Motherhood

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a mother.  According to dictionary.com, motherhood means "it's the state of being a mother." The interpretation of that definition could be as long as it is broad, depending on each individual mom. 

For me, it means creating an atmosphere of teaching, learning, and being supportive throughout a child's life.  Teaching them how to walk; How to feed themselves; How to dress themselves. How to read, and as they grow older, teaching them how to resolve conflicts, to solve problems, to face their struggles head on, and do their very best.  

As a mother I'd be their biggest supporter from taking their very first step, to the second.  To kissing boo boo's, drying their tears, and comforting them when they are afraid, or hurting.  Support them when they begin driving, get their first job, graduate high school, and college, get married, to when they are finally expecting their own first child. 

I'm getting ahead of my years as a mom. My oldest just turned two, and my youngest is only four months old.  I have a lifetime of teaching, supporting, and loving to do.

Let me back up to the summer of '13. I found I was expecting again.  I was so excited, and couldn't help thinking how having a second child would change the dynamics of our household.  My oldest would have a sibling.  My home would be filled with not one, but two little boys filling the house with their laughter, and play.  I looked forward to the pleasant busy life having a family gives.

My delivery came, and we brought our newest family member home.  Then, when he was just 10 days old, I suffered a stroke.  He was seven weeks old when I finally returned home after weeks of hospital, and rehab stays.

My ideas and plans of motherhood were slightly shattered.  I remembered how, with my first child, I was able to hold him, care for him, and witness all the firsts that come with a new baby.  I had felt I had missed so much with our newest baby. 

It gave me great comfort knowing my husband, Scott, had been able to be there for our new baby, when I was not able to do so.

I want what all mothers want.  I want my children to have a happy, safe childhood filled with many wonderful memories.  I want them healthy.  I want them to grow into men who are considerate, and respectful towards others.

I'm still making progress in getting better use of my left arm, and because of this I sometimes feel I am a different mom to our children than before my stroke.  When I look upon their sleeping, peaceful faces, I smile.  This is why I am strong.  This is why I will not give up. This is why I continue to press forward in my recovery.  I have faith in my future, and although I cannot pick them up with both arms, and hold them, I can pick them up, and hold them in my heart.

The heart of a mother, and mine will beat to the rhythm of love to until my last breath. 

Tony

If had to choose one thing about being in the rehab hospital that I strongly disliked, it would be having to go to the bathroom towards the end of each nurses shift.

Daily physical therapy is exhausting.  By late afternoon I was more than ready to go to sleep.  I'd be sleeping soundly and before I knew it there would be a nurse at my bedside insisting I get up and use the bathroom.  I don't know about you, but 4:30am is not a 'time for bathroom break' routine I was used to.

On one such morning a new nurse named Tony awoke me and said "It's time to go to daclub."  That was his fancy way of saying "Get up and go to the bathroom."

Now at a real club, it's both common knowledge, and common practice for the girls to all go to the bathroom together.  It's just what we do.  However, I felt somewhat vulnerable having to go to the bathroom with a male, even if he was a nurse, but assured Tony that although he was my first male nurse, I was okay with his assistance. 

He said to me, that I must not remember him.  He pointed to the pocket on his scrubs, and asked me what did I see there?  I replied with "I see a pocket full of pens." It was then I noticed the name on his pocket.  St. Dominics Hospital.

 

He then told me he was part of my surgical team.  Those memories were a bit hazy for me, so I asked him to fill in the missing details for me. 

He told me on that on Saturday, the day of my surgery, it was his day off.  He was lounging around his house when the hospital called and told him they had a severe case, and would he mind coming in on his day off and assist in the surgery room.  He told the hospital he'd be right there, and it was me who ended up being the severe case. 

He also told me that on that same day another lady about my age came in to the hospital with the same type of brain bleed, but sadly she did not recover, and did not make it.  That hit home, and I again realized how precious and fragile life is, and that sometimes life is shorter than we want.

 

I was truly thankful that Tony agreed to come to work that day on his day off.  He didn't have to, but there was someone (me) who was in need, and that's what good nurses do.

After that morning, whenever Tony was my assigned nurse and would come get me ready to “go to daclub”, I got up and did so without begrudging the early hours, because that's what good patients do. 

My Story

To say that I’m a planner would be an understatement. I plan everything in my life. I always knew I wanted a second baby – and that too was planned. On June 18, 2013, we found out we were pregnant again. I was so excited. I had visions of what life was going to look like with two babies. As my due date drew near and we found out we were having a second boy, I visualized what life would be like around my house. The craziness and chaotic atmosphere of two little boys running around elated my heart. I told my husband all the time that we truly hit the jackpot.

