Shade’s fundraiser to help get him mobile again started off amazing. In 24 hour, he raised 1/4 of the total necessary funds to get the Myomo Myopro robotic orthotic and the LifeGlider ambulatory device. It shouldn’t be long before Shade is back on his feet and using his arm again.
For those just tuning in, the Myopro is a robotic arm orthotic that will be custom made to Shade’s arm. With the use of sensors like those EKG thingies you have at the doctor, the device will pick up signals when Shade wants to move his arm and translate those to the robot arm. So even if Shade can’t move his arm, the robot arm will do it for him. That means he’ll be able to stretch it out and pick up a glass, grab a door handle and turn it, or defend the galaxy against xenomorphs.
The LifeGlider is like a walker but very different. It straps around Shade’s body so that his center of balance is supported. That way, he isn’t leaning forward and likely to fall. Then he can practice walking without the worry of tipping sideways and bashing his head against the counter. It will also improve his ability to dance the tango.
Both of these devices are going to help Shade achieve independence. Please spread this message around to all your friends and local businesses. Let’s get Shade mobile again!
Let’s salute the great cyborgs of our time. RoboCop, Darth Vader, Inspector Gadget, and now the Shadenator 9000, the latest development in Shade technology. But first, this sci-fi tale needs some backstory.
As you are likely aware, Shade’s last two strokes three years ago (17 y.o) paralyzed his left side, wiping out any progress he’d made since his first stroke when he was twelve. (We’d just got him walking again, damn it!) Because his left arm and hand are so weak, they have tightened up, contracting the arm like an L and keeping his fist closed. This caused a vicious cycle. Because tasks are so hard to complete with his left arm and hand, he uses his right, and thus his lefty gets weaker and tighter. We were worried he might lose all use of it.
Then Aitza told me about a friend who started using a robotic device after his stroke and got full use of his arm again. And that’s how we discovered Myomo. It’s not a cult, I swear, though I may be an apostle after Shade and I went to try one out last week with Myomo representative Heather Ward.
Myomo, a contraction of My Own Motion, produces the MyoPro, a powered upper-extremity orthosis that’s straight out of a fanboy’s wet dream. The robotic brace straps on the recipient’s arm from shoulder to fingers. Soft bracelets embedded with sensors are worn on the upper arm and forearm. Like an EMG, they pick up myoelectric signals from the brain that trigger the muscles to contract and move the limb. These signals simultaneously trigger the robot’s motors to move the orthotic in accordance with the desired action. So if Shade wants to extend his arm, that signal is mimicked by the device, which will extend, adding strength to his own arm and allowing him to stretch it out.
Even if the wearer cannot naturally move part of the arm, as long as the brain signal is there, it can be boosted to a level where the orthotic will move it for him/her. For example, Shade cannot move his wrist up and down no matter how much he mentally strains to do so. However, on her laptop, Heather boosted his EMG signal and the robot moved the wrist up and down. Brain power.
Heather demonstrates the MyoPro.
What this means is when Shade straps on his assistive MyoPro robo-brace, he should be able to perform functions with that arm that he’s been unable to do since his second stroke. Things like putting dishes on a high shelf, grabbing a water bottle off a table or petting his precious cat Cheetah. And because he’ll be using his arm more, it will strengthen and loosen up and he may be able to start using his arm more without the device. Plus, I’m shooting for the upgraded version with the laser cannons on it. Pyew, pyew!
What’s more, we’re looking at another device that may help Shade get back on his feet. We’re going to have a fundraiser soon to help with the expense of this device. I’ll tell you about the other device and the upcoming fundraiser in the next blog. Once we get these devices the Shadenator 9000 will be launched.
Shade looks like half a chipmunk after a +12-hour muscle and skin graft surgery for his cheek yesterday at Duke University Hospital in Raleigh-Durham. He went in at 7:45 a.m. in the morning and got to the post-op area at 8 p.m. Aitza was at the hospital the whole time, having arrived with Shade on Friday for all his pre-op appointments. They met with Dr. Marcus, the plastic surgeon who had performed the nerve graft surgery on March 31. He was very happy with the progress of the nerve graft after Shade told him he kept having little electrical impulses in his cheek, like mini lightning strikes. They also met with Dr. Phillips, the muscle graft surgeon. Both doctors gave Aitza and Shade a rundown of the upcoming procedure.
