I had been especially depressed for 3 weeks before April 4, 2016. I had felt suicidal before, but I always had help from my best friend, my mother. She would always help me through these times.
In 2015 she had been diagnosed with dementia, and I could no longer go to her with my problems.

I lost all faith and hope that Spring. I felt God had abandoned me. Around 4 a.m. on April 4, I jumped three stories onto the driveway of my apartment complex.

I was LifeFlighted to Altoona, where I was operated on for a broken back, a broken pelvis, and a shattered elbow. I was later told my heart had stopped during surgery.

I was in Altoona hospital for about two months, first in I CU, then regular hospital, then the psych unit.

While I was in bed, unable to walk, I asked the staff a few times, "Will I ever walk again?"

They always answered, "We aren't sure. We'll do our best." When I got this answer, I kept asking about the blue cane in the corner of the room. They would reply, "There is no blue cane there, Cindy."

I was delighted to know some of the staff were Christians. I had a Bible with me, but left my glasses at home, so I asked my physical therapist to read the 23rd Psalm to me. (This was my Grandmother's favorite Bible verse). My therapist, Mary, recited it to me by heart. Every time she entered my room I asked her about this and other verses. (Since my heart stopped during surgery, and since I tried to end my life, I had really been in the The 'valley in the shadow of death,' as part of the verse is worded.

I went home relegated to a wheelchair. I eventually drove again when I graduated to a walker. I was determined to return to the independent person that I had been before my attempt. One day, I decided to try to walk with a cane. I called my local pharmacy to have them deliver one to my apartment.
(The roads may have been slippery that day, so I didn't venture out).

"What kind of cane do you want?" the pharmacist asked.

"The kind that stand alone when not used, " I answered.

"We have a model like that, that comes in 6 colors. What color do you want Cindy?"

"It doesn't really matter," I said. "Just so it fits my 5' frame."

They delivered a blue cane, like the one I visualized in the corner of my hospital room months before. It was always small, yet significant signs like this that let me know God "had my back," so to speak.

I began to love life again, though I had to live through bouts of intermittent, sometimes excruciating pain, that painkillers no longer helped.

Despite a noticeably crooked right arm (with metal keeping my upper and lower arm together), I took up the cello. I will never be a literal connoisseur of that beautiful instrument, but a metaphorical one, as I write some stories about cello players. I know some simple cello passages, and every once in a great while, when I play it, I reach that wonderful honey tone the cello was meant to have.

I began to realize my life long passion of writing creatively. (Before this, I wrote strict college essays). I joined Fanstory initially in 2018. Sally Law was my very first reviewer. Today we are good Fanstory Friends. I have other friends too on this caring website. Roy taught me to 'trust in the Lord.'

Others with variegated, eclectic backgrounds enrich one's life with knowledge and humor.

I pray Wayne recovers and enjoys life again. My prognosis wasn't that great, yet I overcame. I know God has his back too. I found a new friend in Rhonda. God bless them both.

Author Notes

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

Have you ever seen someone literally fighting back from the jaws of death?

I always thought the saying figurative -- having that fighting spirit inside-- a behind the scenes sort of thing, but it's not always that subtle. Sometimes you can watch it unfold in front of you.

I observed it the day after my husband, Wayne, had an Ischemic stroke, which means a vessel in the brain is blocked by a blood clot.

 

It's the most common type, and he had it in the most common place - the frontal lobe. All commonality after that disappeared. He's spent the last 2 1/2 weeks defying all the odds.

There's a scale score on stroke severity, 1- 42, with 42 being the worst, but I never asked what his score was. To be honest, I didn't know the scale existed before this event.

The medical professionals batted around the words, severe, massive, and major artery occlusion like verbal ping pong balls. They were scary enough without any numbers attached. The message I got was Wayne had a very grim outlook in spite of surviving a surgery called thrombectomy.

 

Yes, he was sleeping in a bed beside me. I could feel and touch him. The sounds of beeping machines, and his rasping breathing, convinced me he was still alive. But what was ahead of us? What had just rocked our world?

