Today's story is not one of joy or happiness, it's not a fantastic anecdote about the antics of my children, or a sweet narrative about my wife. This is an account of great pain and angst. By no means, will this be for the faint of heart.
We have all been there at one time or another, though few of us ever want to admit or talk about it. It's that unfortunate situation, while away on vacation, when you leave the friendly confines of your local eateries, for all those exotic unfamiliar restaurants you just have to try. This particular trip I'm about to tell you about, happened a few years ago. A couple of buddies and I flew out to Vegas for a few days in March to watch some college hoops, play poker and relax. This was not our first time in Sin City, though it seems there is always something new each time I go. On this trip, they were remodeling the old Imperial Palace Hotel, which is now, The Linq Hotel & Casino. My buddy Ben, had some weird fascination with a new restaurant he had heard about or saw on some food network tv show. From the moment we landed, Ben would seriously not stop talking about this place. He had the type of infatuation and obsession some men normally reserve for Sapphire Club or Spearmint Rhino, while in Vegas. The restaurant he so eagerly wished to visit, was a place called, "Hash House A Go Go". The third member of our trio, was a friend of mine I had known since our school days, in Buffalo Mo. Brent and I new immediately, we needed to make a plan as to when we would visit this establishment, or Ben would drive us crazy. We all decided we would wait and go the following day for brunch. We would spend the rest of that evening watching the college basketball tournament, playing Black Jack and poker. A few weeks before our trip, I had been prescribed a new medication for type 2 diabetes. I had been having some problems with it upsetting my stomach, but I had kinda figured out what types of foods I should stay away from. If I knew I might be eating something questionable or greasy, I would counter the issue with Imodium AD about 2 hours before the feast. I had packed those pills in my bag for just that occasion. We of course, stayed up really late and overslept. This did not matter in the least to Ben. We had a designated time to drop by this food operation, and we would not be allowed to alter our agreement in any way. We had about an hour to get ready and get a cab to our destination. I took 2 Imodium and prayed they would do their job on short notice. We arrived at "The Linq", and found our way to Ben's passion pit. His lust and yearning for this place, had reached its ultimate peak. I'm not sure if what I saw was a tear or a bead of sweat rolling down his face, but he was moist nonetheless. The place was packed as expected, so we had a bit of a wait. This gave me the opportunity to scout out the place, and figure out my plan of attack, should my stomach decide to have an altercation with what I was about to introduce to it. We had taken an elevator up to the second floor which opened up into the restaurant. I looked around and was unable to see any restroom signage. I looked for an employee to ask, but they were slammed and unavailable. Oh well, I felt fine, so I would just ask the waitress once we were seated. Our hostess sat us and our waiter was there to help us relatively quick. As he took our drink orders, I asked him where the men's room was located. His response left me a little nervous. There was no restroom there, but down the elevator, on the first floor, there was. With rising internal fear, I asked him specifically where it was that I would need to go in case of an emergency. I was a few years removed from my auto accident, and walk, as I still do, with a cane. I am not able to run, jog or walk with hurried intent. My walk is pretty much the same regardless of the situation I'm in. As I listened to the directions he gave, and the corrections he made while giving said directions, I looked at Ben and Brent, with hope, that they knew what was said. Brent and I ordered our OJ and coffee while Ben ordered some ridiculous hot chocolate, with arousing exhilaration! The waiter left our table, and I asked if either of them knew where the bathroom was located. Ben said he understood the directions and knew exactly where to go. I felt a little better and was ready to open up the menu and see what all the fuss was about. We watched as other folks were served their delicious meals. The serving size of some of these collations was insane! I saw a plate of chicken and waffles that had to be two feet tall. I located a stuffed burger and fries on the menu that had my mouth watering and stomach rumbling. With all the action the night before, I had not eaten at all, I was starving. The waiter brought our beverages and took our orders. We sat and watched Ben drink his bowl of hot glutinous chocolate fluid, as we anticipated the entrees we were about to be graced with. It had arrived! What a sight to behold. This burger was massive and the fries were golden, crunchy and well seasoned. This was not a hamburger you pick up and take a chomp out of, no, this bad boy had to be cut into, and eaten like a steak. As I penetrated through this massive mound of meat, the cheese spilled out and I could not wait for that first bite. The combination of flavors along with the cheesy filling inside each of the two beef patties was everything I had hoped for. My stomach barked at me with excitement, begging for more. I was happy to oblige. I inhaled a few fries and followed them up with another fork full of that juicy burger. Two bites......just two bites, that's all it took for the brawl in my belly to begin. Apparently, the two bouncers