My Why (part 8)

That’s Life (My Why part 8)

This is part eight of my story. Please scroll all the way to the bottom to start from the beginning. Each part has an approximate reading time of two-three minutes. Support & Like my Fan page

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It’s early in the morning on a cool Friday in October, about three a.m. The room is dark; the only light illuminating is from the mounted television about six feet away. The volume is low, as not to disturb the neighbors. In the shadows are two people on the couch, tucked in under a fleece blanket.  A distinctive sound of crackling, then crunching seems to be on a loop of every ten seconds.  It’s my arm reaching for the potato chips as we watch the P90X infomercial for about the one-hundredth time.  Betsy (reluctantly) and I watch this infomercial constantly; I always want to tune in, I look forward to it as if it’s a suspense driven series like 24.

This program mesmerizes me, I tell Betsy I want to try it while my mouth is full of potato chips. One day, just not today I say. So a year goes by of watching the same infomercial over and over again. Then I finally declare that I’m ready for this challenge. Since I’ve been more sedentary and complacent lately, I ballooned to 220 pounds. That’s forty pounds heavier than my normal weight. At this rate, I’ll be closer to 300 than 200 in a few months. Pretty much the only exercise I was getting was for my fingers by logging hours upon hours of Call of Duty on Xbox. Obviously, something needed to drastically change.

Betsy bought the P90X program for me for Christmas of 2011 and I started with my first day on January 23, 2012. My first goal was to get to less than 200 pounds; after 90 days of the program, I was about 197. But I still needed to get to my normal weight of 175-180. So I started round two sometime in May. 90 days came and gone and I’m at 183; just a few more to go, let’s start round three in August.  I’m just about to finish round three in late October and then, boom!

Halloween is on the near horizon and Superstorm Sandy is projected to ravage the eastern seaboard. Betsy and I spend nearly six hours trying to protect the home. Back and forth to and from Lowes with countless sandbag/rocks in an attempt to safeguard the house. The venture, although valiant in effort, was massively futile against Mother Nature’s wrath. We would have been better served had we used those precious last few hours grabbing our things. The only thing I grabbed on the way out was my P90X discs, resistance bands and guidebook. So we left Toms River and went to an even lower place, Hoboken. It was the lesser of the two evils for us since we were on the second floor. But we kind of knew that our vehicles were in dire straits. Sure enough, Betsy, my mom and I lost our vehicles; all three were totaled.

Two days later, we headed to Toms River to see what was left. Surprisingly, the structure of the house was in tact. That old house, which was built in the 1950’s, put up a courageous fight. But once inside, we saw the true effects of such a powerful storm. It looked like a bomb went off in the home. Furniture was thrown all over the place, the refrigerator was up on its’ side and 99% of everything inside was damaged beyond repair. There was five feet of water in the house, according to the water line marks and a neighbor from across the street who had ridden the storm out.

To this day, the home is still uninhabitable and the process to rebuild has been slow moving. FEMA, to their credit, responded within a week, but their assistance is minimal at best. The ongoing appeals with the Small Business Administration (SBA) have been nothing short of comical. They claim they are here to help people in need with disaster loans, yet the perception they project is a deny first policy.  This is an ongoing battle that I’m not ready to give up.

So I keep on pushing forward; much like the outlook I had with the stroke.  This is just another obstacle in the way. No worries, we’ll find a way. I understand there are so many people who are dealing with issues much worse than I am, so there’s absolutely no room for self-pity. As fellow “Hobokenite” Frank Sinatra famously sang, That’s Life.

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My Why (part 7)

Drop the Puck (My Why part 7)

 

This is part seven of my story. Please scroll all the way to the bottom to start from the beginning. Each part has an approximate reading time of two-three minutes.

Now I must begin adjusting to my new life.  A life that has been altered physically and mentally. It truly is amazing how quickly life can change on a dime. I was guilty of taking most things for granted. I believe we are all guilty of this most of the time.

September turned out to be a pretty decent month. I was starting to make some slow and steady progress with my recovery. I ditched the cane and started to eat pretty much anything I wanted. There were frequent times that some food would get stuck in the back of my throat and cause me to cough uncontrollably for several minutes at a time. But with a little more effort and persistence, I would be able to swallow.

I was glad the summer was over; I’m not really a summer person to begin with. But after the stroke, there were some nerves that were damaged on my head and face that controlled the way temperature feels. I couldn’t find a way to remain cool at all and the summer heat felt like my head was in a pot of boiling water.

Autumn also signified hockey season was approaching for my team. Being pre-occupied by working with the team will certainly help me mentally. It will give me a purpose for my life that all but seemed to be pointless for the last six months.

