Two years ago today I started a journey that not only changed my life, but also the lives of my family and friends. Looking back, it seems hardly possible that two years have passed since that eventful day.  When I woke up in December after spending 20 days in ICU, I could not walk, use my left hand, or stay awake for more than a few hours.

Days, weeks, and months went by and I although some days the steps seemed very small I continued to progress . My amazing friends and family have stuck by me the whole way.The staff at MetroHealth everyone included still tell me at every opportunity that if anyone was going to pull through they thought it would be me because of the wonderful support group that called, visited, and sat by my side during my recovery.

And, that brings me to the perspective  of my post today—friends. Before going further, I want to explain that family are friends and friends are family.  The two have been interchangeable all my life.  My mother fostered that mindset from the time I was small. Since I was an only child, she made sure that I was surrounded by cousins and friends on weekends and in the summer so that I would not become bored and the handful that I could sometimes be.  Ask Tim, he can tell you a few of m “brat” stories as he call them.

When facing a health crisis, I cannot stress enough how important a support system becomes and is.  I am not going to chronicle those important people in this post because I wouldn’t do anyone justice, but I am sure that through the coming years I will write about many of them and those i don’t will know that the reason I do not write  a vignette about them is probably because the connection is cherished in my heart and I feel I do not have the words to properly express the encounter.

Being a friend to someone who is facing a chronic illness can be a challenge, but not if we each realize that one in three of us will face such an illness or be a bystander to someone we love faces the challenges of a health crisis.  Dropping a card in the mail, stopping for a visit at the hospital, taking a meal for everyone to share when the patient comes home , many, many things that take a lot of time or just a smidgen of time can make someone’s day brighter and sunnier.  I know because my days have been much fuller and richer by the random acts of kindness that I have received from friends.

Two years later, they are still supporting me with words of encouragement, conversations over coffee, and including me in projects and decisions they are making so that I can forget my limitations and focus on the possibilities of my life.    

your own, your doctor’s, the hospital’s, in my case, MetroHealth Medical Center, your family’s, your friends’. When I spent those two months in the hospital last December and January, I learned that you need to speak up when you want to know something or you need a change in treatment, environment, or information for peace of mind.

The first time I really employed this advocacy thing was during the incident of the Jumping Bean Bed.  Because of that bed, I was not getting rest and I told my nurses I didn’t know how I was supposed to heal if I could not sleep. They told me to ask my doctors when they had rounds that morning for a new bed. Dr. Shwee said he didn’t see why I couldn’t have a new bed if one was available.  When I arrived back to my room from my physical therapy session, there was my new “old” bed.  The nurses had found a bed and moved everything in and out when I was gone. 

Now, I could have continued to suffer in silence complaining to friends and family, but they could have only sympathized.  By telling my doctors directly,  my problem was fixed quickly and efficiently. It gave me the confidence to ask questions about the drugs I was taking, to discuss the progress of my rehabilitation with therapists, nurses, and doctors.  During my stay at MetroHealth, I learned that this hospital is an “unsung hero” of our county. I have vowed to promote this awesome place of “miracles and hope” whenever and wherever I can. I also ask others who I meet who have experienced the quality care and compassion at this tremendous hospital to join me in my advocacy.

Yesterday, was the Shearer Family Christmas, and I was reminded of my Uncle Gene who was our family advocate. My mother and father divorced after 25 years of marriage. I was an adult but divorce affects any child no matter their age.  Uncle Gene would seek me out each year and ask me “What’s new”? We would chat a few minutes, and then, he would tell me a short story about something he remembered about my dad.  It might be a hunting story or an incident at one of the County Fair horse pulls.  He never failed to mention my dad. This conversation was held at the get together for my mother’s side of the family. Without lecturing or making a big deal out of it, he  would remind a 25 year old woman  that there were good times to remember when we were all together. I’ve never forgotten how I appreciated his attention and his compassion.

I learned from my uncle that too often people simply stop talking about people important in their lives because it is painful or because we think it might make others uncomfortable.  Uncle Gene always considered what was important to the person with whom he was conversing.  I never turned away from him without feeling just a bit better and walking a bit taller.  I work each day to be an advocate for my family and friends as he was.  He is a fine example of how an advocate of others should live.    Be an advocate by accentuating the positive to family and friends. Share stories of loved ones who are no longer with us.  Use those stories to strengthen bonds between generations.  