I had hired an hour and a half earlier, to help protect my stomach, were no match for these two beefy blokes. Everything I had been worried about, was now coming to fruition. Ben happened to look up and see the panic in my eyes as my skin began to turn a pale white. "What's wrong? Are you ok?", he asked. I explained to both of them, I was gonna have to get to the bathroom, and asked Ben again, "are you sure you know where the men's room is located?". He assuredly let me know that he did. My lack of leg function does not allow me to just hop right out of my seat. There is a lot of pushing, pulling and strain, along with the use of my cane and any second sturdy object to get my then 265 lb. body (I'm now 240, thank you) to a standing position. On my first attempt, I immediately sat back down. It was evident that the bouncers were trying to throw those beefy bros out the back door, and fast! I could feel beads of sweat building upon my brow. I frantically told Ben and Brent to find an employee, any employee, and ask if they had a wheel chair available. In my mind, there was no way I was standing up, my best bet was to slide into a chair, and be pushed to the nearest bathroom. No luck, they did not have a wheelchair available. The perspiration is now visible on my arms and I can feel it puddling in my armpits. I just know I'm gonna explode right there, in front of all these people, inside a packed house. The same disability and weakness I have in my legs, also prevents me from tightly closing and locking the back door if you know what I mean. I came up with a new plan. This time I would have Ben stand behind me as I rose, and act as a shield for the pending disaster. He agreed, and I somehow successfully made it upright. I now had to depend on Ben to get me to the elevator, down to the first floor, and into the bathroom as quick as possible. Brent stayed behind as we made the journey. We made our way to the elevator and with only a slight delay, made our way down. The doors opened, and Ben told me to go left. We walked and walked and walked some more. "Where is the bathroom Ben?", I worriedly shouted. I told him to go ahead of me and see if we are getting close. At this point, I'm hurting, I mean I am a minute or two away from redecorating the walls of this endless hallway. Ben returns, and tells me there is no bathroom in that direction. My heart sinks. I now have to backtrack, then go the other direction and try to find a men's room which neither of us know the location of. I bark at Ben to please go find the damn bathroom as I try to walk with the knowledge that at any point, I'll be single handily shutting this Hotel down for cleaning. He rushes down the hall and back to me. "I found it!", he says. "But......", why is is there a but? I'm doing everything to control my butt, I don't need another! "But, its up some stairs and I don't see an elevator.", he tells me. This can't be happening. At that very moment, my stomach screams out.....actually more of a roar, and people walking by, can hear it. I began to panic, as the back hatch was about to blow open. I needed to sit but there were no seats or benches around. The only thing I could think to do was back that azz up, as the rap artist, "Juvenile", would say. I pressed my hind quarters against a wall, bent forward and leaned heavily on my cane. I assume that all of the people who walked by starring just thought I was another drunk tourist about to puke. The wall worked, I was able to barricade the rear exit. This bought me the extra time I desperately needed. I continued on my way with the direction of Ben, and we made it to the stair case. I could see the men's room, sitting atop the 6 steps I needed to navigate, while carrying a ticking time bomb. As I took each painful step, clothes drenched in sweat, I felt like an Olympic distance runner, closing in on the finish line. I made it! Ben went in and found an empty stall and held it for me. The kind of relief I felt when I sat down to make that dirty deposit, was unlike anything I have ever undergone. To this day, I have no idea how I was able to make it without a disastrous outcome. Ben and I returned to our table inside Hash House A Go Go, ready to finish the meals we had only began to enjoy. The table, however, was empty. Our plates were gone and Brent was nowhere to be found. Ben had a sad, puppy dog look on his face. The brunch he had desired for so long, had been lost. We then saw Brent come off the elevator, he had been searching for us. "Did you have them box our food up?", Ben asked. "No, I thought you guys were finished." Brent said. "Finished? I only had a couple bites.", Ben explained, with disbelief in his voice. I guess Brent had begun to feel uncomfortable sitting alone at a table while employees wondered when he would cough up the space for other patrons. He paid the tab and left to see where we were and what had taken us so long. To this day, Ben still bitches about not being able to finish his food. I no longer eat at any restaurant without knowing where the closest restroom is located, and Brent no longer goes on trips in which Ben is included.
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Over the course of my 41 years, I've met a lot of great people with fantastic fashion sense. I've known both men and women who enjoy shopping and trying on clothes and always look fabulous. My wife, prior to her accident, was someone who always looked great. Her outfits, shoes and accessories just clicked. She would sometimes come home from shopping and show me things individually, and I'd think, who would wear that? Days later she would come out of the room with that very outfit on, and look stunning. I was always amazed.