A nice surprise for me was when a new player, Kyle Palmieri, agreed to stay with me during the school year. Instead of being at home by myself and worrying if I would wake up in the morning and no one would know, now I had some company and help. And why not? I had more than enough room at my place and we both benefitted. Kyle was there to look out for me, run to store and help me with anything I had asked. For him, who grew up in the suburbs (farm), it was a chance to be closer to the school and get acclimated to the city. This was truly a selfless act by such a young person who was wise beyond his years and had a good understanding of human nature well ahead of most kids his age.  You knew he was going places, both as a player and as a human being. He wound up being drafted in the first round into the National Hockey League in 2009 and fulfilling his dream of being a professional athlete.  Today he plays for the Anaheim Ducks and is an upcoming star in the NHL.

Time moved on, my double vision had subsided for the most part and I was getting healthier every passing day.  Getting the vision back was so important, now I would be able to drive and get some more independence back. I need to stop burdening friends and family.

Bailey and Casey

In February, I decided that I was going to treat myself to a nice present. Something I wanted my whole life but I wasn’t able to have. So one day Theresa Miller and I drove to “Amish Country” in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and met up with a dog breeder on his farm. We both picked out female yellow Labrador Retrievers. The lil pups, which weighed about 8 pounds, were later named Bailey and Casey.

Having Bailey become part of my family was one of the best things I’ve ever done in my life. Believe it or not, Bailey played such an enormous role in my continuing recovery. The unconditional love that only a dog can give is a tremendous effect on the human spirit. What she gave me was another purpose. I had to be there for Bailey at all times, to care for her, to love her. I was forced to get up and about to walk Bailey, play with her and clean up any mess she made. Like the time I walked into my home and saw every pillow torn to shreds, feathers still floating in the air in slow motion and her laying down with those sad puppy brown eyes, like “I didn’t do it”. There were quite a few of those moments.  Those are the moments that are irreplaceable and will be forever etched in my mind. Bailey was truly a godsend, she was an angel for me at the right time.  

That first season (2005-2006) back after the stroke came and went. In all accounts, we had a pretty good year; we finished ranked #11 in the state out of about 140 teams. I received an award as North Jersey Coach of the Year from The Newark Star Ledger. Mike Morreale, who was in charge of writing for the high school hockey department, had made the selection. Mike is a great guy and put so much effort into his high school sports coverage.  His work ultimately paid off; now he’s a staff writer for the National Hockey League and doing a wonderful job for them. My award was an absolute surprise; let’s be honest, it probably had more to do with my recovery thank hockey, but nonetheless I was extremely grateful. Thank you Mike Morreale. (follow mike on twitter)

The next year, 2006-2007 we reached the state championship for the second time in just three seasons. Unfortunately, we lost in a nail biter during the final two minutes. That was extremely disappointing and a tremendously tough pill to swallow. We finished with a #2 rank with a 20-5 record and In January of that season, we reached #1 rank in hockey for the first time in the school’s history.

Anthony and I were seriously considering stepping down from coaching after that season. It had nothing to do with the loss; it just felt like the time was right. Perhaps it was, but we continued coaching for another three seasons. After all the hard work, effort and extra time we put into building that program from the abyss since 1998, we were not welcomed back.

So I moved on from coaching hockey and wanted to get myself one hundred percent healthy.  We all know that’s not as easy as it sounds. And of course, I was about to face more adversity.

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My Why (part 6)

No Man is an Island (My Why part 6)

 

This is part six of my story. Please scroll to the bottom to start from the beginning. Each part has an approximate reading time of two-three minutes.

Kessler was truly an amazing place. I cannot express enough how much the people at Kessler mean to me. Without the employees of Kessler, specifically Sarina Piergrossi, I would not be where I am today physically. The time and genuine care that their entire staff gave to me was priceless. I often say Hackensack University Medical Center saved my life and Kessler helped me re-gain my life. I often dream of winning the lottery, so I could donate millions to both organizations. I’d love to pay it forward, so the next person in need of specialized care has the latest, greatest, top of the line equipment.

Moving forward, I was released from Kessler on Saturday, August 6.  Two days later, Monday, August 8, I boarded a plane at 6:00 am out of JFK international airport to head to Clearwater, Florida. My team, Saint Peter’s Prep, started its’ camp on the prior Thursday; I was not about to miss anymore time. If I arrived on Monday I would still have a full week with the team. Cane and all, I made it to Florida in one piece. Anthony was about the only person who knew I was coming down. It was a total shocker and surprise for the kids. They were gathered on the ice in a huddle as Anthony and other coaches were instructing them when I slowly appeared. Some coaches and kids had their eyes water up. It was a special time for all of us. I like to classify this as therapeutic rehabilitation. That team was special to me and I didn’t want to let them down by missing our annual camp. For the better part of two months, my mind and thoughts were all over the place and I needed time to try to forget about this traumatic experience; this was exactly what I needed.

