A BETTER VIEW

A stroke of luck: Medical emergency a catalyst for life-changing journey

By Chris Benguhe | June 4, 2009 | The Catholic Sun

Editor’s note: This is the first in a series.

A few months ago, while bogged down in the ultra-important details of promotions, media interviews and speaking engagements for my latest book, life got in the way.

It was 9 a.m. when I called my mother’s house to say hello and was greeted by the cold, distant voice of a young man I didn’t recognize — a paramedic.

“Your mother fell and she’s not responding, so we are going to transport her to St. Joseph’s Hospital,” he informed me.

“What?” I shouted back almost uncontrollably. “What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know,” responded the voice. “She is not responding.”

The lack of info was terrifying. The 10-minute drive down to the emergency room was an eternity — rushing against the lights while fighting mentally not to rush to conclusions or imagine the worst. A parking nightmare later, I was in the emergency room and no longer had to imagine.

My mother was not moving! My eyes frantically searched out the heart monitor to assure myself she was still alive. I watched and waited helplessly as a whirlwind of people and machines surrounded her.

“Do you know what year it is?” a doctor shouted at my mother, but there was no response.

Again he repeated the question. I watched my mother’s lips desperately, waiting for anything. Then suddenly, happily, I saw the slightest movement and heard the sweetest sound: “2009,” came back the answer, faintly. Thank God! She was OK, or at least aware.

The storm of activity around her slowly dissolved and tense voices grew calm, a sign I hoped that things were improving.

A doctor turned to address me. Finally, information.

She had suffered a stroke, and there was a blood clot about the size of a quarter located in the middle of her brain. It was located too deep within the brain itself for them to relieve the pressure or drain the blood without threatening her life. But nobody knew how extensive the damage was yet, or the danger. All we could do was to wait — but for how long?

A friend arrived. She was a physical therapist, so she could help me to understand what the doctors weren’t yet telling me. Thank God, I thought. But her professional opinion only sent chills down my spine.

“She will recover, right?” I asked her.

“She could,” my friend cautiously replied, “and she might not. There is no way to know. But either way her whole life will change, and so will yours. Just do the right thing and trust God.”

More questions

But there were a whole lot of “right things” to be done. And God didn’t seem to be saying anything I could understand.

How much would she recover? When would she recover? How would we care for her, what would we do with her house, with her expenses, her bills, her cat? Where was I going to find the strength, the wisdom, the time and the resources to handle this? Why did this happen now?

A wall of anxiety and depression overwhelmed me.

As I stared at her lying there in a mesmerizing mesh of tubes and wires, my eyes suddenly fell on the most unexpected thing — her hands. Suddenly, they didn’t look old to me, but were the same ones I remember reaching out for when I was a child, the ones that always reached back.

I reached down and squeezed her hand. Without a word spoken, she squeezed back. I knew instantly what I needed to do and how I would find the strength to do it.

But it was just the beginning of a journey that would transform my life, her life and the lives of everyone we knew.

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Chris Benguhe is a columnist for The Catholic Sun. Please send comments to letters@catholicsun.org.