Anyone who knows me, knows I'm a shorts and t-shirt kinda guy. I wear shorts year round. I prefer a comfortable pair of athletic shorts rather than cargo or jean shorts. When Em and I got married, I owned a few pair of old jeans which immediately went to the trash. They were not even donation worthy because of the age and holes in them. She purchased 3 new pair of jeans for me from some designer I'd never heard of. They certainly did not come from JCP or Gordmans, but these "7 for all mankind" jeans were pretty comfortable. Over the course of the past 7 years, I've probably worn each of the 3 pair of jeans approximately seven times. They are still the only 3 pair of jeans I have. I would have hoped that my 13 year old daughter would have picked up on Em's fashion sense, however it did not happen. She has a closet full of cute clothing and shoes that came from her Mom's closet or that I went out and bought for her. Rather than learn from Emily's fashion sense, she chose to go the route of her ole Dad......t-shirt and shorts, and the same old pair of Nike shoes, every day. I mean I guess I can understand it, and it would be fine, if only she could understand that a lime green shirt does not go with Forrest green shorts. She has a rotation of about 5 outfits that she will wear day after day, week after week. At one point, as these outfits came through the laundry, I'd wash them, then hide them. She never questioned where her clothes went, nope......she selected her new rotation of 5 outfits to wear out. The one thing she wants to wear all of the time, are high heels. "Dad, can I wear heels to school?", "Dad, can I wear heels to church?", "Dad, can I go to Wal Mart with you and wear my heels?". I'm like, I don't want to be caught on one of those "people of Wal Mart" videos, walking around with a 13 year old, wearing a bright red Nike shirt, neon pink Adidas shorts and purple high heels. I never let her wear heels to school. I just don't feel like it's appropriate in junior high, and maybe I'm wrong, but that's just where I stand. There was a seventh grade awards ceremony a month ago or so. She had no idea I was going to show up. She actually left the house dressed in an outfit that was completely out of her normal rotation. I just assumed she wanted to look cute, knowing she might get up in front of everyone for an award. After the ceremony, I went to find her. Naturally, she had "borrowed" a pair of high heels from a friend, who told her she "needed" to wear those shoes with that outfit. I know with a teenage daughter, I'm gonna have to pick and choose the appropriate times to fight some battles. I guess as long as she keeps her cheeks in her shorts and cleavage hidden away, I can deal with the heels. My boys are a complete mess. I'll start with the 12 year old. He is the smallest in his class. In fact, if he were not over the age of 7, according to Missouri Law, he would have to travel in a booster seat. He does not meet the height or weight requirements for someone seven or under, to travel in a car without a booster seat. Emily, at times, will fold laundry and send the clothes of our 6 year old, to his room. A-train will come out of his room some mornings, wearing his size 10 shirt, which still looks way too big on his small frame, and a size 6 pair of athletic pants that belong to his six year old brother. On at least one occasion, he made it out of the house and went to school in this ensemble. I somehow missed it in the chaos of our morning. When I picked him up from school, and noticed the pants were proudly showing off his ankles, I asked him why he wore them. He said "they were in my closet, so I figured they were mine." I've come to realize that if I do the boys' laundry too often, they just grab the pants or shorts that are on top, or the shirt that was hung up last. That means they could and have wore the same attire multiple times a week. For whatever reason, A-train has an issue with seasonal dressing. The kid will try to wear shorts and a t-shirt to school in January, but when it's May and June, he is in a long sleeve shirt and pants. Neither of the boys know how to use a comb, though his answer for this, is to drench his hair in water, move the hair to the side with his hand and let it air dry. He rides to school in the morning with water dripping down his face. My youngest absolutely hates clothes. If it were up to him, he would go to school in underwear. When he gets home from school, his clothes immediately come off. If I know there is a repair man coming by the house, or someone we don't know, I have to beg him to put clothes on. If someone rings the doorbell, he is the first one to go sprinting to the door......in his undies! I can not get him to understand the difference between athletic pants, athletic shorts, jeans or cargo shorts. They are all just pants to him. His favorite color is green, so he constantly wants to wear his green shirts. Again, if I wash these shirts too often, he will wear them multiple times within a week. The socks.....don't get me started on the socks. Not a single one of my 3 kids will wear matching socks. At least once a month, I'll go through and put their socks together so they all match. Within days, they are wearing mismatched socks.....I don't get it! My beautiful wife Emily, who used to have to get up at 5am to get herself ready to be to work by 8am, is a completely different person since her traumatic brain injury. She no longer has that desire to spend all that time to look a certain way. The first time she tried putting on all of her makeup before we went out to dinner, it was a disaster. She was so proud that she had taken the time to apply her own products. It was hard for me to have to tell her we needed to take it off. I tried to help her and convinced her to use just a foundation and some eye liner. I had no clue what I was doing myself. I had to set up an appointment to visit a woman who worked at a cosmetic counter in the mall. We both got a lesson in cleansing, moisturizing and applying makeup. Thankfully, Em caught on quick, and does a great job on her own now. Before her accident, Em wore XS and small clothing. She was tiny, and her walk in closet was jam packed full of it. She would continue to try to wear her old XS outfits that looked amazing on her 35 lbs ago. It got to the point where I'd ask her to change one XS shirt and she would come back with another. She would get frustrated with me and didn't understand why I was asking her to change. I was probably the least qualified person to shop for a woman who dressed so magnificently, but I had to go out and buy her a new wardrobe. There would be no Nordstrom or Bloomingdales, now she has a closet full of JCP, Gordmans and TJ Maxx. I moved much of her old clothes to my daughters closet or packed it away. Em is in a place mentally, where she is no longer concerned with the name brand or price on the tag, so she is happy with what I buy her. Just like my children, she now struggles with matching colors and not clashing. I never would have imagined, in a million years, that I would become the "fashion police", in this family of 5. My only goal, is to ensure that our family or any member of it, does not wind up on a "people of Wal Mart" video, in some hideous costume they put together, for all of Facebook to see. Growing up as a kid, my favorite meal that my Mom made was Spaghetti, closely followed by hamburger patties with mashed potatoes and gravy or Russian Chicken. My Mom, by her own admission, wasn't the greatest cook. I'm pretty sure somewhere along the line, she picked up a recipe book directly from Campbells, and their Cream of Mushroom Soup Department. I swear every meal excluding my top three favorites, were made with COM soup. Nevertheless, we always ate what we were served for dinner. I still get grossed out by the thought of green bean casserole.
