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!
Wheelchair users are faced with multiple challenges. The most obvious are physical, accessibility being on the forefront of the ADA’s agenda. However, a subtler issue that always bothered me is the social obstacle. Wheelchair users are not at most people’s eye level, which makes a huge difference when conversing. Don’t believe me? Have you ever been standing at a party and started chatting to a person sitting? That conversation doesn’t last long without one of you changing position.
Shade hanging out with family friends
Something as simple as being face to face makes a huge difference in social situations. It’s something I always took for granted until Shade had his stroke. I remember years ago, dropping Shade off early at high school. I parked and sat in my car, watching Shade circle the tight clusters of chatting kids, unsuccessfully trying to insert himself into a conversation. Shade’s wheelchair was too bulky to infiltrate the groups. Even if he did get into the circle, because he was sitting, he was often ignored, not out of malice but because he wasn’t face to face. I sat in the car sobbing, cursing my son’s cruel fate. (Yeah, I’m a big crybaby. You should see me at Pixar movies.) Of course, our close friends who have known Shade for most of his life are aware of Shade and make great efforts to include him in conversations. But think of all the everyday situations where people look right over him. And Shade is a friendly dude, not shy at all. I can’t imagine how tough this might be for a person who isn’t as outgoing as him.
Shade has leg strength.
The thing is, Shade can stand. His true issue isn’t leg strength; it’s balance. He tends to topple, especially if he tries to lift a leg to walk. Thus, for safety issues, he’s been relegated to a wheelchair. Shade can stand if he has handles to hold or a counter to lean against, but it’s only for short bouts, for example, to put a cup away or clean his teeth. He can walk, too, but only when assisted by another, and even then balance becomes an issue with each step for both himself and the assistant trying to keep him upright. You can imagine the ordeal this causes Aitza, who is hobbit-sized.
We’ve tried walkers but they’re too dangerous for him. Walkers are held out in front of the body. This causes the user to bend forward, throwing all the weight forward and using the device as an unstable prop. A walker is liable to shoot out from under the stooped-over ambulator, leaving the poor soul splayed out on the sidewalk and hoping the crack he heard wasn’t a hip. Consequently, we’ve never allowed Shade to use a walker alone and have all but tossed them.
The LifeGlider
Recently Shade’s uncle Edwin (Tio Loco) discovered a new device called the LifeGlider. Like a walker, the LifeGlider is an ambulatory assistive device, but it is designed to support the body’s center of gravity so that the user can stand upright. That means hands-free walking … real walking like the body was meant to do.
The LifeGlider has restored my confidence in assistive walking devices. One video on the website shows a user transitioning from a walk to a full Superman – legs off the ground, arms splayed out front – and then effortlessly swinging his feet back on the ground. With this kind of balance support, Shade may be able to start walking around the house again. This will help strengthen his legs and give him more confidence in his own balance. Given enough practice, perhaps he could use it at work or in social situations. Who knows what other opportunities might open up if he could stand on his own two feet again?
Like I mentioned in the last blog, we will soon be fundraising for this device and the MyoPro robotic arm (now with flame throwers). Keep your eyes open for the upcoming news.
Red and green are quite merry when decorating for Christmas but are less festive when dealing with wound infections in a hospital ER. How’s that for a holiday card message? It was inspired by our Christmas visit to Health Central hospital over the last couple days. Harken whilst I recount to you this Christmas tale:
‘Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was worried, not even my spouse.
The invites to family had all been sent out
For the annual Christmas Eve Crampton cook out.
