Thoughts on My Fathers Stroke
By Mr.e

A little while ago my father suffered a stroke. His chances of going through this life without that risk were not good, having suffered a heart attack nearly a decade ago, but the news still came as a total surprise. As do most unpleasant things that have the decency to turn a life upside down for a while. So it was with my father.

One minute he's enjoying the last few hours of a well deserved holiday away from routine duties and such. The next he's slipping off of the couch, his body succumbing to a serious and potentially fatal medical condition, a stroke; a blood clot in the brain.

My reaction to the news was a mixture of disbelief tinged with "I knew it would happen", as my mother gave me the news over the phone. The same mixed emotions I sensed when talking to a brother in a distant city. Resigned and totally helpless to affect the outcome, whatever that would be.

I'm thankful to report that the stroke did not ravage my father the way it did one of my grandmothers. He shows very few of the classic after affects. He is able to walk unaided, now. He can even drive his car again and his vision has returned to normal, something that the stroke initially impaired. He was lucky.

What frightens me however is not knowing if he is going to have another stroke. Can he do enough to prevent or at least decrease any further risks for yet another stroke; the results of which will likely not be as merciful. Sure, he's recovered well from the heart attack even though he's had a pacemaker installed this past year.

I'm glad that he is as well as he is but with more than one death defying medical emergency, any positive outlook on his future health does not come easy for me.

This brings me to the alien issue of the death of a parent. It's just not something that I have thought about. I don't want to think about it at all. My parents are still in their early 60's. I'm in my 30's. They do have some time to live yet; don't they? After all, my fathers father lived to a good old age of 93. On the other hand, my fathers oldest brother died suddenly only a year or so ago; and he was not yet 70.

I'm balking at the thought that my father could someday soon succumb to the weakness of his physical body. That he will die. No, it's not something I should ever want to think about, but it is creeping into my consciousness.

"How's dad doing?", I ask my mother when she answers the phone. "He's had a good day", is good news and that means a lot. Knowing that he's still struggling to come to grips with this newest threat to his life and new limitations that this stroke has dealt him, I can't begin to understand how or what a stroke really does to a person.

He often reminds us that he is not himself. And I wonder about that. I'm happy that he can communicate with us and tell us what and how he is feeling. I remember my mothers mother who lost the ability to speak after suffering a debilitating stroke. I know dad was lucky.

I know that I'm lucky to still have him around. I'm just not ready to think about death. Not yet, even though dad has cheated death narrowly a few times now. However...