Growing up in the '80's, my brother and I were less than two years apart and we didn't have all the cool things my kids have to play with these days. We spent most of our days outside creating games to keep us occupied. But boy, we sure did fight a lot. I'm not talking about arguments or little spats. I'm talking about epic battles that usually ended in bruises and blood. I can think of two occasions which could have ended much worse if our aim was a little better. One time we were fighting about something at lunch and I smacked my brother upside the head. He picked up a butter knife, so I took off running. That knife went whizzing by my head and through the laundry room door. Close call! The other time, we were playing one on one basketball in our tiny bedroom with one of those hoops that hang over the door. It was rare that this activity did not end in a fight. On this day, my brother ended up punching me. As soon as he did it, he knew he was in trouble. He was scrambling to get away from me. He was much smaller and quicker than I was, so I picked up a shoe and threw it at him. I missed! The shoe went through the window. There was one instance when we were like 4 and 5 years old in which I did not miss. My Grandparents had chicken coops on their farm that we liked to play in. One day, my brother thought it would be fun to lock me inside the coop, which completely freaked me out for whatever reason. I was screaming and crying. I guess he felt bad, unlocked it, and took off running. Again, he was much smaller and faster than I, so I grabbed a glass bottle which was laying on the ground and launched it towards him.......direct hit! Blood running down his face, he went screaming and crying to Mom. I honestly don't know how my parents dealt with our constant fighting. There were spankings, which worked for a while, but there came a point where Mom would spank us and we would laugh about it. The belt was scary at first, but after a couple of times, it didn't hurt either. They could ground us from playing outside, but that was only punishment to them. Now that I am a Father of 3 and the family cook, I try to mix things up. I am fortunate that I can google recipes rather than look off a Campbells, COM soup recipe book. I just realized I should probably stop referencing cream of mushroom soup as "COM soup"! Emily and all the kids have different tastes and likes and dislikes. Em really doesn't like anything with ground beef except tacos, yet the only meals my kids love and agree on are meatloaf, meatballs, spaghetti with meat sauce and hamburger patties & potatoes. My daughter doesn't like pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches or fish. My middle son won't eat most chicken dishes, soups or mac n cheese. My youngest is the pickiest of all, and is hard to please. Early on, once I started doing the cooking, I made a rule, if you don't eat your dinner, you don't get dessert. On most evenings, dessert is picking a piece of candy out of the candy dish, or something simple. However, on those days that one of them decide they can not eat their meal, I reserve those nights for outings to Braums, DQ or Andy's. Yes, I'm kind of an ass, I know. I get some joy in watching the one child suffer as the other two gleefully eat their delicious treats. I normally order an extra and save their dinner plate, so when we get home, they have the option to finish and get dessert. I'm thankful there is a 6 year age difference between the boys, though they still fight. My eldest daughter just tries to annoy the boys. I never want to spank the kids, however there have been times. I've tried to come up with creative ways to punish them for their wrongdoings, sometimes they work and most of the time they really do not. When nasty filthy things come out of their mouths, most of which, they probably heard from me at some point, they get to swish with a little apple cider vinegar or have a taste of vanilla extract. They pretty much dread those punishments. Another thing I've started is the job jar where they get to draw a chore out of the jar. It's filled with fun things like cleaning toilets, cleaning blinds or baseboards and mopping floors. I'm probably gonna have to remove the "cleaning toilets" job from the jar, since it has become my youngest son's weekly punishment. The kid wakes up at least twice a week, and acts as if the bathroom is on fire, and he has the hose to put out the flames! There is nothing worse than sitting on a wet toilet seat!! All three of the kids have some sort of device. They watch shows and listen to music on them. There are times when I can here something different blasting on all 3 at one time, and have to get on to them to turn the volume down. Five or ten minutes go by, and the volumes are all back up. If I have to get on to them a second time, I'll find an episode of Barney or Backyardigans for them to sit and watch. My middle child will refuse to look at the screen. He will lay on the couch and stare a whole through the ceiling. Strangely, my youngest and the oldest seem to start to enjoy the show. There are also those times when they have the headphones on, and the sound on max volume, so when I speak to them, they don't have a clue. In this circumstance, I excitedly get to pull out the old Bee Gees, Billy Joel or George Michael CD's for them to listen to. Please don't judge me for owning them. If I feel like they are not getting the proper anguish from listening to "Stayin' Alive" or "Uptown Girl", I'll show off some sweet dance moves and some horrible lip syncing as well. Once my pelvic area gets to thrusting, it's all over.......mission accomplished! No parent likes to have to punish their kids or have to force them to eat things they really don't like, but there are ways of getting some enjoyment from it when necessary. There was a time when I viewed the cutting of the grass as a chore. I absolutely dreaded it, I hated pushing the mower as I sweat under the intense rays of the sun. I hated getting grass in my eyes, dealing with mosquitoes, running out of gas halfway through, and at times having run ins with snakes and other creatures that would startle me. When I moved into my new home back in '09, I purchased one of those zero turn mowers. The house was on an acre lot, and after my accident, I was no longer able to push one around anyway. Cutting the grass on a riding mower only made this chore slightly more tolerable. It was still hot, still got grass in my eyes, live by a pond and even more mosquitoes to deal with, still run out of gas halfway through and now we have birds that build nests on the ground, so they attack me when I get too close. What kind of freaking bird builds a nest on the ground?