Low Country Boil
Alright, I won’t make you suffer through ten stanzas of corny holiday poetry. Suffice it to say, after returning from Raleigh on December 18, Shade had been taking it easy in his bed and healing. His scars looked pretty good for scars – nice, clean lines and no redness or swelling. Things seemed positive on the whole, so we decided to carry on with our tradition of Christmas Eve dinner, despite urgings and offerings from good-intentioned family that perhaps we should skip it or allow someone else to host. After all, preparing a big meal was a bit much to add onto our plate. However, after spending most of December away from home and engaging in very little Christmasy activities, we felt that this dinner was our only chance at capturing the real spirit of the holiday. But we simplified. Instead of the big roast dinner, decorated table and place settings, we opted for a fairly easy low country boil – a big boiling pot of crabs, shrimp, sausages, potatoes, corn on the cob and spices laid out over a picnic table. My brother Darren would handle all the fixings. Cooking time, less than 30 minutes. Dinner’s on!
(If you are easily grossed out, I suggest you do not eat any pudding while you continue reading.) During the days before Christmas Eve, Shade’s face started leaking fluid. More like gushing. He woke up one morning with a soaked pillow. But the fluid was clearish and didn’t smell, which was good news. We contacted the doctors at Duke and they said that the area was just trying to eliminate the swelling. They weren’t worried so neither were we, though it was a chore to keep the area dry and clean. They should have installed a spigot on his cheek.
On Christmas Eve morning, however, the stitching on his lower cheek had opened up and it was a bit gooey with pus. Blech! So Aitza took Shade to his primary care physician whose office is at Health Central. The doctor took one look and said, “This is way beyond my expertise!” and promptly sent Shade down to the ER. Crap! Back in the hospital. I drove down and met them. The staff were great and tried to make us all welcome and comfortable, but we still had that Grinch-stole-our-Christmas gloom. The staff pumped up Shade full of fluids and antibiotics, took cultures and blood samples, and said he may have to stay overnight. So much for our big dinner. We resigned ourselves to Christmas in the hospital and called up the family to give them the news. But after the culture results all came back green, the doctor said we could take him home with oral antibiotics. We left the hospital at 2 p.m. and called up the fam. Christmas Eve dinner was back on. We supped well that night with our extended family. We opened presents on Christmas morning as custom dictates. We drank merrily and played games with friends that evening, celebrating the blessing of having Shade home for the day.
The ER doctors had asked us to return two days later for a follow up. So yesterday, (Boxing Day for all you Brits who continue the celebration), I took Shade to the ER, assuming that we’d pop in and out in an hour. A member of the on-site plastic surgery team had a gander at his face and said it was looking fairly good, though the patch of stitching where the fluid was leaking had opened up a bit more, which concerned him a bit. Then the doc took the gauze off his leg scar. The site was swollen, hard and flaming red with purple bruising and it was leaking bloody fluid. Uh oh! Not the present you want to unwrap at Christmas. The intense swelling was quite shocking, as Aitza had cleaned and wrapped the leg the night before and it had appeared fine. One look at his leg and the doctor ordered Shade to stay for 48 hours of antibiotics and observation. Yay! Back in the hospital! So much for popping in and out.
Shade was hooked up to more plastic bags of fun juice. The doc sealed the wounds on his face with silver nitrate, which chemically cauterized the opening to prevent more leakage. Then he opened up a patch of Shade’s leg scar to release the swelling. It was mostly blood. No pus. (So we had the Christmas red but not the green, thank ol’ St. Nick.) The doc’s theory was that perhaps there had been a pocket of blood that ruptured and filled up the area, causing the swelling and bruising. (That morning he had had his first home physical therapy session and perhaps that had caused the rupture.) At around 5 p.m., Shade was admitted upstairs. His face, neck and chest were as red as an embarrassed tomato. Turns out he has a hypersensitivity to the antibiotic Vancomycin, which causes “red man syndrome.” (Don’t get all worked up, ultra-liberal hysteria hounds. It’s not a slur; it’s a description.) They replaced the antibiotic with another and he’s back to his normal color, cracker white. (Okay, now you can be insulted.)
“What a fun Christmas!”