Meanwhile I had been working in NYC on an HBO special and planned to get to Raleigh on Sunday morning, the day before the surgery. Being a certified idiot, I decided to hit the Manhattan nightlife Saturday with my buddy Larry, daughter Arianny, son Edwin and soon to be daughter-in-law Michelle (yep, Edwin proposed). The kids were smart and bailed on Larry and me before midnight, but we keep going. Suddenly it’s 5 a.m. at the club (Oh yeah, New York doesn’t sleep!) and we both realized that we had morning flights to catch. We Ubered to the hotel, speed-packed our clothes and Ubered to JFK airport in record time. No rest for the wicked.
Shade’s first snow experience
Larry took off for Seattle and I hung out at my gate for the 8:30 a.m. to RDU. But to my dismay, the weather gods decided to dump 13 inches of snow on Raleigh-Durham that morning, causing a chain of flight cancelations. Meanwhile, Shade and Aitza are having a grand ol’ time making snow angels and throwing snowballs. It was Shade’s first snow experience, so the blizzard was a special pre-surgery gift for him…
…and a kick in the goolies for me. After spending 12 uncomfortable hours at JFK waiting for a flight to open up (nope), I decided to fly back to Orlando, get my head on a pillow for a couple hours, and fly to RDU the next morning. But the snowfall caused a chain reaction of delays, so the next morning, after boarding my 9:40 a.m. flight, my plane sat on the tarmac for 1 1/2 hours, then turned back to the terminal where we disembarked until 2:40 p.m. Then we got back on and sat on the tarmac for another 1 1/2 hours before getting clearance to take off. So I missed seeing Shade before he went in. At least I got to Facetime him beforehand.
The black mark along jawline shows originally planned incision. The red marker shows where the two-inch thick skin graft was placed to cover the muscle.
I arrived two hours before he came out of surgery, and Aitza gave me a breakdown of the progress as per the doctors’ updates. Shade was prepped for surgery and went under at 8:45 a.m. Dr. Marcus and the surgical team made an incision from his right hairline down his sideburn, in front of his ear and down his jaw line. Then they lifted the skin up, exposing the cheek muscle, which has been paralyzed since his first stroke on July 14, 2011. Meanwhile, Dr. Phillips harvested muscle from Shade’s inner right thigh, which was placed on top of the paralyzed cheek muscle. Unfortunately, because the original cheek muscle had lost so much mass, the skin on his cheek had shrunk. So when the doctors attached the new muscle, there wasn’t enough skin to cover the incision area. Consequently, Dr. Marcus had to harvest some extra skin and fat from Shade’s thigh and graft that over the opening. Now there’s a two-inch thick strip of thigh skin stitched down his jaw line, which may make for some strange mutton chops. The last thing the surgeons did was put a little stitch at the corner of his right eye so that it doesn’t droop. This will help him close his eye and keep his tears from running out.
The oxygen level going to the grafted muscle must be over 60%. He’s well over that.
Shade’s cheek is the size of a softball because of massive swelling, which is normal. Inside his cheek is a monitor that measures the oxygen level of the blood going into the muscle. It’s supposed to stay above 60%, but currently Shade has 91% oxygen level, a great sign for healing progress. He has a drainage tube coming out of the cheek to release fluid build up. He’s also enjoying a hydromorphone drip, which he can press every 10 minutes. Perhaps “enjoying” isn’t the right word as he’s dealing with some serious pain in his cheek and thigh. He and Aitza also haven’t slept much since the surgery due to hourly scheduled visits by various nurses throughout the night and day, plus random drop ins from the surgical team, residents, nutritionist, admissions and me. And I was complaining to Aitza about not sleeping for two days after my New York party binge.