As the years went by and two kids became three, I found myself in desperate search of a quiet retreat within the home. I needed a place where I could go to relax for small periods of time. Emily could always tell when I was getting stressed and needed a moment. She would tell me to go upstairs, relax and she would take care of the kids, or go hang out with the guys for a while. As I've stated in the past, I instantly had two kids for the first time once we were married. It was a huge adjustment for sure. Emily was used to the constant chaos of young kids and she was a terrific Mother. At the end of 2014, Em took a job which was highly stressful and her hours had her working most evenings past our kids' bedtime. I had to step up and take on more of a responsibility. I was now getting the kids from school, cooking, helping with school work and doing more of the household chores. I began to find that a couple hours on the mower each week was a good break away from the constant chaos. After Emily's accident and her traumatic brain injury, I took on an even greater role, a role as a single parent. I have gained so much respect for all those parents out there taking on such a challenge. There is no such thing as finding a quiet oasis, or getting a little "Me time" anymore. Just this evening, I excused myself from the dinner table to use the bathroom. I made the mistake of using the restroom closest to the kitchen. For the kids, this meant they could try to carry on conversations with me while I tried to do my business. My middle child yelled out, "Dad, are you gonna drop the kids off at the pool?" My youngest followed that up with, "Dad, are you going to Brown Town?" After all the laughter settled, Emily yelled, "ok, we have a problem!" She said, "(Little H) is begging me for my rolls......(pause).....never mind!" See, if I leave the table while Em is still eating, my youngest will try to negotiate for the food on her plate that he actually likes to eat. I could have went to use a restroom further away, however past experience has taught me that if I do that, they will come find me to ask who has to do the dishes, who has to sweep the floor, can they have dessert now rather than later or which container they should put leftover potatoes in? I tried taking a bath to relax and find some peace and quiet. This actually works well when it comes to the oldest children, however the youngest seems to believe this is the only time he should get in the bath. If I tell him he can get out when I'm done, he checks on me every two minutes. If I tell him to leave the bathroom, he stands in the bedroom and talks to me or begs to put the dog in the bath with me. By the time I get all the kiddos settled and in bed, I'm pretty much exhausted and ready to crash. Emily, who usually takes several naps during the day, likes to stay up and watch Big Bang Theory and Fallon. No matter how tired I am, I am just never able to sleep with a tv on. I've actually tried taking a bath at this point in the night, but my oldest is usually the last to bathe each evening. She takes 30 to 45 minute showers and leaves no hot water. I'm pretty sure she practices karaoke and her dance moves while she is in there. I normally get to sleep around 11:30 once Fallon is over and the tv goes off. My sleep is interrupted a couple times in the middle of the night by Emily turning on a light so she can eat a bowl of cereal in bed, or I get a tap on the shoulder and her asking if I can solve her Wheel of Fortune puzzle she's playing on her phone. I am then up at 6:30 am to get the kids ready and get another day started. These days, I truly look forward to putting on my wireless headphones so I can listen to my favorite '90's tunes, while I take that glorious and peaceful drive around the lawn on my Yard Yacht. If I go slow enough, I can stretch it out into a 2 hour joy ride. Just me and my old buddies.....Vanilla, Prince, Bon Jovi, Garth and Young MC. I get one hundred and twenty minutes without Bruno Mars, Selena Gomez or Katy Perry. One time, one of those kids tried flagging me down as I was jamming to the smooth sounds of "summertime" by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, while Carnival cruising around the yard. Obviously, it had to be an emergency? Surely, someone lost a finger or set the house on fire....right? No, just needed to know if they could have bacon for breakfast the next morning, and also, they were out of tooth paste. I immediately conjured up the scariest death stare I could muster, and pointed my finger towards the house. I didn't remove my headphones or say a word, but I had gotten my point across. This was now "my time" and only an emergency that included blood or fire, would get me away from the sanctuary that was my grass cutting catamaran. Just in the course of trying to write this, I've been asked to get a box of cereal down from the top shelf, fix the tv, if I know where a specific toy is located, did I wash a baseball jersey, did I fix the Wii and.......do boy ducks have a penis! It is non-stop around here and I wouldn't change it for the world, just as long as I can get those 2 hours a week on my mower. In November of 2015, two days before Thanksgiving, I almost lost my wife Emily, who was in a horrible auto accident. My then 4 year old son and I were both home sick. I had dropped my older children off at school, we returned home, took meds and crashed. While I slept for a couple hours, I received messages from the Hospital and the School. I called the Hospital and was told I needed to get to the Hospital in a hurry because there was a good chance my wife would not survive her head injury. I was so sick! I was trying to get information from Doctors, while also rushing to the bathroom to vomit. My body finally gave out, and I literally stepped out of the restroom, took a few steps and passed out. From what I gathered, the men's room was near the elevators, and when I went down, my head slammed into the elevator door. I was taken to an emergency room where they checked me out thoroughly and gave me fluids. After a few hours, I felt much more able to handle what would be 2 weeks of almost no sleep.