Aitza, who had been working all this time and stressing as mothers do, finally got to the hospital at 7 p.m. and took up the night shift. At least Health Central has had a fantastic make over, and Aitza was able to sleep on a pull out sofa, not another recliner chair like at Duke Hospital. I returned this morning and Shade seems fine. No pain or irritation. He did have a lot of blood leakage from his leg, but that’s good as it releases the pressure. One more day of observation and if all is well, perhaps we’ll be clear of hospitals until his next surgery in six months. I think perhaps the Cramptons should get a holiday redo. What do you think? Christmas in January?
Ah, home. No place like it, especially when you’ve been stuck in a tiny hospital room for over a week – after having your face sliced open and stuffed like a Christmas stocking with other parts of your body – being poked, prodded and probed every 10 minutes by doctors, nurses, med techs and elves, the latter a product of hardcore hallucinations from prescription opioids and sleep deprivation. I’m either describing a miraculous surgery or the plot to a serial killer movie.
Winner of the Bubble Yum bubble gum chewing competition
When last I wrote, Shade had just come out of surgery. Both Aitza and I were not prepared for the sight of our child’s face. The doctors had talked about swelling but the size shocked us. And the skin graft was also something unexpected. The surgeons came to the conclusion during the surgery that the skin was too tight and needed extra skin so they made the necessary decision to add skin. So when we saw the two-inch jagged strip of pale thigh skin down his face, we were both stunned. We fully understood the reasoning; we just were not prepared for the dramatic change in his features. Both of us questioned our choice to put Shade through this procedure. Was all this pain and deformation worth the end goal of Shade having a symmetrical working face? Was his situation so bad before that we needed to subject him to such pain and suffering? I mean, we’re making decisions for Shade, and he’s trusting us to make the right ones, but how can we truly know if it’s the right choice until afterward?
Such thoughts can drive a parent into a spiral of severe gloom because unless you’re clairvoyant, you don’t know what the end results will be for any choice you make. And after you’ve made the choice, you have to deal with the consequences if it turns out to be the wrong choice. Back in December 2015, when we chose for Shade to have a second gamma knife operation to prevent him from having a second stroke. We took the risk based upon the information we received. The result of that operation was that six months afterward, Shade had a second stroke from a burst blood blister formed by the operation. It completely debilitated his left side. All the progress he had made was lost. In fact, he was worse off than after his initial stroke.
So watching our son suffer from his latest post-surgery pain messed with our minds because we chose to put him through this. I feel for Aitza especially because she never left his side. She “slept” in a recliner chair by Shade’s bed every day and was with him through all his agony and hallucinations and despondency. She was with him when he became so severely depressed that he said none of his friends would ever want to see him again because he was deformed and he wished he was dead. She held strong through all those heart-breaking moments.
Shade shows how to work a jaw muscle.
Just to set you at ease, Shade is no longer depressed. We think the heavy drugs caused much of that. After he hallucinated about an old lady trapped under a car inside his hospital room, Shade himself chose to go off the drugs and manage the pain with just Tylenol. He lightened up afterward and was even able to laugh about his massive cheek. After all it’s so big, if he walked into a bubblegum chewing competition, the other competitors would take one look and swallow their gum. Chipmunks see him go by and carve statues to their new god, Cheekzilla, he who holds infinite acorns.
The doctors were happy about Shade’s healing and he and Aitza were finally released from the hospital and got to sleep all day and night in a hotel. The doctors had first said that Shade could only have liquids for a month, but they changed their minds and said he could have soft foods. Soft foods? Bah! After I flew back to Raleigh on Sunday, I got him some smothered chicken from Texas Roadhouse and he scarfed it up. He’s got a super cheek now. He could chew cinderblocks.
Hanging with the Clauses
Yesterday we had a last visit with Dr. Phillips the plastic surgeon. He reiterated that the swelling will subside over time. He also stated that there’s excess muscle, fat and skin in there which can be chipped away at a later surgery to produce a symmetrical visage, much like a sculptor might remove excess marble to create a masterpiece. He was very positive about the final results, which eased our stress.
