Red Jello

That's what my father gasped to my older brother in the hospital today, when Charles asked, "Can you say anything? What do you need?"

Dad had a fairly major stroke this morning in church, keeling over in the choir loft. Luckily, there were four EMTs in the congregation, according to my mother. Who were mainly useful in extracting him from between/under the pews, as he was completely paralyzed at that point. Ambulance to the hospital in Berlin (Markesan is a small town - the nearest hospital is about 20 miles), then LifeFlight to Oshkosh.

[Dad's sister called me this evening; and when I told her of the day's events, she said, "Do you suppose they interrupted the service? Well, goodness, I suppose so. What a blessing he wasn't home alone, but in church, where he could pass out..in front of...all those people..." I could tell she was thinking, "Please let me die alone at home! Please let me die alone at home!"]

Medical miracles never cease. I learned that the rush was because there is a clot-busting drug which, if administered promptly after a stroke, can mitigate the damage in one out of seven cases. Geeze, I thought, when Charles phoned from the hospital with the news, 14% of cases? Not impressive, really. However, Dad was one of the lucky ones. Within minutes of the drug being administered, his speech began to clear, paralysis abated, and he got very cranky. No, he wasn't going to raise his right arm or wriggle his toes any more. He wanted to be put in a real bed and he wanted to take a nap. He's in the ICU at this moment, napping in a real bed.

I am delighted that his number did not come up today. I do think, though, that if a man's last words were"red Jello"...wouldn't that reflect a life well lived? I suppose that depends on whether he actually got the Jello.