Emily made it through night one. She was in a coma and on a ventilator for about a week. Characteristics of coma
She transitioned to a vegetative state for the next three weeks. The Doctors were talking about getting her into a long term care facility or nursing home, because she was no longer progressing enough to get her into an inpatient rehab facility. Scary stuff!!! Characteristics of the vegetative state
I was given a list of long term care facilities that our Insurance would accept, and was supposed to decide where to send my wife. That evening, while I was with my kids, I received a call from my Sister in law, that Emily spoke. I rushed back to the Hospital to see her. I walked in, grabbed her hand and leaned down to tell her I loved her. She looked up at me and responded, "I love you." Over the next several days, she began to progress so much, they called Mercy Rehab Hospital to come back and re-evaluate Em. Sure enough, they said they could accept her and within a couple days she was transferred. Once there, she made such amazing strides. The nurses and therapists there were amazing and Emily's strength and work ethic were incredible. I now needed to learn how to care for Emily when it would be time for her to return home. Beyond what I would learn at the facility, I was constantly online reading articles. I went to some group TBI support meetings with others who had gone through what I was experiencing. Michael Harris and the Grey Matters Fund of Springfield MO are amazing people. Lost and Found Grief Center in Springfield, were also a huge help for the kids and I. Having Em back home and being her Caregiver, has taught me a lot about my own resilience, patience and the complex nature of love. There is a fine line between pushing her to do more, but not pushing her to do too much. She still needs plenty of sleep which is good for her continued brain recovery. Emily can easily get frustrated, which is part of suffering a traumatic brain injury. I usually try to defuse her anger or frustration with jokes, but when that doesn't work, I've learned to take a step back and excuse myself by saying, "hold on, I need to use the bathroom." Once I come back, she has usually settled down, and things are fine. Two or three times a day, she will intently walk towards me and say, "ok, we have a serious problem!" About 99% of the time, the serious problem is that there are no clean cereal bowls, or we are out of creamer for her coffee, or the batteries are dead in the Wii remote. I want her to get back to being a functioning parent, which means housework, cooking and all that goes along with it. She still gets confused and forgets things, so I've gotta watch her, but I don't want her to feel like I'm constantly over her shoulder. When Em does the laundry, we all end up finding articles of clothing in our closets that belong to someone else. On multiple occasions Emily has emptied an entire load of dirty dishes and I've had to go find them and reload the dishwasher. Her response is usually "What were you thinking? Why didn't you start the dishwasher?" One time she tried putting cinnamon in mashed potatoes, but at least she wanted to attempt to cook for us. Besides the memory loss and confusion at times, Emily also lost her sense of smell and is unable to produce tears when she is upset or sad. She has a blind spot when looking to her left, which will probably prevent her from ever driving again. This obviously puts a lot more pressure on me to get her and our three kids everywhere they need to be. I will say, I've met some fantastic people who have helped me out so much with this. Parents of classmates and teammates and past teachers of my children have been an amazing help to me and my family. When Em really get to laughing, she struggles to control her bladder. This can get extremely frustrating when we try to play games or when we are in a hurry to get somewhere. There are times when she has to change her clothes 2 or 3 times because I'm yelling at the kids and saying crazy things to get them all ready to go. This always causes her to laugh. I get frustrated, but it's just part of it. It's all about adjusting. One time after one of my daughters games, we went out to eat. Obviously, I said something funny, and Em lost it. I had one of the kids get some paper towels so we could clean up the seat. We then formed a family train and walked out in a single file line, so that people could not see her wet pants. I now try to make sure I've always got a change of clothes for her at all times. Being a caregiver can be an adventure, it can be frustrating and exhausting, but then so is being a parent and a spouse. The only real difference is I work harder to improve myself so I can be the best for those that depend on me. I remember as a kid, my brother and I would often ask Mom, "which one of us do you love the most?" Of course, she would always tell us that she loved each of us equally. We were both different in so many ways. For instance, I was a neat freak and my Bro was a complete mess. He would literally walk in the door and and start undressing on his way to his room, leaving a trail of clothing behind him. We shared a room and tiny closet for the majority of our childhood. Half of the room was neatly organized and tidy, while the other side was buried in mounds of toys and clothes. The same was true for the closet as well. To this day, some 30 years later, I still actually have dreams......or maybe nightmares, that I'm in that childhood room digging through clothes trying to find my car keys. Shane's inability to pick up after himself drove my Mom nuts. Though it didn't take away from the love she felt for him, I'm sure, in those moments, she wished the school bus would have dropped him off somewhere else.