With promptings, he would squeeze my hand with his good right one. The left lay useless at his side. 

The night crept on with little change, but by morning, he began to struggle to breathe on his own. He had very limited response to any of us besides slight hand squeezing and muttering. Concerned, the ICU team and Neurologists were considering putting him on life support.

 

Before doing so, they took him in for a CT scan to see if there was any further damage. I breathed in-- breathed out-- prayed -- waited. A myriad of emotions and memories overwhelmed me. What would I do??

A few minutes later, Wayne returned, but not the way he'd left. He was wide awake. Those luminous blue eyes, ones I feared I'd never see lit up again, were alive with fury. He was thrashing around in his bed, ripping out IV tubes, electronic attachments of all kinds and trying to get out of the bed. It took three large men and me to try and hold him back.

He repeatedly screamed, "Let me up! Let me up!"

One of the men holding him was his burly son, Mike. The very one who had saved his life less than 24 hours earlier. Wayne balled up his fist and punched him in the ribs, shouting, "Boy, either help me up or shoot me."

Mike helped him up. Me? I smothered laughter as sobs. I don't think I fooled anyone. You see, his screaming was beautiful in my eyes. It was clear speech and the thrashing was done with both sides of his body -- a body that had been almost completely paralyzed on the left. It was moving and it was fighting.

That, my friends, I would call a miracle.

And, how did it happen?

Many of you already know. You were a blessed part of the process. His miracle came from the Grace of God, prayers and support of friends, skill of the surgical team, and an unconquerable will to survive.

 

Author Notes

A lot of you have heard about this incident. I wrote a poem about it from Wayne's point of view, and Debi made a book many of you contributed to. Thank you all. Your poems mattered to me. Your support and prayers even more. Tuesday, less than 3 weeks after surviving what might have been a debilitating stroke of epic proportions, he will be coming home. I don't know what changes will have to happen. He's still not back to "normal", but he's a walking, talking, eating, joking, miracle!!

Chapter 7
My Code Blue Experience

By davisr (Rhonda)

It was the early morning of July 7th, 2022. I sat in the backseat of my daughter Michelle's car while my other daughter, Bridget, rode shotgun.  They thought I was sleeping, but I was daydreaming about the miracle of getting a new knee and leg.  My husband couldn't be with us as we had planned our Summer, taking turns having much-needed surgeries. His hip replacements would be in June and August, and my knees and legs would be in July and September.  So, he was still recovering from his first one at home. 

 

I was thinking about the days when I was a walking fool. I wouldn't quit until I had at least 10,000 "Steps on my Fitbit" in a day's time.

 

But more important were the memories of my time with my grandkids. I am not sure if I have ever enjoyed my life more than I have with them. I still enjoy them immensely, but back then we were all about non-stop fun and laughter. We may have even had a record of the most uses for duct tape. We went from building forts to science experiments, making Rice Krispy bars with my Andrew and playing farm with my Goobs, (Carter). It seemed I had one special thing with each kid and many with all of them, until they decided to do the inevitable; they grew up. I pray the memories live forever in their minds. 

 

My lupus of thirty years had taken so much from me already, and now it had slowly disabled my legs, and were in the formation, much like the letter X. The bones needed to be straightened and built up. I could walk a few steps with a walker when need be. I spent much of my time in a wheelchair because not only were my legs bad, but my knees were bone on bone, which made it twice as hard to walk. 

 

I hoped to write while in the hospital, so I brought one of my iPads. I joined FanStory in 2021 during COVID, which had removed all physical human contact except my husband. I was incredibly lonely for my family, especially my grandchildren. My immune system was very low, so we couldn't allow anyone in the house, even with a mask.  

 

It was during the pandemic when I learned that my lupus, along with my chronic anemia, had also caused kidney damage, and now I had stage 4 kidney disease. At my last appointment, my husband reminded my surgeon about my health challenges.  

