what you need.”

If you would like to learn more, please read my book, Stroke Happens.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

How to Communicate With Someone Who Has No Language

4 Dec

When I tell people that Chuck’s stroke left him without language, the first question is usually, “Can he read?” Is reading language? Yes? Then the answer is, “No, he cannot read. Or write, or speak.” Furthermore, his comprehension of spoken language is poor.

Chuck has aphasia, a condition that can result from a stroke or other head injury and results in a loss of language; and apraxia, the ability to manipulate the musculature of the mouth in order to produce sound. (Which is beside the point in his case, sense he has no verbal capacity.) So how do we communicate? One way is through supportive communication. I’ll explain it as it was to me, then reveal which techniques worked best for us; you may find some of these suggestions helpful.

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How to Engage in Supportive Communication

1. Choose a time when Chuck is fresh and a place with few or no distractions. People who suffer from the affects of a stroke or head injury tire easily and are easily distracted by extraneous noise or activity.

2. Make sure Chuck has his dry-erase board and marker, picture dictionary, photos and photo albums.

  • Dry-erase and marker. The dry-erase board and marker were absolutely brilliant assistive tools and were suggested not by a speech therapist but by my niece Anna, who is a counselor and an artist. Chuck, himself a skilled artist, is able to sketch representative, descriptive, often comical drawings to indicate ideas and needs.
  • Picture dictionary. Chuck was provided a picture dictionary while at the speech therapy “camp,” but found it troublesome to use. Too much was going on in the illustrations, say a market full of people, food, items and activities. To identify a single item—let’s say an apple (to indicate he wanted one for a snack)—took too much effort. His vision deficit probably contributed: he has a right field cut, meaning he lacks vision on the inside of his left eye and the outside of his right eye, a result of the stroke.
  • Photos and photo albums. Photos and albums worked well for Chuck because he recognized himself and others and had positive associations and memories connected to the people and events in the pictures. They also prompted name retrieval. Part of Chuck’s cognitive deficits include not being able to visualize whom I’m referring when I say the person’s name; he has to actually see the person or a photo thereof.

3. Ask him if he has a topic he would like to discuss, using one or all of the tools above.

4. When he points to or draws something, ask him to say it. Give him time to formulate the word, and ask if he would like you to write the word. If he continues to struggle after about 20 seconds, or if he asks for help, prompt him. If he cannot get it by himself, say the word and have him repeat it. Be patient. Give Chuck time to process, prepare, and articulate. This process will be fluid, so continue using the technique described as the conversation moves from topic to topic.

5. Spend the same amount of time telling him about yourself or something of interest to you or how your day is going. Speak slowly, repeat frequently, and use the dry-erase board to write key words and illustrate concepts in order to increase his comprehension. Newspapers and magazines are a good source of topics. Be patient. Give him time to understand your message. Repeat the message as needed.

6. After about a half-hour, progress to an exercise or game.

Other Things to Remember

If you are talking to Chuck, look directly at him. I have noticed that since Chuck is unable to contribute to a conversation, people tend to ignore him because, I suppose, he cannot contribute. Ignoring him is not only rude but also can intensify the isolation and loneliness frequently experienced by people who have aphasia.

Keep it short and simple. Chuck gets frustrated when someone talks to him and he doesn’t understand, or when he tries to express an idea but cannot make himself understood. Yes/no questions are best. Don’t talk too much; it’s okay to just share space with him.

I’ve been told that a hallmark of aphasia can include a disinterest in the lives of others (as well as other personality changes). I’m not sure if this is organic/structural or the result of being the center of attention during a long period of rehab. Chuck definitely has become detached since his stroke, his emotional repertoire drastically reduced. Luckily, he is usually in a pleasant mood, which is not always the case with stroke survivors.

I hope someone finds these ideas helpful and applicable to their particular situation. If you would like to read more about our experience with stroke, recovery and caretaking, please read my book, Stroke Happens.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

Resources for the Stroke Survivor/Caretaker

3 Dec

Many stroke survivors do get full function back. I decided to assume that Chuck would, and I became prolifically proactive, spending hours surfing the Net looking for alternative or supplemental treatments and assistive devices. I am sharing my findings in case they might help someone else.