The good news is the swelling will reduce dramatically over the next days and then keep reducing for the months of healing to come. Dr. Marcus said that in another 10 months, Shade should have a third surgery to remove much of the grafted thigh skin and clean up the scar so that it’s following his jawline and isn’t visible from the front. In that time, the grafted nerve should have a chance to attach to the muscle and get it moving. Shade has a lot of therapy ahead of him, but by next year he should have a somewhat symmetrical face that can smile on both sides.
It’s been since last April that I last posted in Shade’s Progress, when he had his nerve graft surgery at Duke University Hospital. Just a reminder, they yanked a wire out of his calf and threaded it from his left ear to his right so that his cheek could get some spark back. The following up surgery is coming up. I’ll tell you about it down there.
Florida ID
Registering to vote
First, let’s update. Shade got a Florida ID (not for driving. Trust me, you don’t want him behind the wheel. He drives his electric wheelchair like Mad Max.) and then he got his voter registration card. Civic duty awaited and our son got to experience for the first time that dirty feeling you get for voting for the least despicable candidates. Shade’s still serving up good will at The Simpsons Restaurant, meeting folks from all over the globe and local friends, like our Indian Guides buddies Chad Adams and Bill Ellenback, who work out there. If you go out there, stop by.
Shade also traveled with his two brothers, Mayan and Edwin, his Tio Loco and Tia Gigi and Mami to England, where Shade got to enjoy a legal pint of beer. Shade’s a world traveler. Shade’s also been fully immersed in the Pokemon universe as is Mami and they’re constantly grabbing mythical creatures out of the neighborhood. It’s not rare to be caught in a car conversation that involves a Squirtle, Snorlax and Lickitung. If you have a Charmander prowling your neighborhood, call Shade. He’ll take care of it.
Finally, Shade has grown out his hair for a couple years and he recently got it trimmed off so he could donate it to cancer patients who need wigs with real hair. He’s sending silky locks to Locks of Love. Now if I can only get Aitza to get the decapitated pony tail out of the napkin holder on the dinner table and into a postal envelope… (I’m going to get hell for this crack.)
So now to next news. Shade healed up nicely after the last surgery, and has been feeling a lot of twitching in his face. Now comes Step 2. We’re heading back to DukeU Hospital for Facial Reanimation. Sounds like a movie. “Shadenator is back and he’s mad as hell!” What this boils down to is Shade’s muscle graft surgery. They’re going to take a muscle out of his thigh (not a whole muscle but a strand so it shouldn’t affect his leg strength. Then they’re going to go in under the skin of his right cheek and graft in the muscle where the nerves have already spread out they’re electric tendrils. Over time and with physical therapy, the nerves will splice with the muscle and soon he should be moving his cheek and mouth where previously it’s been paralyzed. Basically Shade will get his smile back. At least on one side. His other side already had a beautiful crooked smile which he uses constantly. (DukeU Hospital’s site will show you more details if you’re interested.) Oh, and during the surgery, they plan to put a stitch on the corner of his eye to lift the lower lid. That way he can close his eye a little more and the tears won’t be so ready to run out and dry out his eye.
The surgery is scheduled for December 10. Aitza will fly up to Raleigh on the 7th and I’ll join them on the 9th, flying from New York, where I’m working the Two Dope Queens show at Kings Theater in Flatbush. Flatbush is a trendy spot in Brooklyn, for all you folk that haven’t explored the area. Brooklyn is a place in New York, for all you Florida folk who never left the state, or at least the South. I’ll keep you posted as details emerge.
Shade is home after five weeks in multiple hospitals. After a second stroke, and then a third stroke. After multiple sessions of MRIs and MRAs and angiograms. After weeks of intensive therapy at the best damn therapy hospital I’ve witnessed. (We’ve seen a few, and no disrespect to the other fine establishments, but Brooks was extra superduper special with ice cream.)
Shade had gotten in the rhythm of six sessions of therapy daily with an army of occupational, physical, speach, music, and recreational therapists, and their assistants, interns and volunteers helping him through the tough job of getting his left side to wake back up. Not to mention the fantastic doctors, nurses and techs checking up on him and the meal staff taking his order and delivering his three hot meals to his bedside. Shade became a veritable celebrity patient amongst the staff. On his graduation day, when he gave his speech, it was accompanied by laughter and tears from the gathered crowd. Employees kept popping into the room the last day to say goodbye.