As we were leaving Duke Hospital through the Children’s Center, the staff had set up a Christmas area with carolers, a Santa and Mrs. Claus, and cake and toys for kids. Shade got a picture with the Clauses. Then one of the happy elves gave Shade a stuffed bear and a gift card for Target. It was our first real Christmas moment this year and I cried like it was a Pixar movie.
Flight home
By 8 p.m. that night, we had hopped on a plane and made it home to Orlando, where Mayan was waiting to see his big brother. Shade got visits from Abuelita and Bubu (Aitza’s parents) and Uncle Darren late night and from Dadabob (my dad) this morning. And now I sit by his bed writing this while Shade scarfs up scrambled eggs and heals. The future will show if our decision this time was the right one, but now that the pain has subsided and Shade’s surrounded by family at home, we can at least be happy that the stress of the hospital experience is over for a while, enjoy the holiday spirit and focus on Shade’s progress.
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.
The surgery was a success. After five hours of waiting, Dr. Marcus came out all smiles and said it couldn’t have gone better. The first half of the surgery involved pulling a nerve out of his calf. The second half was inserting it in his face. Shade had three very nice thick nerves in his left cheek from which to choose. Dr. Marcus picked the largest one and grafted the harvested nerve to this. Then he snaked it under Shade’s nose to the other side. When we finally were allowed in to see him around 6:30 p.m., he was still knocked out. He didn’t fully awaken for another two hours, though at one point in his daze, he did mumble that “Dad was f-ing annoying.” No big secret there. Around 9 p.m., they moved him to his own room on the sixth floor and was finally able to drink an apple juice and watch American Ninja Warrior.
Shade has felt no pain so far, despite having his calf, cheek and lip sliced and stitched. However, he did keep thinking he had wet himself. He’s got a catheter and he was feeling the sensation of eliminating. We’d tell him he was fine, that it was all going in a tube to a bag, and that he was all dry. But thanks to a combo of his anethesia and his short term memory loss, he’d quickly forget and say again, “Oh man, I think I peed myself.” This will be a constant loop until the tube is removed.
Good news. My cousin Craig read about our cruddy hotel situation and cashed in some Marriott points to get us a room at the nearby Courtyard, which in comparison is like Downton Abbey. Thanks Craig. Aitza is sleeping on the recliner couch in the hospital room with Shade because she’s mom and that’s what moms do. If all goes well, Shade can leave the hospital and they can stay in the hotel room tomorrow.
I’m keeping this one short because it’s time for bed. More tomorrow.
The line in front of Shade’s ear is where they will make the incision to insert the harvested nerve. the writing says “normal.” The doctor forgot to but “ab” in front of it.
Travel day today. We flew in from Orlando to Raleigh-Durham, departed at 9:30 a.m. I was on standby, but the flight had 30 empty seats so the attendant sat us all together and gave us the seats right behind business class. More legroom. And we boarded first, so no slow shuffle to the back of the plane.
When we got to Alamo and handed our reservation to the attendant, he traded up our economy car for an SUV for free. Said he thought we would need the extra room for the wheelchair. Great guy.
This is one of the benefits of traveling with Shade. People like to upgrade him. Unfortunately, it didn’t work with the hotel. We’re at what Aitza has dubbed the No-Quality Inn. It’s awful. Carpets from 1962. Sagging popcorn ceiling where a previous leak had swelled the stucco. The hallway smells like stewed mildew. The bathroom door is too narrow to allow a wheelchair, so I have to wrestle Shade through the door every time he has to take a whizz. It is better than a motel we once stayed at in Boone, NC, which overlooked an empty pool full of stuffed trash bags, a rusting grill and a foot of green sludge that seemed to have grown tentacles. Suspicious parking lot deals carried on into the wee hours. I believe they had hourly rates. That was the worst hotel we’ve ever suffered through. This is a hair better. But what it lacks in basic living conditions, it makes up for in descriptive storytelling potential.