This lesson was again learned from one of my parents.  This time my mother was the one who gave the lesson.  My mother had polio as a young child; hence, my concern about her health I mentioned in yesterday’s post. She had coped for many years with a metal plate in her leg and scoliosis of her spine.  Each year our church back home had a big Chicken Barbeque on Fourth of July.  Each year my mother baked many, many pies for this event.

When I was 24 my mother called me to make sure that I would be coming home for the holiday because she wanted my help in baking pies for the church picnic.  I said I would be there to help, and she said good because there were fewer women who had volunteered for pie baking.

Well, at 24, I was not the responsible, reliable, predictable person I am today, and as young daughters will do, I arrived late with a hangover.  My mother didn’t say a word.  She just threw the apron at me and told me to start slicing apples for her famous Dutch Apple pie.  We worked in silence for what seemed like an eternity to me until I finally broke the silence with this question “so, is your leg aching today or is it your back”?

She flew around to face me, and with that look that only a mother can give, she said through clenched teeth “I am in pain every day of my life. This is not about pain, but about giving.  I gave based on what you told me you would give to me—help.  Because you did not see my giving as a priority I may not be able to give what I said I would.  You give what you can and I do but because you did not give what you could I may be short my giving”.  There was little I could say, but I began to work a bit more efficiently and faster, and we were able to make good on my mom’s promise to the other church ladies.

When I laid in that hospital bed for days on end needing help to eat, to dress, to accomplish the most basic of needs there was little I could give.  What I could give was a smile and a thank you which I did often and freely.  It was easy to remember my mother’s axiom of “You give what you can based on what you can accomplish”.

My doctors, nurses, and caregivers told me when I left how much they had appreciated my smiles and “thank yous”. They mentioned that my family and friends never failed to thank them, too.  They told me it wasn’t necessary, but it was greatly appreciated.   Sometimes, a smile and thank you is enough for those who give to you.    

When Monica Robbins interviewed Tim and me a few weeks ago I mentioned that when I spoke at the October Stroke Conference I did three things related my experience,  and shared seven things I learned.  She immediately asked what were they? I of course drew a blank and could only relate five.  I have since found my notes and intend to relate them here over the next few days.

The first thing I learned was to Count My Blessings. Actually, I had learned that years ago when I was a small child, but over the years I had remembered to do it much less frequently. While I was in ICU the nurses would turn on the television for background noise. I don’t know if I listened to the dialogue from “White Christmas”or if I simply dreamed portions of one of my favorite Holiday Classics.

In any case, it reminded me of my father who taught me to “count my blessings”.  When I was much younger I was a “worrywart”.  I worried that my cousin who was in the Navy would get lost in the jungles of Panama, that my teacher would call on me and I wouldn’t know the answer soon enough, that my Dad would go to work one day and not come home again just like my Grandpa, that my mother would get very, very sick. The list was a mile long, and I would stare in the darkness long after the house was quiet with my spinning, worrying mind.

It was shortly after my seventh birthday when my dad walked me into a starlit pasture and told me that I needed to learn to count my blessings instead of chronicle my worries.  That night he showed me how to count on the people who loved me, to count on myself, to count on my strengths, to count on the thousands of stars in the sky. That night I fell asleep confident my blessings outweighed my worries. 

Fifty years later lying in a hospital bed with arms hooked up to too many IVs to count, with a machine to help me breathe,  it would have been easy to have a head spinning full of worries. What if I never walked again, what if I couldn’t use my left hand for eating and writing, what if this and what if that.  I could have spent my hours endlessly worrying, but instead I decided to count my blessings.  It worked. It helped me stay positive on the hardest of days and saw me through long, dark nights.

So just as Bing Crosby sang Irving Berlin’s words to Rosemary Clooney in the movie “White Christmas” so many years ago, I would tell you this Christmas ”when you are worried and cannot sleep try counting your blessings instead of sheep”. It worked for me.

Last Monday Monica Robins and her sidekick Patrick spent two hours at the electronic cottage with Tim and me. Earlier in the day, she had interviewed Dr. Dan Friedman at MetroHealth about the health crisis that I personally suffered. 