And then he was released. Everyone take a deep breath and sigh. It’s all over.
Except for the part where Shade has to get used to living in his house, which he used to be able to navigate easily by scooting, crawling and, most recently, walking. Except now he can’t use his left arm. Despite the great strides he’s made on that side, it’s not enough to help him get down the stairs, even scooting on his bottom. He can’t raise his arm above his shoulder or support himself on a handrail. He can very slowly close his hand, but he cannot maintain even the slightest grip and opening his hand is extremely difficult. Thus, no picking up anything, even a sock. Forget tying a shoe. His left leg is a bit better than the arm, though it’s still much weaker than it should be. It tends to drag when we assist him with walking and he often rolls the ankle or step on his other foot. He doesn’t have the strength or balance to stand. We’re planning lots of therapies to work on this, but it’s a road that disappears into fog. We don’t know how it will end.
After the first stroke, and the recent second and third strokes, he never complained or questioned the reasons. But the day after Shade and Mami got back home from Brooks, Shade came to the realization of what he’d lost after putting in so much time and effort to recover. For the first time ever, he turned to Mami and said, “Why did this have to happen again?” He didn’t dwell on it, but the thought is now lingering there.
I wonder the same thing. My big brain tells me that this happened by chance. Random mutations in some tucked away DNA strand in the embryo that became Shade. The small flaw in the architecture that blew it up. Like the exhaust port on the Death Star. (The incompetent space engineer that designed that beauty got fired. Literally.)
The part of my brain that believes in the force and elves and the Greek gods and awesome (Adj. inspiring awe) stories wants to blame some invisible sky man or some virulent spirit or a glitch in the Matrix for the barrage of shitty luck that’s plagued Shade. After all, a story is always better with an antagonist. But blame wouldn’t help the situation at hand.
Shade’s at that point in the hero’s journey where he faces the abyss. He’s overcome great odds only to be thrown down hard, his lowest point, where it would be easiest to give up. Like when Luke got his arm lopped off by his daddy (Noooo! That’s not true. That’s impossible!) and then fell into the shaft and hung on with one arm for dear life on the ass end of Cloud City, questioning everything he ever knew and waiting for the worst. Sure, his arm was gone, but it was the damage to his psyche that threatened to make him quit.
Guess who got Luke out of his predicament. His friends. After sending out some force instant messages (Come get me), he got picked up by Leia and Chewie (and Lando, too), and they got him back to working order (with some robotic assistance.) And then he saved the galaxy … for a while.
That’s what Shade needs now. He needs good friends who are willing to spend time with him, exercise with him, play games, or just chill. We’ve got the therapy lined up and the doctor’s appointments scheduled. If you can help with the friendship part, that would help immensely.
(By the way, thanks Cody for coming over today and hanging out and all his friends that Facetimed him in the hospital.)
Mayan and Aitza are galavanting in Manchester, England. This was Mayan’s birthday present from us in November, and Mayan saved up his Christmas money to spend over there. They are windowshopping and seeing the sites. Then tomorrow they will see a Manchester City game. (Proper football, not the American kind where they hardly use their feet.)
Meanwhile, Shade and I have been abandoned at the house. (I said that just to tick off Aitza.) So we decided to have our own adventure … right down the street. Shade walked the entire length of our street without crutches or walker, while I helped him balance by keeping my hands on his shoulders. That helps steady him so he can focus on his pacing and speed. When we saw something interesting, we stopped to check it out. Here are some of the fun, weird things we experienced.
Emergency cut short
A few driveways down was an abandoned Matchbox firetruck. Perhaps it ran out of gas on the way to the fire or got bogged down in the storm that hit us this morning. We believe the driver hitchhiked back to the station because there were tiny footprints leading to the street.
Welcome to the funhouse.
We came to the realization that all cars are funhouse mirrors. The reflections are not slimming. We don’t suggest looking at a reflective car door if you are attempting a New Years resolution diet.
