Breaking News: Easter runs right into St. Paddy's Day

Of all the parts of the hospital I have comitted to memory, there is one I overlooked until now.  The ceiling.  But  that is over now.   I was just released from BIDMC Boston.  Came by ambulance around 10pm Tuesday evening after having a morning appointment with Jim earlier in the day, and a trip back to the city for an early evening with Matt. Symptoms started rather abruptly with tingly numbness one  gets when your leg falls asleep.  No big deal. Fingertips on right hand, then lips, spreading to tongue, face, and hand but all on one side.  But several hours later, I noticed my knee was buckling causing me to stagger drunkenly about.  Problem was, no wine was involved.  So off to Glover and an overnight on a pillow-less stretcher in at the ER from Hell.    Conclusion, it was a small stroke of an unusual kind.  (Would I have any other kind?)   All will be well,  but it is a sobering and enlightening experience.

Some random thoughts along the way.  Jim coped well and indeed seems to be rejuvenated, at least for now. The kids were at their very best, banding together to assure I was being attended to.  Since I have a catering job on Saturday, Lynn is heading up the volunteers, and getting it done.  Laura has taken the last three days off to be here for me, especially running errands.  Matt came home and took charge of getting the kitchen rearranged and back in order.

The care at BIDMC couldn't have been better.  A battery of tests kept my dance card pretty full, and each person  who arrived (promptly, even) from transport was friendly and efficient.  The array of faces one passes in a hospital provides as much diversity as a visit to Sesame Street.  People from different parts of the world come together to seek and give care.   At times I really wished I had a camera to capture this uniquely positive atmosphere.  The barriers that keep us from connecting with one another are instantly removed once you are a patient.  It is hard not to seek to befriend someone who has temporary control over your life... a genuinely humbling experience.  Even the bed was rigged to set off an alarm if I had the temerity to take myself to the loo without a guardian. My favorite memory was of a mature gent who visited with six students. All crowded around my bed, while he gleefully jabbed me with a tack all over my body, like Julia Child with a duck, all the while saying, "can you feel the little prick, can you feel the little prick?"  And me trying to compose my face.  "Ya, buddy..."  Still not sure he wasn't aware of and delighted with the double-entendre.  He had a mid-European accent, while my favorite nurse, Sree. was from southern India.  Discussed Iranian cooking with the Echo-cardio tech whose  mom who was from Iran, and a transport assistant asked me if Wendy, his baby daughter's name, struck me as American because he and his wife felt if the child was born here, she should have an American name.

Prognosis?  My symptoms are still with me.  Half of my tongue is numb even to hot and cold.  My fingers and face still are numb and tingly.  My handwriting is different.  But overall, this seems to be an isolated situation.  It wasn't the kind of stroke that is induced by a blood clot. This was a small corpuscle in my thalamus that developed a hole, as I understand it.  So the likelihood of recurrence is slim.

I have to pay more attention to my diabetes, which had fallen to the bottom of the priority list for a while now.  Consequently, until it is under control,  I have been ordered to take insulin, until it is well controlled, and then we can go back to the pills, hopefully, because testing and taking insulin is a pain in the neck.

File under Chocolate Easter Bunnies I can no longer eat.