As you know, two hours will shrink to a  very condensed version of the events.  I do hope that the important place my family and friends hold in the story remains as well as the incredible caring of the MetroHealth Team-doctors, nurses, therapists, LPNS, and all other staff. If it doesn’t survive the cutting room floor, please know that Tim and I thank God for all of you each and every day.

While Monica was here, I mentioned that Kim Wendel had been to our house on October 30th to interview us prior to the November 3rd general election in 2008.  My recollection of that time is fuzzy to say the least.  I do remember that Tim kept asking me why I wasn’t blogging more. Now, we know that I was barely functioning for the two weeks before my heart attack.  What is it they always say about hindsight being 20-20?

I am glad to say that much has changed in the last year. I am getting more energy and feeling pretty good on almost every day.  I now have more GOOD days than bad days. Tim told Father Ralph today that I still spend too much tme in the past comparing myself to who I was and not to who I am in the present.  I did mention though that I am very good at telling others how they should live in the present and not grouse about what isn’t any more.

So, if the eyes stay open try to catch the 11 pm news. My aunt used to say “Please consider me a chip in your woodpile of memories”. Please know that I consider you all much more than chips!.   

I don’t think quoting the last paragraph of Glenn Close’s article on Huffington Post detracts from her insightful writing and knowledge of an illness that needs to be brought out of the darkness and into the light if we are going to find a solution together. Here it is in its entirety.

The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that by the year 2020 mental illness will be the second leading cause of death and disability. Every society will have to confront the issue. The question is, will we face it with open honesty or silence?

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glenn-close/mental-illness-the-stigma_b_328591.html

We have certainly been aware of the magnitude of the mental illness issue for some time now.  When states agreed with human rights organizations and others that the bulk of patients locked up in institutions had no place there and could take their places in society, it was not out of compassion and the understanding that care would still be needed for these individuals outside ivy-covered walls, but rather it was seen as a cost-cutting measure to states’ budgets.

At the same time, insurance companies’ saw that mental health benefits were a back breaker to employer-backed insurance plans. Insurance plans with mental health benefits were almost nonexistent for individuals. Health care for mentally ill individuals  and support for their families became more and more elusive while our prisons often became the place of last resort because treatment options are so finite.

A caregiver at MetroHealth told me recently that a person who should be admitted to the psychiatric unit of the hospital must  have insurance, be rated, or have Medicaid BEFORE admittance.  It is the only area with such a requirement.  So, when a mental illness issue is identified, the person is instructed to come back to the hospital for a rating, and then, they will be admitted. How often do you think that person returns, gets a rating, and is admitted? What if you were the family member that finally convinced the person to seek help? How do you think everyone copes? 

Almost thirty years later, mental health budgets in the state of Ohio have taken direct hits as a budget cost-cutting measure. We as a nation continue to push this real issue back into the darkness as national suicide rates soar. In reality, the violence of mental illness is usually self-inflicted.  Rarely, is it focused outward and seldom do wives”blow away” the  “perp”.

Yesterday I accompanied Tim on his “complete physical” appointment with our primary doctor at MetroHealth.  Our doctor told him that he was an example of a Greek God.  All of his tests came back showing a much younger man than his actual age.  Let me say this, we didn’t really need the boost to Tim’s ego, but I for one was greatly appreciative that his health is so good. I know the girls will be pleased as well.  Those of you who have had parents or friends who take on the role of caregiver know how stressful it can be and how often that person’s health suffers.  Tim attributes a lot of it to his ability to fall asleep any time, any where, and any how.  His doctor and I think there is a bit more to it than that, but whatever works for him.

One of the questions she always asks him is how is he coping with what is going on in my life.  Yesterday, Tim told her that he was extremely worried about me because I was extremely “flat”.  In fact, he said he thought “I was “going away again”.  She turned to me and in her direct and pointed way, she asked”are you depressed?  You know, if you are that is very common and acceptable given all you have been through”.

I paused, said”no”, then hesitated. Not depressed exactly, but discouraged.  All this time, I have treated each event—the heart attack, the stroke, the stroke rehab, the cancer as one more hurdle, and here i am at the last hurdle-the cardio rehab- and I am sore, I am weak, I am so tired.  “Last hurdle, this is not the LAST hurdle this is the first hurdle, the one that begins a long journey of life.  You are beginning training to last a lifetime.  Consider it marathon training.  You train hard, then you ease off, then you go at it again, until it becomes a way of life.  Tim asks her if she is a runner.  She smiles and says “yes”.