Yuletide detritus
Dry brown Christmas trees have popped up the last couple weeks on the curb. But there are still a few houses in the neighborhood that are decorated with Christmas cheer. (Last year, we kept our decorations up into February.) One house, however, got all the stuff down and then got called away on some emergency. (Perhaps mom looked at her reflection in the car door and now has to be talked down from a ledge.) So Frosty, Santa, Tigger and Pooh are chilling out in the driveway, along with piles of lights and other assorted festive accoutrements.
Wood you hole this for me?
Shade found a piece of wood with the knothole knocked out. Legend says, if you look through the knothole, you can see the invisible street gnomes. This can be disturbing because invisible street gnomes are notorious for not wearing pants. That didn’t stop Shade from staring through it for five minutes.
Shade shows you a trick.
There’s no shopping on our street. (Plenty of looting, but no shopping.) But occasionally you can get a street score. Shade found a cool, reflective sticker on the ground to put on his desk. Woo hoo, free stuff!
Not quite an overseas adventure, but it was an interesting promenade, and the longest walk Shade has done in ages. Shade was exhausted afterward. Lately we’ve been trying to get away from those walking assists like crutches and trying to work on proper walking stature like tightening his core, keeping his shoulders back, and moving his arms so that they swing counter to his legs. When he really focuses, he is able to walk by himself for 10 or more steps. Today he did 16 on the sidewalk. If Shade keeps this up, he may just walk to school one morning.
Shade’s friend Cody came over yesterday to hang with him for a bit. They did the regular post-brain-surgery boy stuff. You know, noogies, wrestling, roundhouse kicks to the head. Okay, maybe they just sat in his room and talked. He enjoyed it, but it also wiped him out. By six p.m. he had passed out on the couch.
Today he’s been really feeling the effects of the Gamma Knife rabbit punch to the brain stem. He’s been lethargic and very sensitive to light and noise. He spent all day lying in his brother’s room with the curtains drawn. (Mayan’s room is darker.) He’s also been dealing with a nasty throbbing headache. This might be from the swelling in his brain, or it may be from the four clamps that were screwed into his skull to hold the Gamma Knife helmet in place. (Can’t have a wobbly helmet during brain surgery.) The skin around the clamp areas is very sensitive, and he doesn’t like even a soft pillow touching the areas. Aitza’s had to do some creative pillow arranging so he can rest.
We’re going to keep him out of school for a bit until he’s feeling a bit more energetic and clear headed. He was supposed to have midterms but his noggin couldn’t handle that right now. Just like a high-school boy. He’ll do anything to get out of a test.
In a movie, whenever the camera pans across a scene of natural splendor, you can expect something bad to happen. It’s a cinema trope. Make the protagonist comfortable, and then drop a boulder on him. Without conflict, story doesn’t exist. So if a director says, “Let’s capture this stunning snowcapped mountain range glistening in the sun,” you can guarantee an avalanche is coming.
Last week I took Shade camping with the YMCA Indian Guides at Princess Place Preserve in Bunnell, Florida, about 15 minutes from St. Augustine. It’s a 1500-acre parcel of bucolic Florida wilderness. I never liked that word bucolic. It sounds like a respiratory infection. However, I think it fits here as the park is home to historic buildings such as an old livery stable, equestrian trails, a huge salt marsh, massive live oak stands, and Florida’s first in-ground swimming pool, fed by an artesian spring. It’s the epitome of a Southern pastoral setting nestled on the shore of the Matanzas River.
Standing atop Fort Matanzas
During the campout, we visited Fort Matanzas National Monument, which guarded St. Augustine’s back door. It’s about 14 miles south on the Matanzas River. The approach is dramatic. We started on the nature path which passed the banks where Spanish soldiers slaughtered a few hundred lost French soldiers who had surrendered. That’s how the fort got its name, which loosely translates to “slaughter.” We took a pontoon ferry across the river toward the looming fortress, giving us a good look from an invader’s standpoint. Guards in traditional Spanish soldier uniforms walk about and explain elements of the three-story stone fort such as the big cannons pointing down river to stop those nasty Brits or Frenchies from sneaking up and causing havoc. Shade climbed up the stairs and ladders to the top, where a large flag flapped to Hurricane Jaoquin’s distant exhales while gray clouds boiled overhead. We got a pretty cool pic of our entire group on the roof.