Our Mom left my biological father when Shane and I were very young. Years later, my Step Dad came into the picture and when I was 8, along came Stacey, our new baby sister. It didn't take long for us to realize Stacey could do no wrong. She got away with everything. As we got older, we really saw the difference. Our curfew as driving teens, 9:00 pm. Stacey's curfew once she was driving, hell, I'm not really sure there was one. We didn't even have to ask anymore, yep.....Stacey was the favorite child! Now that I'm a father, I get these same questions from my children. My response is always just the same as the one we had always received. I tell them, "I love each of you exactly the same, because I love each of you unconditionally." My oldest never knew her biological father who was murdered when she was an infant. When I married Emily, I adopted my daughter. My middle child's bio Dad is still around, sends gifts and has spent time with him, but lives out of state and has a family of his own. My youngest is my biological son and my namesake. I try to treat each of them equally, but when I take a step back and think about it, I'm not sure it's possible. Each of the three are different in many ways and some of them have habits that bother me or act in a way that I don't understand or relate to. I'm sure at times it may appear I'm favoring one or two, more than the other, because I'm getting on to one more often than the others. Obviously little H and I have something between us that I don't have with my other two, but I also have a Father/Daughter bond which I can't have with my boys. My middle son and I are very different, but I feel like I try the hardest with him. I am proud to have each of them call me "Dad", and I am equally proud to call them my sons and daughter. For those who may be wondering, my bio son, little H, comes home each day, undresses himself and leaves a trail of clothing all the way to the bathroom. The kid is an absolute slob and it drives me crazy! My inner Meltdown...When Emily and I were married in 2010, I became a father of a 5 year old boy and 6 year old girl. I fell in love with them just as much as I did with Emily. It was a whole new world for a bachelor of so many years. There were growing pains and I had a lot to learn each and every step of the way.
As the kids continued to grow, and my beautiful daughter started to go through changes, I found apps and other resources to help explain things to her. Emily worked full time, so I was the one who got to field a lot of the questions and try to figure out the answers. A lot of things they were asking were related to things they were hearing at school, so some of it was so off the wall or inappropriate, that I had to say, "let's save that conversation when we get home and Herbie is not around." I always tried to be as open and honest with them at all times. My brother and I were never afraid to talk to our Mother about almost anything growing up, so I want my kids to feel comfortable enough to open up about whatever. On November 24th, 2015, when I got the call that I needed to rush to the Hospital because my wife would probably not survive, there were many thoughts racing through my head. What would I say to the kids? How would I handle taking care of 3 kids on my own? How would I survive raising a teenage daughter? This was the worst and scariest day, week, month of my entire life. One thing I did not think about, was the fact that my daughter was turning into a young lady, and with that.......well, you know. My daily routine was waking up with Emily in her hospital room, helping her with breakfast and then rush home to take the kids to school. I'd go back to be with Em for therapy, then leave to pick up Herbie after pre-school. I'd take Herbie to go hang out with Emily until it was time to get Alex and Leah from school. I would take them home and get them fed, then we would go back to the Hospital and help Emily with her dinner at 5pm. I would take the kids back home, do homework, I'd shower, and I would leave the kids with whomever I had lined up to stay with them for the night. I would head back to the Hospital to sit with Emily until she fell asleep, and I would sleep in the fold out chair next to her. This was the daily routine over the next 3 months. One evening amidst all the chaos of this routine, my daughter came to me with a look on her face that I'd never seen before. She wanted to tell me something, but was struggling for the words. I said "Hey, what is wrong?" I probably asked her three or four times before she just came out with it, "Dad, I'm bleeding." Now, you have to understand, this is not something I had been thinking about or anticipating with everything else on my mind at the time. My response was something like, "Oh did you cut yourself? Did you stub your toe? Where are you bleeding?" She just stood and starred at me like I was clueless, which unfortunately was correct. It finally dawned on me what she was talking about. In that moment of realization, I had a complete inner melt down. I'm talking Britney Spears shaved head, Charlie Sheen "winning" melt down. On the outside, I was as cool as the other side of the pillow. I'm not saying that my immediate advice was the greatest, but it would give me time to collect myself and figure out exactly what needed to be done. For whatever reason, I said, "Leah, go upstairs and fill the bath with water, and just take a warm bath." While she was taking that bath, I was googling. This wasn't the greatest help, because now I'm trying to figure out the difference between pads and tampons and what the heck is toxic shock syndrome? I decided I had better just ask if she knew anything about what she was supposed to do. Luckily, she had a class in school recently and they handed out some pads. She said that she had also talked with Emily about this at some point, so she knew what to do. Thank the Lord!! This process could have gone a lot smoother had she just told me she knew what to do in the first place, I would have been saved from the inner turmoil and near heart attack I almost suffered My daughter is now almost 14 and the world of teens and smart devices, texting, social media and face timing scares the hell out of me. I feel like I've done my best to make Her comfortable enough to know she can tell me anything and keep an open line of communication, but seriously things are so much more different than when I was that age. I just recently saw a text between her and another boy who was asking her to text a nude pic. She responded with a "No" and stopped texting the kid for the night. She knows that I drop in from time to time to check in on things like that, so in the next day or two, she told me about it, and that he was her "boyfriend", but she broke up with him because of it. I was so proud of her. Parenting can be stressful, difficult and hard to do, but at the end of the day it is 100% worth it. It's especially rewarding when you realize they have made great decisions based on what you've tried to teach them. We have all heard the horror stories of parents and their children pooping everywhere in public, or kids saying things in public that are embarrassing. The more kids you have, it's more likely that something like this will happen. I have more than my fair share of these stories, but I'll share this one first.
