Thursday, January 22, 2009

blog, blog, blog

The thing about this form of communication it's really never finished ... like real-world conversations about politics, the free-falling economic crisis, or sex ... one can never say enough, unless of course, you are me. The day my brain did the big hiccup I lost the ability to speak.  I could UNDERSTAND speech as well as ever.   My hearing was fine. Eyesight was fine. I could READ. I simply could not speak. So it seems logical for to use this format to ''talk" since I can "talk" in words while I relearn how to speak.

Now... back to my story...

The ambulance took me to St. Mary's Hospital in Reno. I remember the trip. Much of it anyway. I remember feeling relaxed. I remember being amused by all the fuss that being made about my "condition."  I couldn't tell anyone, but I was going to be fine. Clearly other's did not agree with my prognosis. I was tired. Very tired. All I that I could do was smile. And sleep.


  1. I remember that early evening so clearly, so crisp. The phone rang at right around 5:00 PM and it was Jean's neighbor Doug. He had found Jean and I was the "Emergency Contact" name and phone number that he found. I all most fainted when Doug told me that Jean had a stroke and was just found. I will keep writing and tell the story as it unwound but the most horrible part was digesting the information and having to call mom and dad. I will never forget how fragile, how lost our mother sounded when I called. She asked me, "What should I do"? It was bad. I spoke with Jean's doctor and neuro surgeon right after they had examined Jean and both doctors explained things to me and told me to "get the wheels in motion for the most devastating outcome". With that in mind, I told mom that she needed to get to Reno immediately - they arrived the next day and had Jean given her Last Rights by the priest at the hospital.

    I'm not a good writer so forgive my stumbling, rambling and loss of pattern with the story I'm trying to tell. As I write I relive the events and find myself lost again.

    I can not imaging my life without Jean and it was presented to me on a siler plater by doctors I didn't know, in a critical care ward I didn't see. I had to tell my parents to get to Jean swiftly as one of use needed to be by her side when she died. She had brain surgery coming up and planning a funeral was the "realistic" actions to be taking. I am sad now and need to rest.

    When I tell people about this whole story, the events or rather how it's impact was so swift, so powerful and demanding, the outcome was to prepare for devastation. The surgeon was so straigt forward about how there was minimal if any hope of Jean surviving the surgery. I tell this and call Jean "MY MIRACLE SISTER", which is my translation and use of an a word that is understood. I didn't believe I would have my sister again.

    Preparing to tell my parents how to see their only daughter in a coma and likely to witness her death was very hard on me. I don't realy have the right words to describe it --- Hell is all I can use to translate my insides that moment.

    I will write more, every day, every time there is an entry from Jean as everyone on the planet needs to FEEL this story of wonder as it plays out. Jean is a miracle and I love her.

  2. It's amazing how one person's life affects so many others.

  3. One thing Jean was always able to do through this ordeal was smile. I remember the first day I saw her, her smile was big and bright and I told her how beautiful her smile was. I did not know when I met her that she was my aunt's fiance's sister. It was clear that she was able to comprehend verbal communication but the clearest word she was able to speak was "Shit", clearly out of frustration from her inability to vocalize. Jean's smile never faded, even and especially during those frustrating moments.

    Jean, I am looking forward to reading more of your experience. When we met, you were unable to tell me all of this and due to circumstances, I was unable to listen even if you had been able to tell me. I wanted so badly to help you and be a part of your recovery, but alas, all I could do was watch. You are doing so well and I am so happy to see you talking and smiling again. I'm so sorry we had to meet this way and even more sorry for this tirture you have endured. Keep writing, keep talking, and never stop smiling.