 

I am proud to say that I had already planned to refuse any narcotics. I had been addicted to them years earlier; when my doctor had pushed them on me for my lupus pain. I took them for ten years; and was on high doses of OxyContin and Percocet when I decided to wean off, with my doctor's help. It wasn't easy, but it was well worth it. I just knew that I didn't dare start retaking them. They were way too hard to quit the first time around.

 

That morning after my surgery, I was released from recovery and put in my room, and all seemed to be okay. The doctors said it was a success. That evening, they brought all my night meds to me. I should have looked at what it included,  but I assumed they were all there. After all, nobody had said anything to me about changing my medication schedule. 

 

Later, after I had fallen asleep for a few hours, I woke with a sensation that something was wrong. I could feel my legs wanting to jump and twitch, but it was mostly an uncontrollable urge to throw my legs around and stop the horrible sensation. So I rang for the nurse, and when she came in, I asked if they had given me the medication for restless leg syndrome. She said no, that it contributes to lowering blood pressure.  I told her they had to give me something as it was getting so bad that I could hardly stand it. I was afraid that I would somehow hurt my leg or knee as they have always spazzed when I don't have the medication.

 

The nurse refused to help me and told me I should try to relax.  Besides, it was the weekend, and they usually don't like to contact the doctor on call unless it is an emergency. 

 

As it got later and later, I could feel an anxiety attack coming on.  I could barely get my air and was trying hard not to move my legs. I felt like I was going to die. I looked at the clock, and it was 3 AM. The nurse came in to check my vitals and the IV, and I told her about the panic attack and how uncomfortable my legs were; she told me to lie back and take some deep breaths, and I would be fine.

 

When she left the room I got out my iPad that was on the bed with me and texted all three of my children. I hated to do this to them but I knew I had to at least say goodbye. I told them I loved them and feared I might not make it through the night. I explained what had happened regarding my restless legs medication, and how that had led to a panic attack and worse. I wanted them to be aware just in case I didn't survive, as I was sure they would not hear the truth of what had been happening.

 

A few minutes later, the nurse returned to check my blood pressure, heart rate and also the heart monitor.  Suddenly, she ran out of the room, and soon there was a code blue announcement, and a team of people rushed in to work on me. There were so many people hooking wires and straps on me, putting meds in my IVs, etc... that I just closed my eyes and started praying. At that very moment, I felt Jesus holding me in His arms. The pain was gone and I felt so peaceful. I didn't recall anything after that until I woke up in intensive care. 

 

After they had me stabilized and established in intensive care, labs came and took my blood.  I looked like a pin cushion before they were done with me. I also noticed that I was bruised all over and had so many wires in me that I wasn't sure where they were all leading.  Plus, I had four blood transfusions before I left the hospital, as my hemoglobin was at 5, when they first tested it, which is extremely dangerous.

 

My children and husband were there by 7 AM and extremely upset by the news of the Code Blue and that I had been ignored when I asked to have the doctor called to help with the restless legs. One of my daughters said that the fact that it got so bad that I had to text them to say I may not make it showed that even I knew that my body was in distress. She also pointed out that "On call" doctors are "On call" for a reason and there was no way I should have been ignored, especially when much of my trauma could have been avoided. 

 

When the doctor came in, he explained to us that much of what caused the problem was from me losing so much blood during surgery. My family immediately wanted to know why the blood wasn't restored, and the answer was that most bodies restore it on their own. That is when I could see my husband's blood pressure rising. He reminded the doctor that he had warned him about my medical history. The doctor passed the blame onto recovery, saying it was their responsibility at that point to take care of it. 

 

I remained in intensive care for another week and in the hospital for two more weeks after that. I had visits from hospital administrators, and I could tell they feared a lawsuit. 

 

Of course, I had no plans to sue them, but I offered my advice for them to listen to their patients more closely and, if they are going to take away medications, to talk to them ahead of time and not do it without their knowledge. 

 

 I was just so very thankful that Jesus brought me through that night and that I had survived. 