Camp ended and we headed back to New Jersey. I went back to focusing on being healthy again. Part of my recovery and rehabilitation was to continue with therapy. I would have to be driven to Kessler three times per week for outpatient therapy. I was still suffering from double vision and some vertigo; so driving was clearly out of the question. The police department stepped up and provided me with rides to Kessler most of the time, which helped tremendously.

As the dog days of August came to an end and September rolled in, I was faced with yet another challenge. Nancy told me she was leaving me. I really didn’t put up a formidable dispute. My main focus was on getting healthy; I didn’t need something like this to affect me negatively. So she left, headed to Italy and that was pretty much the end of my marriage. Again, thanks to such strong friends and family I was able to overcome this.

I knew that if I needed anything at all, I could call Anthony and he would be there in a second. He would stop by to inject me with my daily medicine via needle to my abdomen.  Even though he would curse me out when I screamed in unimaginable pain when he pierced my stomach with the needle. I was clearly kidding.

When life forces you to face unimaginable obstacles, you’ll need friends and family to help you through the hardships.

Perfectly stated by English poet John Donne when he wrote, “No man is an island”.

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My Why (part 5)

Determination and Perseverance (My Why part 5)

 

This is part five of my story. Please scroll to the bottom to start from the beginning. Each part has an approximate reading time of two-three minutes.

Before I move away from Hackensack University Medical Center, I have to give them their well-earned praise. HUMC is truly a remarkable hospital; from their top-flight doctors all the way to their security guards. I have nothing but high appreciation for what they did for me back in June 2005. Without their quick decision-making and expertise, without their extended care and patience with me I would no longer be here today.  I wish I had a list of names to put here in this thank you but that would be unfair to leave some others out. It really was their entire staff that made a life saving difference.

After about two to two and half weeks in the ICU, I was stable enough to begin my long journey with rehabilitation. I was fortunate enough to know some people who had some pull to get me into Kessler Institute for Rehabilitation of West Orange, NJ, arguably one of if not the best rehab centers in the entire country.

I was also lucky enough to have my own room assigned to me. At least there was some kind of silver lining here. Other rooms were designated with two to four patients. So if you really think about, I was kind of lucky there. Although, I did stay in a four person room for the first few nights. Believe me, it makes a world of difference.  Turns out, I really needed my own room. Not just for me, but for my countless visitors. I must’ve had twenty visitors per day, everyday. Not at the same time of course, but still. We needed the extra space.

At Kessler, I was assigned a Physical, Occupational and Speech Therapist.  I was scheduled to have an hour per day with each. In the beginning, I thought that was enough. I really didn’t want to be anywhere outside the room. It was a chore to get out of the bed and into a wheelchair. Maybe it was because I just didn’t want to be in that wheelchair. It truly is a humbling experience being wheeled around and stuck helplessly in it.

After about a week, I started to see some progress with my therapy. Not great, but better. I also started to attend double therapy sessions with my Occupational Therapist, Sarina Piergrossi.  Sarina would allow me to come back for extra hours and that helped tremendously. There were days that would I log six hours of therapy a day with Sarina. I started to walk with a walker and then a cane; I could see this was working. I needed to push myself to the limit.

Sarina was a true professional and she understood me perfectly. There were days that I was down and out and she gave me my space. Then there were days when I was being sarcastic and goofy and she just went along with it. Allowing me to see the humor of my predicament and the times I would keel over and fall down. When that happened, I would just scream out loud in the room, Sarina! Why did you trip me?! Everyone in the room, doctors, therapists and patients would stop what they were doing and just stare at her in disbelief.

I spent about five to six weeks at Kessler, I arrived there unable to walk or eat and down in the dumps. During the final days there, I finally started to begin to swallow soft food and I was walking with a cane. Progress! Finally it was time to go home. On August 6, I was allowed to go home. The last time I was home was on June 15. The journey is far from over and there are some twists on the horizon that left many scratching their heads. Maybe you will ask yourself “Why”.

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My Why (part 4)

Diagnosis (My Why part 4)

 

This is part four of my story. Please scroll to the bottom to start from the beginning. Each part has an approximate reading time of two-three minutes.

