by Donna Poole
If you knew Mary, Ginny, and Ginny’s husband Bob, you’d understand why I was excited about sister reunion. To make it happen John and I had to travel from Michigan to New York and Ginny and Bob had to drive up from South Carolina to join us. We’d planned reunion for months, and it was finally going to happen. I hoped.
I kept trying to ignore one of my gut feelings, but I finally said to John, “I’m feeling like this sister reunion isn’t going to happen.”
He thought for a minute, considering his ministry obligations. He’d recently preached at a funeral for a dear friend of many years. Another wonderful man, ninety years old, had been hurt when his mower had rolled on him, but he was recovering well. Our two ladies in nursing homes both seemed stable.
“I think everyone is doing okay, I don’t think anything is going to keep us from vacation this time, honey,” John said.
But I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling, the kind I get when I know a cancer scan isn’t going to turn out well before I even have it. It’s the same sensation that troubles me when I know someone is unhappy about something at church before they say anything. I tried to forget the feeling, and we packed with joy, thinking of the wonderful family time we were going to have. Plus, we’d made plans to go out for breakfast with our friend Pam while we were in New York, and we hoped on our way home to have coffee with a friend who lives in Ohio.
We arrived at my sister Mary’s apartment mid afternoon on Saturday. Ginny and Bob were already there, and so were love, laughter, and good food. We didn’t have to go home until Thursday; four days of fun stretched ahead.
Mary lives in a one-bedroom apartment, so when darkness fell and eyes grew sleepy, we headed over to my nephew’s home to spend the night. Jim and his wife Bethlehem are always wonderful hosts. They have a home library, and we had a cozy conversation there before bed Saturday night. And that’s the last thing I remember until Sunday late. No, wait. I have a vague impression of eating a piece of bacon on Sunday. It must have been really good bacon, since that’s the only memory I have.
Late on Sunday I looked around, puzzled. Where were my clothes, and why was I wearing a hospital gown, and why was I in bed? Why were Mary, Ginny, Bob, and my sweet husband all sitting in chairs looking at me like I had two heads?
They weren’t looking at me like I had two heads; they were looking at me wondering what was wrong with my one head. I’d been to Sunday school and church, out to pizza with family, and to my niece’s home for dessert. Sadly, I had no memory of the sermon, the pizza, the dessert, or the family.
John said while we ate pizza I repeatedly said, “Oh, look! Cousin Tom is here!” And then I smiled and waved at him. Over and over. And over. Cute, huh? I sat next to Brandi, my nephew Chad’s wife and apparently talked her ear off. I’d like to know what I said, I think.
When I became aware of my surroundings, John explained I was in the ICU because I’d been very confused all day and unable to retain any information. I’d also been unreasonably stubborn, but they’d finally managed to convince me to go to the hospital after calls and text from family back home in Michigan and from my granddaughter in Indiana. I’d already had two cognitive function tests I didn’t remember. I’d also had a chest x-ray and two CT scans I didn’t recall, and lots of blood work. Monday I was more with it, but still had no memory of Sunday, and when I tried to recall it, my brain felt like it was full of sticky cotton candy. Monday, I had an EEG and an MRI, and I asked often if I could leave the hospital, but the answer was always no. By Monday I thought I was normal; my sisters said I wasn’t. I think it was Tuesday when I had a swallow test and an echocardiogram.
The doctors finally let me leave the hospital on Tuesday afternoon. We had to go to a pharmacy and pick up medication and back to my nephew’s so I could wash the glue from the EEG out of my hair, so it was mid afternoon by the time we got back to my sisters. Reunion time was fast slipping away.
We didn’t take Pam out for breakfast on Wednesday as planned. She understood; it was the only day we had left for sister reunion. We had to spend part of that day picking up records to take back to Michigan, but we still had lovely family time Wednesday. That evening my niece Karen, her husband Jer, and their kids Jacey and Robbie came to visit. They are the only ones from Mary’s family I remember seeing. I feel sad about the ones who gathered for pizza to visit with us. They saw us, but I have no memory of them.
Early Thursday morning we said our goodbyes; Ginny and Bob headed back to South Carolina, and we started driving back to Michigan. We didn’t stop to have coffee with our Ohio friend. My brain still felt fuzzy, and John was more exhausted than when we’d begun vacation. He’d spent the first night I was in the hospital trying to sleep sitting straight up in a chair.
It was interesting to read the doctor’s original assessments in my patient portal, especially the one that said, “sudden decent into dementia.” Mostly their first thoughts were stroke, and that’s why I had the stroke protocol tests first. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption on their part; I’d had a small stroke years earlier that had left me with double vision for four months, and we have a family history of stroke. A stroke is what took Mom home to heaven; she died in the same hospital I was in. But I didn’t have a stroke. And by the time they did the EEG no seizure showed up either. Their final diagnosis was something I’d had once before in 2014, transient global amnesia—TGA. In 2014 my neurologist thought over exertion had caused it; I’d shoveled a lot of hard packed snow. This time, no strenuous activity provoked the TGA, unless you count total exhaustion.
I saw my family doctor yesterday. She said TGAs are mysterious. You never know for sure what causes them. I heard from my cancer team too. They’re confident neither the lymphoma nor my treatment caused the incident.
I know what happened could have been so much worse. The cancer I’ve been fighting for five years could have gone to my brain. I could have had a major stroke, the kind my mom had. It was just a TGA. Just one day totally erased from the blackboard of my mind, probably never to return. No big deal. Right?
But I kept remembering what my neurologist told me after my TGA in 2014. He said they’re rare, and he’d only had two other patients with them in his lifetime of practice. One got out of work in Hillsdale, Michigan and instead of driving home drove to Chicago, Illinois. The other, a quiet, elderly man, ended up in the hospital with confusion. That normally dignified man repeatedly took off his hospital gown and ran naked in the hallways until the nurses caught him and returned him to his room. I hope no one ever told him what he’d done.
Come to think of it, I texted both my sisters before I wrote this blog and asked them to tell me anything I’d said or done that was strange. Neither of them answered. And John is normally forgetful. Perhaps this is a case of what I don’t know I don’t want to know.
I’m still learning to leave the whys of life to God. I do remember John praying when we started our trip that we’d be a blessing and encourage our family during sister reunion. Instead, I worried them sick and gifted them with hours of sitting in a hospital. I hope I was a blessing to someone, but I don’t remember.
I couldn’t really explain to my family how surreal the whole experience was or how tired my brain was and still is. And I didn’t want to tell them I was afraid, but God knew. God knows I’m a control freak, and he understood the source of my anxiety. We joke that I’m the out-of-control sister, but that weekend, I really was. But is anyone ever really in control? I’m more grateful than ever that the God in control of my life and of the universe is all wise and all loving.
So, sister reunion could have been better—or a whole lot worse. Control is an illusion; life can change in a single breath. I hope you know the Lord Jesus as your Savior. I hope you know he’s holding you for time and eternity. If you don’t know, take a walk down the Romans Road in a Bible: Romans 3:23, 6:23, 5:8, 10:9,10, and 13.
Sunday John prayed as we started down the dirt road toward our little country church. He asked God to make us a blessing and encouragement to our church family. I interrupted his prayer. “Please, don’t pray that. I really don’t want to go back to the hospital.”
We laughed, God forgave the interruption, and we finished praying.
The end
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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:
Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
