That Day

The day was April 10th. It didn't feel different. The night before my husband came in from work just before midnight, He was playful as usual. He always pretended that he was running to jump on me...on the bed. I would scream, he would laugh. His dinner was waiting in the microwave and he left for the kitchen to go eat. He always fell asleep after eating and taking his insulin, so when I left for work the next morning he was knocked out on the couch. He had this thing, that no matter whether he was sleeping, mouth open, snoring or drooling - I needed to give him a kiss before I left for work. And somehow he would know when I was rushing and left without kissing him. So I kissed him and left for work. I keep wondering...was he already having a stroke? Did I kiss and leave him while he was in distress? I'll never know.

Ironically I made him a doctor's appointment for that very day. I wanted to get his blood pressure and A1C checked. But when I called to remind him, he didn't answer. It was his day off, so I figured he was just resting. I called two more times before I started fussing at him in my head. BUT...the third time he answered, he had missed the appointment but he finally picked up. But something was off. His speech was slurred and kind of nonsensical. I called his dad and asked him to call him, just to validate my feelings that something was wrong. I told him that I was calling 911, but I still wanted his opinion. When he called back and said that something was definitely wrong, I felt panic. I was at work, at least 45 minutes away.

I called him back and told him that help was coming, but all he could say was "I can't feel the arm" over and over. But I can tell he was walking around. I tried to firmly tell him to go sit down and wait, but anyone that knows him knows already...he didn't listen. On the other line the paramedics are calling me. They can't find him. I switch calls and try to ask him where he is and he can't tell me. Then his call drops. More panic.

I'm still on with the paramedics and I tell them what happened. They tell me to remain calm. I tell them my first thought of where he would be. He was there! The relief I felt when they said "WE GOT HIM!". Exhale. For thirty seconds. Because now I need to get to the hospital, through downtown DC traffic, in rush hour.

I was about 10 minutes away when I got the call. He was having a stroke, but they were unsure for how long. If he was sleeping, it's possible that he had been having it all day, and that means it's a massive stroke. They ask for permission to operate and explain what the operation entails. I don't even understand, but they are saying it's his only chance and I have to make the decision NOW, so they can take him for emergency surgery. I agree, someone has to get on the phone to record my consent and that's it. They're taking him into surgery and I'm not even there yet.

I scream the rest of the way to the hospital.

I HATE THAT DAY.