So the Doctor stopped by to make his daily rounds in the Surgical ICU unit. At this point, I was expecting the worse. Based on my symptoms, I really didn’t feel too optimistic right then and there.  Some of my major symptoms included:  inability to stand up or walk, inability to swallow and consume food, double vision, vertigo and extreme speech difficulties. Oh yeah, and a nice case of pneumonia to boot.

The Doctor mentioned to my family how critical the next 72 hours would be for my survival. I was also able to hear the Doctor tell my family that not only did I suffer a stroke, it was a double stroke; double down baby! The latter of the two strokes being much more serious, since it was on the brain stem. That type of stroke has a mortality rate upwards near 85% or so. If you do happen to be the lucky few that beat those odds, chances are you will have severe disabilities forever.

The Doctor was ready to speak to me now. Not that I was in the conversing mood at the time.  However, he began to explain to me what I had already heard. Somehow, I managed to mumble some words and I was able to ask him a question. I asked him when would I be able to get up and walk? The neurologist looked me in the eyes and bluntly told me that I would never walk again. Surely I wasn’t a big fan of his bedside manners. Right then and there, I said to myself NO! That’s not possible, I will not be stuck in a bed forever. I won’t have it.

I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t start to feel a little pity for myself soon after the rah rah go get ‘em perspective wore off. It’s only human nature to start asking why me? Quite honestly, while I did ask myself that early on, ultimately, I eliminated that thought process quickly. I had to; it wouldn’t do me or anyone else any good.

The first few days in the ICU room were pretty bleak. The room is freezing, there’s no clock, there are no windows and the television was not an option since I still had double vision. I couldn’t look forward to a nice meal because I couldn’t swallow. My meal consisted of a can of Ensure through a feeding tube that was inserted through my stomach; a procedure that’s extremely painful, but not as painful as when they have to remove the tube, literally a few people yanking on the tube like tug of war. So basically, I just lay there with no sense of time and do absolutely nothing. The minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like days. So on and so on.

I did have a slew of friends and family constantly around, which was great. Sometimes it got to the point that I felt bad for them that I was becoming a burden on them to be there. Those early days, were so critical for me and some of my good friends recognized this and stayed the entire night; night after night for some.  I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention them here and now and thank them again, Anthony Pasculli, Matt Miller, Scott Hochstadter and Dean Gasser.

A few days later a physical therapist arrived in my room. The common belief is to get someone moving as soon as possible in order to regain the motor functions that were damaged by the stroke. The therapist, who was probably 120 pounds soaking wet was trying to hold me up, a 180-pound sack of potatoes. Thank god Anthony was there to take over and help me try to stand up and walk. I guess one would describe it as a walk; it was more like Anthony dragging me. But anyway, some progress.  After two weeks at HUMC I was ready to move on to a new and greater challenge. I need to learn how to walk, again.

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HUMC (My Why part 3)

I remember the sounds of the ambulance blaring on highway route three west towards Hackensack University Medical Center (HUMC).  It was approaching midnight and from what I could tell, the road was pretty empty based on the speed we were travelling. At this point, more than twelve hours have passed and every second was becoming more and more meaningful.

When I arrived at HUMC, there was a team of doctors and nurses already waiting right outside the emergency room waiting for me. Before I even made it through the front door, a Doctor was able to give a preliminary diagnosis that I had suffered a stroke. So I spent half a day in Meadowlands and no one could definitively assess my condition and now within seconds of arriving at HUMC a Doctor appropriately analyzed my predicament.

I was immediately taken to a surgical intensive care unit instead of their janitorial wing. However, I didn’t stay there too long. Doctors had ordered tests to be done on me to see the severity of the stroke. The tests, MRI’s, MRA’s, EKG’s CAT Scans were all performed. If a test had a three-letter acronym, I was going to have it; it was just that simple. The only three-letters I did not want to hear was DOA (Dead on Arrival).

Finally back to ICU, maybe I can just relax a little bit? Not likely, a hospital is obviously great for care but it’s probably the worst place to sleep. Between the screams for help from a random person through the corridor or a nurse looking to get a blood sample from you at four am, it just doesn’t convey a peaceful place to sleep.

Anyway, my family and my closest friend, Anthony Pasculli were there to comfort me and keep my spirits up.  Anthony stayed over that night and my mom and Nancy had left around three am.

I remember being up extremely early the next day as I previously explained about trying to sleep.  I had my own reasons why I was unable to sleep peacefully. One of the symptoms’ of my stroke was the inability to swallow. With that said, I began to choke and cough feverishly on my own saliva and that was the primary reason why I was up.

I guess it was around eight that morning and my family was back with me, just in time for the Doctors to make their rounds. We were all curious to hear what they have to say about the tests. What did they reveal? What am I in store for?