Perspective-how important our perspective is on how we face the hurdles of life.  The first hurdle, not the last hurdle-how interesting just a simple switch of perception gives me a whole new outlook on how I see my future-not one of an invalid, but of an athlete-an athlete of life.  Thanks, Doc!  you’ve given me one more reason to love MetroHealth.

Today, I am awake.  I can’t walk.  I can’t use my left arm.  The fingers of my left hand don’t cooperate with my brain at all. Two people use a machine to help me to the bathroom.   Tim feeds me.  The nurses help me dress.   But, I can talk, and do I talk.  Visitors begin to fill my room and I tell them… I don’t remember what I tell them, but I know that I am happy and thankful to be there, and I talk and talk.

Looking back on it being able to communicate is probably The most important thing right now—the thing that holds depression at bay.  A doctor steps into the room to assess me and tells me that I will probably have to learn to eat and write with my right hand.  This statement disturbs me more than you can imagine.   I am a “leftie” and am proud to be a leftie.  I tell anyone who will listen, and in reply, I get this question “Isn’t it a bit early to tell”?  And I think to myself.  “Yes”.

The second day I am in the stroke rehab my therapy begins.  Each day I have three hours of therapy—occupational, physical, and speech.   Each session works on parts of my brain that need to learn to coordinate and synchronize.  On Saturdays, I will have physical therapy because it is the most needed.  Sundays I get the day off as well as Christmas and New Year’s.  By Christmas, I will need that day off.  These Physical Therapy guys and gals know their stuff, and  they are the ones who will help me walk again.  I will start with them.

My physical therapist asks me “What is your goal?  What do you want to do when you leave here”?  I tell her, “I want to dance again”.  At this point in time, I am in a wheelchair.  I cannot take three steps alone.  My left arm is learning to stay out of my way, but at times, is very unsuccessful.  She stops, but never hesitates. She says” let’s see what we can do about that”.  

Next: My Occupational Therapist-The Listener

Many of you know that last November began a a very long and scary adventure for my family, friends, and me. Some of you don’t know the details but know I haven’t been around much any more.  Today, I got clearance for Cardio Rehab and I believe that it is safe to say that I am out of the woods and on a long trek back.  It is time to begin the story.

Today I will begin the story of the last six months. I have decided to share my experiences at MetroHealth with my wider net of community because, if nothing else, you may see that anything is possible.  Let me say this, I have no answers only the experience itself to illustrate what is possible.  My aunts continue to say “it is a miracle”.  My doctors don’t say they are wrong.  Me, I don’t remember the first 23 days.  Tim tells me it is just as well.  As I learn bits and pieces I can only say I believe him.

On the seventeenth  day of November I traveled to MetroHealth courtesy of Cleveland EMS.  Within minutes, I was there.  Tim says he never saw so much activity, so much determination and focus in one place.  It appears that day I suffered a heart attack. Shortly after, I suffered three strokes.  Somewhere in there are a stent that became clogged calling for three more, two cardiac arrests, and after a talk with my cardiologist about just how dire my situation was, a DNR was put in place.  My friends and family were greatly impressed that my doctor included them in the status report after asking Tim if he wanted to do it or could he?  Roger later heard this same doctor tell a group of interns “this woman is the sickest patient in this 700 bed hospital”.

After they took a CAT scan,  the doctors told Tim and the girls that chances were good that I would never go home again.  There was a great probability that when I left the hospital I would enter a skilled nursing home where I would eventually succumb to pneumonia.  Tim said he wasn’t ready to seal my fate on a few fuzzy pictures of my head.  My doctors agreed.

And this is where my family, my friends, you, and many I have not met or know enter the tale.  Tim had already called people.  The girls, Geri and Teagan were there.  Many of you had already been to see me, to hold my hand, to remind me of all our good times, to thank the nurses and doctors for me because I could not.  Tim asked for help.  He asked for your prayers, your energy, whatever you had to give.  Whatever you did, however you did it, I am here to say it worked.  On December 10, the woman no one expected to live left CCU and moved to the Seventh Floor to begin Stroke Rehab.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Next:  The Beginning of the Long Road Back