Clinical Trials
Clinical trials are free but experimental, designed to test new therapies or medical treatments. We ended up not pursuing this route, but here are some sources, typically sponsored by the federal government and private hospitals, universities, and research centers.

http://www.stroke.org/site/PageServer?pagename=clinicaltrials
http://www.strokecenter.org/trials/
http://www.centerwatch.com/clinical-trials/listings/condition/142/stroke

Constraint Induced Therapy (CIT)
I read about CIT in The Brain That Changes Itself, by Norman Diodge. CIT involves restricting the use of the functional hand and thereby forcing the affected arm to work. The action of movement, even if a therapist manually produces it, causes neurons to fire. The arm communicates to the brain, “Hey, I’m still here! I need neurons.” Treatment takes place daily and lasts several hours. This kind of intensive therapy has been shown to be more effective than conventional therapy, which usually takes place three times a week. In order to qualify for this program, potential participants must have the ability to make a fist, which Chuck never was able to do.

The Mirror Box
The brain is the most complex organ of all the organs, containing the universe and the sum of all we know, as well as managing all our involuntary bodily functions and reflexes; which is why we don’t have to think about breathing. When brain cells are killed, as in a stroke, they don’t grow back. Luckily, the brain has plasticity; it can compensate for such loss with the help of neurons, which can grow new pathways around the damaged area. However, when a limb, especially an arm, is paralyzed as a result of a stroke, it suffers “learned disuse,” and the brain has to be coaxed into giving back function to the arm. Sometimes, it has to be tricked. This is how the mirror box works.

The mirror box is constructed of slick fabric stretched around wires. On one side on the outside of the box is a mirror. The affected arm is placed inside the box, where it cannot be seen; the functional hand rests outside the box, facing the mirror. The patient moves the functional arm while looking at its reflection in the mirror, imagining he is moving the affected arm. The brain is thereby tricked into communicating with the arm, which is what has to happen in order for the arm to move. Best of all, they only cost $40.

The Biffy
In some cases, the caretaker of  the stroke survivor has to assist in cleaning after a bowel movement. In order to avoid this task and to spare Chuck’s dignity, I turned to the Internet, where I discovered a gadget that improved our quality of life to a great degree: the Biffy. It fits onto the toilet bowl and diverts water, by way of the intake valve, through a spout that sends a jet of water into the nether regions when the user pulls a lever. The cost was $100, much less expensive than a real bidet.

Rest   With Chuck After Stroke
A person who has suffered a stroke needs lots of rest. Chuck slept 12 hours a night and took naps during the day for the first year post-stroke. The brain needs that time to heal, so let a stroke survivor sleep as much as possible.

Knowledge is Power
I also found other sources of information on the Internet, such as free magazines Stroke Smart and The Stroke Connection and books like My Stroke of Insight; Head Cases: Brain Injury and Its Aftermath; and The Brain That Changes Itself. I read as much as I could, on line and off, about stroke. As I could find very few books from the point of view of the caretaker, I wrote one myself: Stroke Happens, available on Amazon.

Educating myself was one of the best ways I was able to help Chuck. I gathered a mass of information—some helpful, some not—much of which no doctor or therapist ever told me about. In addition, doing the work helped me feel empowered in a virtually uncontrollable situation. Fact-finding became a form of free therapy, which kept me from feeling helpless and filled many hours that otherwise might have been spent despairing.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

Stroke Happens: Chapter 1

30 Nov

Presenting Chapter 1 of Stroke Happens, available through Amazon.

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Chapter 1: Stroke Happens

“How bad is it?” I asked the doctor. “It was a major event,” he replied as he pinned a film of my husband’s brain onto a light board. The right side was grayish and crisscrossed with a network of crooked lines, like an aerial photo of creeks and streams converging into a river. In contrast, the left side was white, like vast, snow-covered tundra.

“He’s going to live, right?” I stammered.

“The next 72 hours are critical,” replied the doctor before walking away. I stood, stunned and uncomprehending, in the bright white hallway, staring at the whiteout of Chuck’s left hemisphere.

He had suffered a stroke—a cerebral vascular accident—in the middle of the night. My insomnia had driven me into the guestroom, where I was sleeping when Chuck’s symptoms started. I’ll never know what they were. Did he have pain restricted to one side of the head? Weakness, numbness or paralysis on one side of the body? Problems walking? Loss of sight or other vision problems in one or both eyes? Confusion? Sudden inability to speak or to understand speech? What I do know is that the next morning, when I got up and walked back to the still-dark bedroom, he was unable to respond when I asked him if he was getting up. I turned on the light, and life changed forever.