Fishing in the Salt Marsh
Afterward we went fishing in the salt marshes. The sun was positioned perfectly to reflect in the mirror water the cloud-blotched blue sky. We caught no fish (I don’t think I’ve ever caught one), but the view was magnificent. As we finished fishing, Shade’s buddy Cody noticed hermit crabs on the stones by the bridge. I grabbed twenty hermit crabs to tote back to camp for crab racing. I had big plans for a betting ring. We learned that hermit crabs are extremely shy and horrible at racing and within the hour, I had returned them to the salt marsh. We spent the rest of the night enjoying bonfires and brisket.
A beautiful weekend. From a movie standpoint, you couldn’t get more ominous.
The plot conflict came on the Tuesday afterward when Aitza took Shade to see Dr. Trumble. A few months back they performed an angiogram on Shade and discovered that he still has a small nidus, that little tangle of arteries and veins that caused his bleed four years ago. The Gamma Knife treatment performed on him in December 2011 destroyed most but not all of the arterio-venous malformation.
Here’s the dilemma. With each year, his risk of a bleed increases by 1%. The doc said if you’re 70-years old, no big deal. You may get up to a 10% chance of a re-bleed. You’re nearing the end of your rental agreement anyway, so to speak, and making big renovations wouldn’t be worth the risk. But a 16-year-old boy still has a good 60-70 years, maybe more. So in your later years, your percentage of a re-bleed may be 60-70%. The procedure has an 80-90% chance of destroying the rest of the nidus completely. I hate math.
The procedure has its own risks. The location in the pons (the brain stem, which is a dense nerve bundle) leaves him open to some more damage to surrounding healthy nerves, especially a few cranial nerves. Shade’s already got facial palsy and can’t shut his eye, but we don’t know how much more damage to his face it may cause. His coordination might be more at risk, too. Plus, the brain swells a bit when you shoot it full of radiation. Go figure.
The full effect of any damage is unknown until they do the procedure. Afterward, we’d have to wait three years to see if the procedure was totally successful. This would also be his last shot at destroying it because of the level of radiation Shade’s brain would absorb from this second Gamma Knife procedure.
Of course, damage from a bleed would be much more devastating. If it happened at all. Whatever decision we make, it’s going to affect the plot of this movie. I just wish Shade wasn’t the protagonist and that the dramatic plot twist didn’t involve his poor abused brain.
I’m old enough to remember The Fantastic Voyage. Not in the theater. (It’s possible I heard the audio track as a simmering fetus in the womb.) I saw it on TV sometime in the early 70s, and I was blown away by what the future held. Sexy secret agent Raquel Welch, with her retinue of doctors and assistants, would shrink to a millimeter and drive her submarine through the bloodstream of a sick man, right up to the brain to remove a blood clot. What a fantastically ridiculous piece of fiction!
So, last week Shade went to the hospital for an angiogram. This is a process in which a retinue of doctors and assistants drive what amounts to a submarine camera through his bloodstream, right up to the brain to check out where his AVM took place. This was a real process! It differed from the sci-fi in that none of the surgery participants looked like Raquel Welch. I’m pretty sure none of them were secret agents, either. Also, thank goodness, there were no saboteurs as in the original, so the procedure went smoothly.
What I want to know is how do they know when to turn left or right? Are they using Google maps? Are there landmarks? Is there a backseat driver saying, “Okay, like in thirty seconds you need to take the exit ramp off the femoral artery and then merge into hemo-traffic at the next … Watch out for that platelet!”
The purpose was to find out what was left of the AVM since the gamma knife surgery back in December 2011. (A gamma knife sounds like it could have been in The Fantastic Voyage.) Preliminary results are mixed. 95% of the AVM was destroyed by the gamma knife. That’s great. But there’s still 5% of the veiny knot that’s being fed blood. The doctor who performed the angiogram didn’t give any definite indication that this was dangerous or not. (Doctors seem to prefer vagaries when making predictions.) But he did say that there might possibly be, maybe, perhaps a slight danger because, well, it’s there.