We had time before our 2:30 p.m. appointment to stop at Elmo’s Diner – a bit of a hometown institution in Durham. Great biscuits and gravy and super-thick chocolate shakes. Shade scarfed down as much food as he could today because he won’t be eating solid food for a while. Fasting tomorrow, liquid diet for a few days, and then soft, mushy food. Savor that bacon cheeseburger, Shadenator!
At our doctor’s appointment, Dr. Marcus walked us through the procedure. After Shade is knocked out, the doc will make two or three small incisions in Shade’s left calf to harvest about 16 to 18 inches of nerve. (The thought makes my sphincter tighten.) He’ll then make an incision along the front of Shade’s left ear and a bit down the jawline. The nerve will be attached to live nerves in this cheek. Then using a very narrow “feeding tube,” he’ll snake the nerve along his upper lip. An incision will be cut at the inside top of his lip to help feed the nerve along. And then they’ll stitch him all up and let the nerve start taking root. The procedure will take about four to five hours.
In nine months, when the nerve has branched out sufficiently, we’ll return for Shade’s follow up surgery – a muscle graft. Dr. Marcus said he’ll wait until then to do his eye brow lift as he’ll be working on the right side. This time the surgery is all left.
We are currently prepping for bedtime. We have to be at the hospital at 9 a.m. We’ll keep you updated during the day on Shade’s Progress Facebook page, and I’ll give you an entire rundown tomorrow night on the blog.
Shade sporting the Tarantino Suitcase, a hitman’s goatee that we had to fill in with Sharpee to connect the stache to the beard. Universal policy. It lasted about a week until Aitza put a stop to it because all his white sleeves were stained gray from where he wiped his face on his sleeves. Doh!
Shade is embarking on a new journey. This is sailing across the uncharted Atlantic to search for a new world. We’ve booked a surgery for him. Nerves harvested and grafted. An electric journey across his face. It’s going to do wonders for his smile.
On Thursday, at 2:30 PM EST, March 29, 2018, we travel from Orlando to Raleigh-Durham for Shade’s appointment with Dr. Jeffrey Robert Marcus, MD of Duke University. He’s one of the top Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons in the country. They did various scans and tests and determined he was a good candidate for a nerve graft. Of course, I told you all this on the Facebook post for his fundraiser so sorry to be redundant.
So this Friday, he’ll be prepped for surgery. After he’s under, Dr. Marcus will remove a nerve from his calf and graft it from his left cheek to his right. They go in under his lips and insert the nerve.
They’ll also lifting his right eyebrow and lower eyelid. It doesn’t close properly and tends to droop, causing his tears to run out and his eyeball to dry. It’s painful and we have to constantly keep his eye lubed and taped at night. The stitch will pull the corner of his right eye up so it holds the tears and potentially allows him to close his eye.
Then comes the recovery period.
I’ll keep you all informed about Shade’s Progress during this procedure. Here’s to symmetrical smiles and blinking eyes.
Good news. Shade had two graduations within a week. Last Friday, he walked on stage to receive his high school diploma at Central Florida Prep, one of the most beautiful graduation ceremonies we’ve ever seen. With a graduating class of six students, each student was highlighted in words and pictures. A truly touching event.
Then this Wednesday, Shade graduated from neurosurgery. In other words, his angiograms show that his AVM is completely gone. Dr. Trumble said that he now has a normal brain. Well, as normal as a Crampton brain can be.
Shade has been working hard to regain his lost progress after the latest stroke nearly a year ago, last May 28. We often go to Planet Fitness, where he uses the weight machines to build up muscle in his left arm and leg. He’s also getting regular PT, OT and ST. Plus, our good friend Danny has helped him do this:
It’s a little blurry, probably because Shade keeps melted Tootsie Rolls in the same pocket as his phone, but you get the picture. Next step, walking.
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.)
Help Shade get mobile again!
Shade's Progress 