"Now, Moby, before you get yourself worked up into a tizzy, this is all a misunderstanding." My mom has no clue. She is sorely mistaken if she thinks she's going to manipulate her way out of this one."What were you thinking?" I snarl in my parents' direction."Son, calm down." My dad will forever defend that woman. It doesn't matter if she's right or wrong he's going down with her. He would have ridden the Titanic to the bottom of the ocean with her. Maybe that's why their attitude toward Piper surprises me so much."Don't tell me to calm down, Dad. You would be irate if one of us let mom sleep in her car." I hear the beeping on the machine monitoring my blood pressure, and I know my pulse is rising, but I can't stop the anger."Why didn't Piper speak up?" "I don't know, Mom. Maybe she didn't feel like she could when you basically threatened to leave her behind yesterday. Or maybe her only priority was me and not her fucking swimsuit or her impromptu vacation." I hope the w
They both take seats in my room, making small talk, asking about my night, what the doctor plans for today. Not long after I tell them I'm waiting on an MRI, the nurse comes in to give me the contrast dye. She'll be back in a bit to take me for the actual test but before she goes she plants a needle in the skin of my stomach, just below my belly button. Morning and night. Two shots of Heparin a day and they hurt like a son of a bitch. I already have bruises marking my lower abdomen from previous injections. I wince but say nothing. She's better than the others have been. As soon as she pulls the needle out, she rubs small circles over the injection."It helps a little if you massage the spot. I know they suck. Sorry." She's young and cute-she obviously works out. Her arms are lean like a runner. I imagine she's just out of nursing school. "I'm Alyssa." She extends her hand in greeting when she finishes rubbing the soreness away."Moby. Nice to meet you.""I have to admit, I was s
Before the doctors even start to speak, I get the feeling this is the day of reckoning, as if today, we find out what the rest of our lives will hold. Every free minute I've had I've been on my phone reading what I can about strokes-what to expect after, the intense therapy, the long-term effects. It's a lot. I'm preparing myself for it, but I don't think Moby has any idea. I haven't had the heart to tell him he isn't just going to wake up next week and be able to walk and have use of his arm and hand again. His speech is getting better each day, but it all takes time and work.Dr. Ryan speaks for the group. "You've had a stroke, we already knew that, but we didn't know why, and I still can't say with one hundred percent certainty, but we have a pretty good idea." She erases the whiteboard in the room, taking a marker in hand, she starts drawing what appears to be a neck and brain. The squeaking of the dry erase marker is eerie in the quiet of the room. "There are two major blood
When Moby's parents return from some fancy lunch in Mt. Pleasant, he fills them in on the events of the day. His mom seems disappointed they won't be doing the stent but instead of questioning it, I ignore her. She pulls me aside to apologize for her oversight the night before and had I not known Moby coerced her it might have felt genuine. Nate on the other hand, his apology feels heartfelt. As the atonement is wrapping up, the cavalry arrives. This room seemed large when we first arrived but slowly adding the Wrights, the Coopers, and my Fish dwarfs it. My parents won't be far behind, but they had to wait until the business closed to make the drive."What's the word, Mo?" Joey pushes his way to the front of the group. I'm surprised we haven't heard more from him while we've been gone but should count my blessings he's been all right. I was worried he'd never leave Moby's side.I listen from the corner of the room as Moby offers what there is to tell which isn't much. It's weir
The rest of the week feels like Groundhog Day. Over and over. The movie, not the actual day. Each day is more of the same. People poke and prod Moby; we hang out in his room watching TV, the therapists come around and do their thing with him, then we're alone again. Our friends were here for a couple days, but they all had to go back to work, as did my parents, and Moby's. Alyssa pops in the room, "Hey, guys! Want some news?" She's beaming. I hope that's an indication she has something positive to share. "Absolutely." I don't care if Moby wants news or not. At this point, I'd take any form of entertainment. I'm going stir crazy sitting in the confines of this sterile torture chamber. The only time I leave is to go get Moby or myself something to eat or drink. It's against the rules for him, but I don't care. If he can eat soup, he can eat ice cream. And yes, that's my professional medical opinion."You guys may be getting out of here in the morning. Moby crosses over the twenty
With the caseworker's help, we make the decision to try to get insurance approval for Peace close to where we live. It's an in-patient rehabilitation facility near Healing Wings. Piper can come after work or maybe at lunch without having to drive to another county. It ranks the best facility in the state for the care I need. The caseworker is trying to get approval from the insurance carrier today. If all goes as planned, we will leave tomorrow-Piper in her car and me in another ambulance. I argued to ride with her but the caseworker, who's name I can't remember, pointed out if I'm able to ride with my wife and don't need the medical attention provided by an ambulance, it's unlikely the insurance company will agree I need full-time physical therapy.It irks the shit out of me we have to play fucking games to get an insurance company to say it is or isn't okay for me to do this or not. To think it's in some clerk's hands whether I receive the therapy I need even though the doctor h
Walking down the halls of the third hospital in our tour around the state, I have to say this is, thus far, my least favorite. The lights seem dim; the walls need a fresh coat of paint, there are no people in the halls, it's unnervingly quiet. Nothing about this place screams life, and I inaudibly wonder how many people simply come here to die. It doesn't even have the typical sanitized smell-it's musty, like old people.I peek in the open doors as we follow the attendant pushing Moby's wheelchair to his room. Maybe it's simply because people who have strokes are typically elderly, or considerably older than Moby, but everyone I see looks like a wax statue. There's no color in their skin; no movement in their bodies; no one is visiting with them. They're just all old. Decrepit. Waiting to perish.I can't leave Moby here. There's no way I can leave my bright, vibrant husband to die inside these walls. His spirit will never make it here, not for any length of time much less the four
If I thought being in a hospital with Moby had been stressful, going back to work, dealing with the house issues, and Moby still being in rehab brought a whole new meaning to the word. I've only been doing this a few days but I'm so exhausted I've started talking to myself at night when I'm home alone. I hope my loss of sanity is temporary, and I try to celebrate the little accomplishments, but I'm nearing a point where I'm going to be unable to function. Rationally, I know it's transitory, but my ability to hold onto a positive outlook is waning along with my energy. The weekend will only bring more of what I'm already facing. I have weeks of work to catch up on for Healing Wings, I haven't cleaned the house or the condo in countless days, and both yards need attention before the neighbors start complaining. Jotting down my weekend to-do list, I begin to dread each new day starting. I fall further and further behind with each sun that sets. The medical bills were already star