We won’t know the full word until the results of the procedure are analyzed by the doctors. Then we will have to consult Dr. Trumble to see if he might need another gamma knife procedure. Maybe Dr. Trumble says there’s not enough risk to warrant it. Maybe he says that Shade has already received his full dosage of radiation from the last gamma knife and more would turn him into a raging green beast. (You know, the Hulk effect.) Or maybe they decide to perform this brand new procedure. It involves a sexy secret agent, with her retinue of doctors and assistants, who will shrink to a millimeter and drive her submarine through Shade’s bloodstream to destroy the 5% leftover.
As of late, I’ve been thinking about how much I take for granted. Or as I’ve read in many a student essay: taking things for granite. What a lovely concept. I have a great family, nice house, meals on the table, but I often mistake them for a granular igneous rock out of which I might just make a kitchen counter. So goeth the English language, a living organism that metamorphoses daily through the goofs of the users.
I take for granted that my son survived a deadly stroke. I take for granted that he’s able to go to school and participate in classes. I want to stop taking everything for granted. I want to write about the greatness that happens daily but has been invisible because I’ve been living in my own microcosm. It’s a selfishness that has become my norm. My life is easier when I refuse to look outside the safety boundaries I’ve created for myself, when I keep my thoughts to myself.
See that. I managed to redirect that last paragraph to me (selfish) when my real focus should be Shade. He started eleventh grade this Monday at Central Florida Prep, two weeks before public school. He was ready. He had been volunteering as a Junior Counselor at St. Paul’s Presbyterian Blast Camp, the summer camp he was going to when he had the stroke. He worked with the young’uns, keeping them in line, helping them with activities, etc. He liked it, but I think he was ready to hang out with kids his own age again.
Of course, with school comes another year of struggling with homework. Yet somehow he manages to clear a bit of space in his injured brain to pack in advanced learning. He’s taking Geometry and U.S. History and Business. I hope his brain allows him to utilize these ideas in his future. He still has problems with long-term memory. The ideas flit around the surface but don’t like to bury deep in his mind.
That’s another thing I take for granted: my brain. It’s a lovely brain, but it could go at any moment. So could yours. Don’t freak out about that. Just appreciate it while you have it.
Shade is in mid-teen mutation as well. He’s sprouting up like the unkempt bougainvillea in my backyard. (I’m a lazy gardener.) He’s dealing with acne, which drives him nuts. It angers me a bit that he has to have acne, as if being angry helps. It’s as if Loki the trickster god thought, Here’s an easy target. Let’s give him one more issue to deal with. Hey, Loki, you deadened half his face already. He can’t shut his right eye. Quit torturing the kid.
He’s still rolling around in a wheelchair, but he goes to therapy every week to practice his walking. If only he could get his balance back. He’s got plenty of strength, but he still topples like a hewn pine when he takes a step. He can stand and crouch. He stands for long periods of time without assistance, but as soon as he takes a step, he falls. Is there another part of the brain that balance shifts to when the foot is put in motion? Must be.
There are new technologies that might help. WeHab uses a Wii Balance Board to help stroke victims regain balance through feedback. KIINCE is a company that developed a rehab machine that helps rebuild neuro-pathways that control balance. And Aitza’s got a friend who had a stroke that is undergoing an experimental stem cell procedure that may help him walk again. We’re looking into some of these. But as of now, he’s going to be in a long-term relationship with his roller.
Anyway, I thought some of you might want an update on Shade’s Progress. Aitza constantly tells me: There are people out there that need to know about him, people that have had strokes or traumatic brain injuries and want to see what others have been through. Shade can still inspire. He’s got that power. I guess that’s part of the “not taking it for granted” thing.
Shade’s friend Cody came over yesterday to hang with him for a bit. They did the regular post-brain-surgery boy stuff. You know, noogies, wrestling, roundhouse kicks to the head. Okay, maybe they just sat in his room and talked. He enjoyed it, but it also wiped him out. By six p.m. he had passed out on the couch.
Help Shade get mobile again!
Shade's Progress 