A BETTER VIEW

A stroke of luck: Mother’s health requires a renewal of family’s trust

By Chris Benguhe | June 18, 2009 | The Catholic Sun

Editor’s note: This is the second in a series of columns. Read Part One and Part Three.

Within 24 hours, my mother had regained her ability to speak and use of her right side. Thank God, I thought, at least she was out of the woods. Not quite.

“We need to do an MRI to determine if the bleeding in her brain has stopped,” the nurse said soberly. “But your mother refuses. She is afraid of the machine. She says she’s claustrophobic.”

“What!” I screamed. Why had nobody told me? I only went home for a few hours to shower and clean up. My mother was barely conscious and they were leaving life and death decisions to her.

“If we can’t do the MRI, we can’t do much more for her,” the nurse said coldly. “If she doesn’t want the MRI we cannot force her. But then we don’t know if she is going to have another stroke.”

Here’s a little info for any of you who have never been in the hospital: when you don’t follow orders, they stop giving them. They were giving up on my mom.

But at least I wasn’t the only one pulling my hair out. My brother arrived a few hours earlier. We were scared, angry — and now frustrated with my mother. Why was she doing this? She was a headstrong woman — I had learned to accept that for all its pros and cons over the years, but now it was endangering her life, and it was hurting us.

We spent the next hour trying to talk her into the MRI. Finally someone made a simple suggestion — what if they allowed me into the scanning room with her while they performed the MRI. Amazingly, it worked. Suddenly she agreed.

Later that night we entered the room together, and she entered the narrow tunnel of the MRI machine, while I held her leg from outside the tunnel. After a half an hour of incredibly loud clicks and clacks that could have traumatized even somebody who wasn’t claustrophobic, it was done.

I needed to sleep, so I grabbed a few hours back home then rushed back to the hospital the next morning for the results. But I spent the next 24 hours waiting for information that never seemed to come. “We are still analyzing the results,” was the common chorus.

Learning to trust

As I glanced up at the crucifix on the wall, I said a prayer. Please send me a sign. Just then as I looked away, I saw a familiar face in the distance. It was a friend from the local coffee shop. What was she doing here? Then I remembered — she was a doctor, a neurologist. How could it be that I’d see her in THIS hospital?

“Please help me,” I practically begged her. “My mother had a stroke and nobody will tell me anything.” She led me down the hall to the doctor’s lounge where she showed me everything — the results of the MRI and my mother’s case file, and she carefully explained every single detail of my mother’s case.

“It looks like the bleeding has stopped, and I don’t see any permanent damage,” were her words, like a gift from God. “I think she could have a full recovery. But,” she added, “it’s up to her when and how that happens.”

The next day they moved my mother out of the ICU and into the rehab facility. She would have to quickly learn to trust people she didn’t know who were telling her to do the opposite of what her body was saying — to walk when her legs said they couldn’t, to stand when her body said rest, and to stop worrying in the midst of the battle of her life. That was not an easy thing for a woman who had had trust issues her whole life. 

I had to trust God would put people there to help me, especially the rest of my family. That was easier said than done. We had not been a cohesive unit for a long time, not since my parents split up after 30 years together.

We all had our reasons — for not trusting, not working together, for running away. None of us had done our best to help each other. Now we had to.

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