I'll start by saying this, all of my kids are different in so many ways. I've had to learn how to read each one of them when it comes to different things such as not feeling well or coming down with something. Herbie will just flat out tell me when he is sick, Leah thinks she is always sick or hurt and Alex doesn't seem to have any idea until it's too late. It's been about a year now, but one morning as we were eating breakfast, Alex told us his belly burped while he was peeing. This made Herbie laugh, which created a domino effect of laughter at the table. I chalked it up to the boys being silly and forgot about it. That evening, everyone decided they wanted pizza, so I took the family to the local pizza buffet which also has a game room the kids like to play in. I have a rule that the boys have to at least eat two plates of either salad/pizza/pasta before they can hit the game room. If not, they would eat one slice of pizza, go play, then come back for three plates of desserts. Both boys finished their minimum food requirements and ran off to play. Emily, Leah and I slowly ate and enjoyed our food when my stomach sent me a message that things were not right. I made my way to the men's room and into the stall, when I heard a bit of a commotion outside the bathroom. I sat down and began to wonder, did a fight break out at the buffet line? Is the place being held up at gun point? What the heck is going on? That's when I began to hear the words "Dad" "Dad". They were faint at first but getting louder. As the person came closer to the bathroom, I realized it was Alex calling out for me. He pushed the door open and Immediately threw up in the doorway. He was crying and had vomit dripping off his chin. I asked if he was ok and tried to settle him down. Between the tears, snot and goo dripping from his face, I could hardly understand a word he was saying. He finally settled down and tells me, not only did he throw up on our table in the dining area, but he also puked on the table of some in innocent bystanders on his mad dash to come find me. It was in that moment, that I realized his burping belly was so much more and I should have paid better attention. The bathroom doorway is now blocked by Lake Alex and smells a lot like a turkey farm in the middle of July. Since I don't have the ability to just hop over it to exit the room. In my mind, I have two options. Option one, walk through it, find my family and try to get the heck out as soon as possible. Or, option two, wait in the bathroom until someone can clean a pathway for me to get out, then face the destruction Alex had left behind. Leah, who I'm sure was dying inside of embarrassment, had rounded up the others, so they were all ready to go. I then heard someone ask Alex if he was ok, to which he replied, "yes I'm ok, but my Dad is trapped in the bathroom." Well.....there goes option number one! Thankfully the staff along with those whom were affected by hurricane Alex, were all great and understanding. They told me to get him home and not worry about the mess left behind. I'm sure what they wanted to say was, "Get that kid out of here before we lose all of our customers." Needless to say, this is a restaurant I try not to go back to if at all possible, though that list continues to grow unfortunately. I'll save the Belgium Waffle House, Chinese restaurant and Dillons stories for another time. If your child ever has a "burping belly", you may want to think about staying home and having soup and crackers for dinner. In November of 2015, my wife suffered a traumatic brain injury which has left me as her caregiver along with being a father of 3. Emily and I were married in 2010, and I instantly became a Dad to Alex and Leah. We added Herbie in February 2011. As I look back, I don't think I was putting in much of a fatherly effort. I left too much of the responsibilty to Emily, who was also working full time. I stayed at home with Herbie and made sure he was taken care of, but that's about it.
After Emily's accident, something inside of me was awakened. I all of the sudden wanted to be a better husband and father for these 4 people who were counting on me. For four months I was at Emily's side at the Hospital each and every day, while also spending a few hours of quality time with the kids and trying my best to help them through things as well. Once we were able to get Emily home and our lives got back into a routine, I new I had to do more for our kids while at the same time, caring for Emily throughout her recovery. Back in 2007, I was in an accident of my own. I was single with no kids and almost lost my life. In fact, most people who rupture their Aorta in a car accident do not survive, I was lucky. My accident left me in a wheelchair, walker and finally to a cane. I've had several medical issues since, including back problems, problems with my feet and more. I would say I felt a bit sorry for myself and I allowed Emily to do far too much when it came to taking care of the house and the kids. I now know I am everything a Dad should be to Alex, Leah and Herbie. I cook their meals, I clean their laundry and toilets, I am their driver, I help with homework, I am their counselor, coach and at times referee. I am now involved with their PTA and on top of what they are doing in school. It is amazing and unfortunate that my wife's accident has made me a better Dad, but I think we all have it within ourselves to be better. Don't let an unfortunate event bring it out of you. |