 

So, in September, when I had my other leg and knee done (at a different hospital) this time, my son was there too and insisted on talking to the doctor ahead of time. The woman at the front desk said they didn't do that before the surgery, but he could speak to him afterward. My son told her, either I talk to him before, or the surgery doesn't happen. The surgeon was out there within ten minutes. I don't know exactly what Jason said to him, but I knew whatever he said was to help his mom, and I knew that meant things would be different this time. And they were! 

Author Notes

My thanks still go out to Margaret, Late Bloomer, who wrote a poem of prayer for me after this ordeal. Because of her considerate poem, I received many prayers from you. Thank you all. An interesting fact about this particular hospital was that it was the hospital where other hospitals would send patients with trauma and injuries that they weren't able to handle, as this was a trauma hospital. My daughter at age 8 was flown there by helicopter from our local hospital when she had a fractured skull following a bicycle accident.

Chapter 8
Stay With Us

By davisr (Rhonda)

First, let me apologize for one more story from Wayne's miraculous saga of recovery from a massive stroke, but something came up last night I feel needs sharing.

It was the end of the day, and Wayne and I were sitting on the side of the bed discussing his experiences. He survived something most never live to talk about, or if they do, are in various states of impairment.

We are aware of the magnitude of the gift he has been given, but cautiously aware that he still has some hurdles to overcome.

It was incredible to hear him talk about his emerging stroke symptoms and how he struggled to stop the tractor he was in. It's something few have the opportunity to share.

Both of my parents died from equivalent strokes. They never were able to talk about what happened to them, to say good-bye, I love you, or any of the other things we wished could have been said.

Wayne had his own personal experience with a family member and a debilitating stroke. His uncle, Jerry, spent 21-years in a nursing home unable to move his right side or even talk. He understood what people said and could respond with hand gestures, but was otherwise cut off from the farming community he once was a huge part of.

Wayne thought about all three of them as he sat in the tractor that morning and fought against his entire left side going weak to stop the machine from plunging into the stock tank ahead of him. He was determined that, one way or another, he wasn't going to end up like his uncle.

As Wayne talked to me last night, his head began to ache, something he struggles with especially when he's trying to make his brain work. He was going back through the day when he was whisked off by the helicopter to Dallas where they had an awesome stroke response team waiting on him.

He talked about how it felt to be lifted up out of the pasture. He could see most of what was going on outside.

He gazed around at everything below, including his cattle running for their lives from the whirling sounds of propellers. He watched familiar landscape zip by, noticed the path of the aircraft down I-45, a major highway leading to Baylor Scott and White Hospital, and a myriad of buildings he recognized from growing up close to Dallas.

Then, as we sat on the bed, Wayne grew anxious. His hand crept up to the right side of his head in a gesture that has become common for when he's in pain.

"I just wish I could remember them landing on the hospital roof and unloading me," he said. "That had to have been cool. I just remember them saying, Mr. Marusak, stay with us. Mr. Marusak, stay with us. They said it over and over, and then nothing. That's all I can remember."

His hand completely enclosed the right part of his head and eye. He paused, then said through tear-filled eyes, "I guess that was them taking me off the helicopter. I think I was dying."

For any of you out there who have been first responders or in the medical profession in any capacity, know that when you tell someone, Stay with us, you are heard.

 

 

 

Author Notes

The first picture is one our sons took of the helicopter in our pasture. You can see the group of First Responders surrounding Wayne as they prepare to load him on the aircraft. The second picture is of Wayne the day he came home from the hospital, sitting in his side-by-side. Very happy to be home!! Update on Wayne: He's been home almost a week now. He's doing amazingly well, but not able to take care of himself without help-- yet. He is forgetful and impulsive, though otherwise seems right as rain. Right now, I'm working remotely, which isn't easy with 5 different High School science classes. My bosses are being amazingly tolerant, which is a blessing. Thank you for your ongoing prayers and support. I'll try to post my fantasy chapter sometime this week.

One of thousands of stories, poems and books available online at FanStory.com You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author!

© Copyright 2015 davisr (Rhonda) All rights reserved. davisr (Rhonda) has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement