Amboni Homecare

11/21/2023

11/19/2023

THE MAN WHO DIE TWICE PART; 3
Every day for months started with the cute active PT girl. It always started with the same question. What is my name. I never remember. But that wasn’t the only problem, because I knew my name, but couldn’t say it. I could only say one word and still don’t know why, it was football. So, every day for about 2 weeks the day started off the same way. She asked me her name, I said nothing, she put me in the wheelchair and wheeled me to the gym, or more specifically the damn standing machine.

I had improved, I was now able to bear it for 15 minutes. I had to do a Sudoku or a crossword to keep my mind busy or I would be controlled by the hurt. The stretching part was easy, but there was a problem. The stretches didn’t do me much good. Every day when they started stretching me, I was no more limber than I was yesterday or on the first day in the gym. Did they quit trying? No, I think they got more pleasure, seeing me try to act casual for my few minutes on the standing machine.

Finally magic happened, when she asks me her name, I know no reason why, but I blurted out “as***le”. Had now doubled my vocabulary. I didn’t feel right about what I said, but she didn’t seem offended. She joyfully transferred me into the wheelchair and off to the gym. Upon arriving she announced to everyone that she had confirmation that she was doing her job as expected. First thing this morning, Bill called me an as***le. Everyone clapped, except me because I was about to be put on the standing machine.

After a few more weeks I could stand on the standing machine for 30 minutes. A time to celebrate by moving on to more complicated things. The parallel bars and trying to take steps. I wasn’t a star here either.

Back in the room. My sister, from Columbus and her husband had returned. Their main task was to help my wife find me a nursing home. We were getting strong signals that both the social worker and the insurance company wanted me out of there. I was a lucky one, I was retired, and still insured by the company I had worked at. The bill was over $200,000 and that was 19 years ago. The nursing home was good because I was in no shape to go home. They found me a quality home a few miles north of the hospital.

I spent 81 days in the hospital and my wife visited me every day. What I should also tell, is that she doesn’t drive. A neighbor friend spent her time on the phone getting friends and neighbors from all over the community to volunteer for a day to drive her to the hospital and back. The list also had volunteers for at least the next 14 days. Often many of the friends and neighbors took her to dinner or some place interesting. Would this continue as I moved to the nursing home, 12 more miles away?

I was taken there by ambulance on July 6, 2002. You might ask yourself, “how did he remember that, or did he make it up.” Well, most people, including me, would say he made that up. But no, it was a very special day, my 65th birthday.

This had special advantages, back then, but probably not now. Once you were 65, Medicare paid a big share of your expenses, for 45 days. And again, each calendar year, if a doctor puts an order in for you.

Did my wife visit me every day in the nursing home? Hell no, this gets very boring and tiring especially when it lasts for about 3 months. She visited all the first days but started slacking off near the end. I’d make an educated guess that she was there only 98% of the time.

The nursing home that was picked for me was probably the best in the area. They had a fine dining experience where your visitors could join you for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I ate there until someone found out I was only to take nourishment by peg tube. About 1 night a month they had a small beer party. I was allowed to join. I guess that wasn’t nourishment. But I got caught the next month.

Also, they had some good policies. They advertised they would turn you every 2 hours. That was true, I just didn’t understand it right. When I rang once at night and asked to turn me from my left side, they replied “can’t do that you’ve only been there 1 and a half hours’’.


After being there a few days, I recommend you never go there, or send anyone to any nursing home unless you absolutely must.

Once my 45 days were over my wife got me out of there even though I wasn’t ready.

11/19/2023

THE MAN WHO DIE TWICE: 2
Got through the last rights and family members started showing up. My older sister and husband and nephew Mark from Bradford Pennsylvania, my younger sister and husband from Columbus, Ohio. When Mark and I saw each other we both started crying badly and Mark had to leave the room. I don’t think it had anything to do with me being in the hospital, but we missed the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament that we had planned to attend in Buffalo New York because of my stroke. What a bummer!
In the next days I had breathing tube removed and put on oxygen, G-tube placed in my stomach because I couldn’t take anything by mouth. My diet now consists of protein drinks and water through the tube. And I slept mostly.

The next event was finagled by my wife. I was now in a bunch of therapies 5 days a week. Physical therapy twice a day, 9:00 am and 3:00pm. Squeezed in between was Occupational, Speech, lunch of protein, and recreational. Physical therapy was the most rewarding, or should I say what I really thought it was. Hardest. The girl was probably half my age and twice as anxious to get started. She woke me most mornings. Oops is woke a bad word these days?

She had a lot of energy, introduced herself and put me in a sitting on my bed. She left to move the wheelchair closer, and I immediately flopped on my back. Absolutely no stomach muscles to hold me up. She remedied the situation, and with the help of a gate belt transferred me into the wheelchair, and off to the gym we went.

She introduced me, as the new boy in town, then explained how I was going to use the standing machine in front of me. A belt was placed under my buttock, my feet in a footplate and with the push of a button I was moved into a standing position. This was all done cautiously and slowly. When upright my abdomen was against a soft stub of some kind, and in front of me a slanted table. All I could think of was how the hell do I get out of this miserable thing. The pain was bad. My feet hurt with all the weight on them. My legs hurt. Everything hurt. But I was a man, so my first thought was I show them I can do it.

I was so uncomfortable that thought lasted less than a minute, and I started giving signals that I want down out of this thing now. Nobody seemed to care, and I couldn’t even scream at them. I couldn’t talk. After what seemed like an eternity, they let me back down into my wheelchair. What a relief. My @&*% smiling PT lady told me I did good for the first time a whole 3 minutes. I think my eternity was a gross overestimate.
They took me over to an exercise bed where we were going to do some stretches. Using a gate belt, they moved me into a partial standing position before laid me on the bed. I interrupted them. With a power BARF that got all over my PT girl and her helper. They weren’t even phased by it. Just got me back in my chair, cleaned themselves off with towels, and took over where they left off. I guess the mixture of protein and water vomit is a lot better than my drunken beer one. Stretches took the rest of my 1 hour+.
And then back to my room with my cute smiling PT girl. Put in bed and wait for the next one. I then take a short nap. Maybe 2 minutes, maybe 15 minutes, all depends on when the next therapist is ready.

The others I won’t describe in so much detail, just give a thumbnail sketch of each. PT was the most important to me. OT man I think was the favorite of someone from high up. Because he was praised as the greatest, but really, In my mind, not worth a s**t. He always arrived late, like he was busy. When he arrived, he took 15 minutes to tell me what we were going to do. Then off to the gym where we did what I guess was OT stuff. Like how many pegs can you put in the right squares in 5 minutes. They all had a purpose; I know because he told me so. After finishing about 4 of these tasks I was taken back to my room. And for about 15 minutes he told me what we had done. Then left early. He must have had something else to do.

Speech was much different than today. Mouth exercises, tongue exercises, letter noises, and then we you learned how to grunt the let you try to talk to another person and see if they understand you. When you got bored with it all, they said they taught you all they could and graduated you.

Recreation was a relaxing time. Playing cards was my favorite. Talking about the weather was right up there. Saying anything bad about the UNC basketball team or their coaches was a no-no. Of all of them sleeping was what I did best. See you again soon, right now I’m tired and want to go to bed.

11/19/2023

THE MAN WHO DIE TWICE PART; 1

This is a story about my stroke and what happened to me afterword. I am not a professional writer, which you would notice as I go on. I’m just sharing this to people that might know what can happen.
I had moved to North Carolina and lived in a gated community on a Jack Nichalos golf course. My wife was against it because she thought all I would do was drink beer and play golf. Far from the whole truth. I set Monday aside as wife’s day and did as she liked.
On Monday, April 13th we walked from our house to the community fitness center, a nice mile walk to help me wake up. We would spend over an hour there and then go shopping. Not a big problem, because she looked much more than she bought.
On this Monday I lifted some weights and planned to spend half the time on a stationary bike. Barb used only the stationary bike. I was no Hercules. 30-pound curls, and some weight machines. While sitting on a weight machine and pushing a weight above my head I felt something funny. Not funny ha-ha but funny peculiar so I stopped and walked out into the hallway and sat on a bench with a friend, Jim. I told him I was tired and might go home and….. The talk had a very high-pitched tone and Jim yelled “Stroke.”
All hell broke loose. The dance instructor came running out of a room and said Bill talk to me and keep talking as much as you can. Beth ran to the phone and called 911. My wife ran around like a chicken with her head cut off. I was the center of attention, finally made it.
UNC hospital was luckily only 7 miles away, but where was the ambulance. Finally, it pulled in and acted like this was just another day. I wanted to yell, hey guys it’s me. But methodically they carried out their duties. 1 guy was a girl. I was put on a stretcher and put in the ambulance. The girl put all kinds of medical attachments on me. The guy talked with UNC hospital giving them vitals, my condition and ETA. The girl kept prompting me to keep talking.

As we went back into the delivery bay the girl said I think we lost him. The man says I’ll intubate him. Girl replied, “ever do that before, and how do you know what size to use.” He replied, I’ll use the biggest, he’s big. I remember nothing else about the next hours.
I wake in a hallway, all alone. Can see into a room where there are many people, but only from their ankle down. Seemed like covering hanging from above. I see a pair of polished wing tips like my father used to wear and next to that a pair of high-water trousers like my uncle used to wear. Is that Watty and Harry? Am I in heaven? If those two are together there is beer around. Are they planning a welcoming party for me.
Now I remember nothing until the next day. Did I miss my party? Here I was lying in a bed in a hallway with nobody in sight. Then, here comes Barbara and a female doctor. I learned the doctor was a neurologist that took care of me in the operating room and in my bed all night. My only son Kevin, from Arizona, flew in at night. And I had a bad night.

This morning’s plan, if I agreed, was for me to take an experimental drug from UCLA, that would break up the clot or whatever in my head. Of course, if she suggested I should do it. Also, a Catholic priest would be in to give me last rights in a few hours. I’ll hang around for that.

This is a story about my stroke and what happened to me afterword. I am not a professional writer, which you would notice as I go on. I’m just sharing this to people that might know what can happen.
I had moved to North Carolina and lived in a gated community on a Jack Nichalos golf course. My wife was against it because she thought all I would do was drink beer and play golf. Far from the whole truth. I set Monday aside as wife’s day and did as she liked.
On Monday, April 13th we walked from our house to the community fitness center, a nice mile walk to help me wake up. We would spend over an hour there and then go shopping. Not a big problem, because she looked much more than she bought.
On this Monday I lifted some weights and planned to spend half the time on a stationary bike. Barb used only the stationary bike. I was no Hercules. 30-pound curls, and some weight machines. While sitting on a weight machine and pushing a weight above my head I felt something funny. Not funny ha-ha but funny peculiar so I stopped and walked out into the hallway and sat on a bench with a friend, Jim. I told him I was tired and might go home and….. The talk had a very high-pitched tone and Jim yelled “Stroke.”
All hell broke loose. The dance instructor came running out of a room and said Bill talk to me and keep talking as much as you can. Beth ran to the phone and called 911. My wife ran around like a chicken with her head cut off. I was the center of attention, finally made it.
UNC hospital was luckily only 7 miles away, but where was the ambulance. Finally, it pulled in and acted like this was just another day. I wanted to yell, hey guys it’s me. But methodically they carried out their duties. 1 guy was a girl. I was put on a stretcher and put in the ambulance. The girl put all kinds of medical attachments on me. The guy talked with UNC hospital giving them vitals, my condition and ETA. The girl kept prompting me to keep talking.

As we went back into the delivery bay the girl said I think we lost him. The man says I’ll intubate him. Girl replied, “ever do that before, and how do you know what size to use.” He replied, I’ll use the biggest, he’s big. I remember nothing else about the next hours.
I wake in a hallway, all alone. Can see into a room where there are many people, but only from their ankle down. Seemed like covering hanging from above. I see a pair of polished wing tips like my father used to wear and next to that a pair of high-water trousers like my uncle used to wear. Is that Watty and Harry? Am I in heaven? If those two are together there is beer around. Are they planning a welcoming party for me.
Now I remember nothing until the next day. Did I miss my party? Here I was lying in a bed in a hallway with nobody in sight. Then, here comes Barbara and a female doctor. I learned the doctor was a neurologist that took care of me in the operating room and in my bed all night. My only son Kevin, from Arizona, flew in at night. And I had a bad night.

This morning’s plan, if I agreed, was for me to take an experimental drug from UCLA, that would break up the clot or whatever in my head. Of course, if she suggested I should do it. Also, a Catholic priest would be in to give me last rights in a few hours. I’ll hang around for that.

08/19/2022

Most seniors prefer to stay home. That is not a reason not to get good Care. That's where Amboni Homecare comes in.

08/19/2022

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