Fast forward to February 18, 2014. I went for my last prenatal visit. This time it was different though. My blood pressure was running slightly high. My OB-GYN told me to check into the hospital because I was having the baby that day. But wait! That’s not how the plan was supposed to go. My son was scheduled to be born February 19th via C-section. I walked out to my minivan sobbing and called my husband at work. I met him at home where I packed my bag, and we were off to meet our second son.

It was hard to wrap my brain around the way things were going to look at home. My son was coming a day early, so I wasn’t quite as prepared as I thought. I recovered quickly from my C-section, and I was home by February 21st. The first week went smoothly. He was such a happy baby – a great baby.

On Wednesday, February 26th, I woke up with a headache. I remember being in my bedroom, and I felt like a bomb was exploding in my head. I called my husband into the room. He told me to lie on the bed. I just kept repeating, “Why won’t the pain go away?” We suspected that it was from the spinal anesthesia, so we called my OB-GYN. She instructed us to get a CT scan immediately and check into the delivering hospital. The CT scan came back “unremarkable.” They pumped me full of magnesium, which is the protocol for high blood pressure. They released me on Thursday afternoon. I felt completely normal again. That night was uneventful.

Friday February 28th was the day that my life changed forever. I woke up and noticed my vision was a little blurry. I took my blood pressure, and it was high. I lay in the bed. It all started happening as it did before. I felt like there was an explosion in my head. My neck became extremely stiff. Pain radiated down my spine. It seemed like my husband was moving in slow motion, and I felt like I was dying. He rushed me to the hospital again. My last memory of that day is walking through the hospital doors. I wouldn’t have my next memory for at least a week.

My next memory was being in a hospital bed with a bunch of tubes hooked up to me. I remember it was very hard to talk, so I had to write everything. Doctors would come in and ask me random questions, like “What day is it?” and “Who is the president?” This is when I learned what happened to me – a post-hemorrhagic stroke due to post-partum eclampsia. I had had a major brain bleed, and the left side of my body was not moving. I had just had a craniectomy. Those tubes in my mouth were a breathing tube and a feeding tube. I was in the ICU.

The ICU was trying to give me enough therapy to get me transferred to a rehab hospital. After 6 days, I was transported by ambulance to an inpatient rehabilitation facility. Luckily, I was at the best rehabilitation center in the state. They had to get me in and out of the bed using a sling. I was completely helpless. Everyone kept telling me, “Cheri, look to the left.” I had severe left neglect. My brain wouldn’t allow me to see things on my left side.

The hospital started therapy immediately. Therapy became my new job. Most days were the same. They would come get me in the morning, put me in a wheelchair, and whisk me off to the gym to do therapy. I made friends quickly, and I would introduce myself with “I’m Cheri, and I should not be able to say about myself that I’m 37 and survived a stroke.” I learned at the hospital that your mindset is your “golden ticket.” I quickly changed my mantra to “I’m Cheri. I’m 37 years old. I survived a post-hemorrhagic stroke, and I will walk again one day.”

I maintained a positive attitude. Sure, it was hard. I was away from my family and could not envision what my life was going to be like. Was I going to be able to take my boys to the park like I thought? This was a hard feeling to overcome.

On day 27 of 30 at the rehab hospital, I began to take my first steps. I had outgrown my sling, and I began transferring myself out of bed and onto the wheelchair on my own. Everyone told me I was making improvements very quickly. I told them I was going to be the fastest person they had ever rehabbed. By the end of therapy, I was walking. It was a miracle. I was a miracle!

On April 4th, one week before I was to be discharged from the hospital, I got the best surprise ever. My mom and sister and two nephews drove from Texas to see me for the weekend. It was great. My sister gave me a pedicure and a manicure. On April 5th, I got the first movement in my left arm. I attribute it to their coming to town.

On April 11, 2014, it was time for me to be discharged. My husband came to pick me up, and I broke out of rehab with my husband driving the getaway car. I was on my way home to see my boys.

I was scared at how life was going to be at home. I was still in a wheelchair. I could not use my left hand. Things went surprisingly well. We began to create a new normal, but it was great to be at home. I had outpatient therapy 3 days a week. More movement came to my left arm, and I got cleared to walk at home with a cane. This gave me much more freedom.

Now I was right back where I belonged. I felt like I had missed out on so much. Things are definitely different than what I thought. My mom always told me life is what’s happening when you’re making plans. I intend to continue to make strides. I will settle for nothing less than who I was before. I have my family and friends to thank for that. Through all of this, I realized I became a person who lives in the NOW and not in the PAST or the FUTURE. And I now know that even the best plan can be broken.