His left pupil flared open in response to the sudden illumination; the right one remained pinprick small. Dried vomit crusted the pillow, and his breathing was raspy and effortful. He was unable to respond when I asked him what was wrong, although I had guessed. He just looked at me. I rushed to the phone to call 911, and the EMTs were there within five minutes, strapping him onto a gurney and wheeling him away. The ambulance, flashing and wailing, sped away as I called a friend to come and take me to the hospital.

When I arrived at the hospital, Chuck had been installed in a chilly cubicle in an emergency room bristling with nurses. He recognized me, but was disoriented and unable to respond. His t-shirt had been scissored off and tossed in the garbage, the logo for New Orleans band Washboard Chaz draped over the lid. Technicians whisked him away for x-rays. An octopus of anxiety wrapped its tentacles around my stomach and squeezed; I knew I was waiting for bad news. Time seemed to stretch until finally, the neurologist appeared with the results of Chuck’s X-ray. The left distal carotid artery—the river that transports oxygenated blood to the brain—was completed blocked.

In an instant, a clot had interrupted the flow of blood to Chuck’s brain, depriving it of oxygen for hours and defining the rest of our lives.

Chuck was transferred to the Neuro Intensive Care Unit (ICU). He remained conscious. Intravenous lines snaked from bottles hung around the bed and into his arms, transporting medicine and food. Therapists came and went, performing tests that would help determine the extent of the damage. I hovered helplessly. Chuck flashed me a thumb’s-up sign and smiled crookedly. The right side drooped as if it had nothing to do with the rest of his face. All I could do was wait. My sisters Mary Lou (from Hillsborough, North Carolina; five hours away) and Betsy, with her husband, Rob (from Charleston; four hours away) arrived and we sat around until night started to fall. We had been there for about ten hours. Chuck’s condition was stable, so my sisters persuaded me to go home and get some rest. When I got there, I wrote the first of what would be hundreds of emails to a list of family, friends, and colleagues.

Friday, August 31, 2007
Hi,
I am writing to let you know that Chuck had a stroke this morning. He’s now at the hospital, in the Neuro IC. The neurologist, after reviewing the x-rays, called it “a major event” and said that the first 72 hours are critical. The clot completely blocked the major cerebral artery, which is bad news. He is thus far paralyzed on his right side and cannot talk, although he responds to commands and recognizes people. We hope that he will not hemorrhage in the brain, which could endanger his life. If he makes it through the weekend, it will be a long road to any sort of recovery.
Please keep us in your prayers. Thank you.
Love, Laura

My update about Chuck’s condition became a medical-progress report, a forum for my emotions, a request line, and the story of his struggle to recover. “People who tell a cohesive, full narrative of what’s going on with them stay so much more connected and attached to those who are most important to them, and that provides stability and consistency in times of change,” according to my friend Hamilton, who’s a psychiatrist. I was building a network of people, a community that would support me in the aftermath of Chuck’s stroke.

Everyone was shocked. Chuck had no risk factors. He worked out regularly, was tall and lean, ate the right foods, and drank two glasses of red wine daily. Bespectacled and boyish with mop of brown hair, he looked younger than his age, 56. He suffered from occasional stress, but he was a college professor, not an air traffic controller. For 17 years, Chuck had been teaching elementary education students at Clemson University in Clemson, South Carolina. He loved teaching, as well as conducting research, writing journal articles, collaborating with colleagues, serving on the faculty senate, and writing grants. He had tenure and was highly regarded by his peers and students, evidenced by graffiti reading, “Dr. Linnell rocks!” in the elevator of his building. We had been married for 11 years. I taught in the English Department.

The previous week, we had started the fall semester, a busy and stressful time. That night, a Thursday, we were tired but were relaxing in front of the television, sipping wine and digesting supper. About 8 o’clock, Chuck mentioned he had a headache and was going to bed, not especially unusual at the beginning of a semester. He didn’t say he was in undue pain and, he didn’t describe any of the troubling symptoms that often presage a stroke. I decided to sleep in the guestroom to avoid disturbing him with my start-of-the-semester insomnia. For a long time I beat myself up about this. I’ve asked myself, over and over, if the outcome would have been different had I slept with Chuck that night. I’ll never know. What I do know is that at some point, stroke happened, and life changed forever.

Best, Laura Ann Garren

 

 

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