What we thought was going to be a fun adventure between a father and son, stomping through the woods, discharging firearms, sucking down bountiful portions of a bbq'd pig with other Christian brothers, turned out to be a greater adventure than we had anticipated. Granted, the adventure really ramped up once we got home, the stomping through the woods makes for a good start.
Noah and I started this last Saturday loading up the van with his 22 rifle, some chairs, some water bottles, hats, ammo, and directions to the "Pig and Pistol" event that our church puts on each year at a member's property out in near Woodstock. When we arrived, the sound of high caliber rifle fire and manly comradarie could be heard coming from somewhere deep in the wooded property. 
After several hours of rifle firing fun, the call of dinner was pronounced. The younger boys snacked on good meat and "pass around" dishes while challenging each other in several rounds of a spontaneous archery competition. While the older boys sat around the Q and the firepit chatting about this and that and the other thing.
When eating was over and stomach's were full, palettes satiated, it was time to venture off and explore the nearby creek and water fall. I enjoyed playing with our camera, getting shots of boys being boys and water falls falling. The weather was wet, but it didn't dampen our spirits. In fact, the rain in the air probably helped to make the environment comfortable rather than hot and muggy.
After the creek had been sufficiently explored, rocks and sticks had been thrown into the falls and many feet had gotten wet, it was time for one last round at the range. And then it was time to head home, fun had been had by all.
Now, this is where the story normally ends. This is usually the part where we pat each other on the back, say goodbye, make plans for next year. Get home, clean up and talk about what had been.
Noah and I got home, we cleaned up, and then we sat down for dinner. Our pants were still wet from the creek. Our shoes were still dirty from the woods. We checked each other over for ticks and felt safe we were clean. We prayed and thanked God for the day of fun and the food set before us. We thanked God for keeping us safe throughout the day and for the blessings before us and the adventure to come. Little did we know what adventure lied but minutes away.
Before I go on. Let me say this. God is not in the event, he may cause an event to occur, or obstruct one from happening, but He is not to be found in the event itself. God is found in the people he places in the event to either reveal his presence, or allow others to feel and be his heart and hands.
In the event above, God was not in the firearms or the bbq, he was not in the arrow or the competition. He was found in the grace and generosity of those who shared their rifles and ammo, in the one who gave his time to cook while others played. He was found in the joy of a father teaching his sons and watching over them, allowing them to be boys while making sure they were safe from any terrible harm. He was found in the gathering of brothers who shared the common bond of being His adopted children, or in being one of those that He was actively seeking. And that is where He is found in the following.
I had taken only a few bites of my lovingly cooked raviollis when I felt my left pinky and ring finger start to twitch. As if they had a mind of their own. I risked a glance to see what they thought they were doing and virtigo took over, right there before my eyes my fingers, then hand, then wrist, forearm and shoulder, all started to twist inward and levitate above the table. I glanced at my wife, she asked me a question I was certain I was supposed to answer, but a warm and tingling feeling was creeping up my arm and I was caught wondering why nobody else was curious about what my hand was doing without my wanting it to. The warm and tingling feeling continued into my chest and up the left side of my neck, "are you alright?" was my wife's inquiry. "Answer me. Say something" came her plea. I couldn't lift my arm. My face was going numb, my lips and tongue were beginning to feel swollen and thick. My wife rose up from her chair and approached me, I looked up into her blurry face, "Aaron, are you ok." My brain was telling itself, "Move your lips, you have to move your lips and speak out of your mouth....oh my gosh...what was that posting on Facebook?...signs of a stroke are...curl the tongue, can I curl my tongue...was it curl the tongue or fold it?....and what was the phrase?...If I can't say something without slurring..." I looked at my wife and slurred out, " I can't move." That is what my brain said it had just uttered, what I had actually said is anyone's guess.
I was having a stroke. I am 39 years old, don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, and am in relatively good health, and I was having a stroke. With no early warning signs, no other indicators, I was having a stroke and there was nothing I could do to stop it. "Go over to Colleen's and see if they have a nurse" I heard my wife tell my daughter.
(By the way, three simple tests were performed on me several times to see if any residual effects remained:
1. Smile! Since the face is numb or paralyzed, the smile will be awkward or not at all. At the time of the stroke, I could barely move my lips to speak, let alone form a smile.
2. Lift both arms over your head. My left arm was dead in the water, completely paralyzed, I would not have been able to lift it at all.
3. Say a short sentence. Any sentence, any phrase, mine was, "I can't move." Keep in mind, you may have to be direct. My mind knew it needed to talk, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I sat there letting my wife begin to worry. It probably helps to give the victim something to say. "Tell me your name!" is my advice.
A fourth is stick out your tongue, but I think this only works if the other three don't convince you first. The tongue test is somewhat subjective without a real pass/fail. It is dependent on your definition of crooked. the left side of my tongue was numb and sticking it out would have made it a little crooked. But I don't think I could have gotten my mouth open wide enough to stick out my tongue.)
By the time my wife had 911 on the phone and they asked her to perform these three tests on me, my symptoms were waning and I passed all of them. Had she known these tests clearly, she would have performed them while sending my daughter, and dialing the phone, the outcome of my pass/fail would have been quite different.
(By the way, three simple tests were performed on me several times to see if any residual effects remained:
1. Smile! Since the face is numb or paralyzed, the smile will be awkward or not at all. At the time of the stroke, I could barely move my lips to speak, let alone form a smile.
2. Lift both arms over your head. My left arm was dead in the water, completely paralyzed, I would not have been able to lift it at all.
3. Say a short sentence. Any sentence, any phrase, mine was, "I can't move." Keep in mind, you may have to be direct. My mind knew it needed to talk, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I sat there letting my wife begin to worry. It probably helps to give the victim something to say. "Tell me your name!" is my advice.
A fourth is stick out your tongue, but I think this only works if the other three don't convince you first. The tongue test is somewhat subjective without a real pass/fail. It is dependent on your definition of crooked. the left side of my tongue was numb and sticking it out would have made it a little crooked. But I don't think I could have gotten my mouth open wide enough to stick out my tongue.)
By the time my wife had 911 on the phone and they asked her to perform these three tests on me, my symptoms were waning and I passed all of them. Had she known these tests clearly, she would have performed them while sending my daughter, and dialing the phone, the outcome of my pass/fail would have been quite different.
This is where God steps in for the first part of this scene. I could say He was always there, for He is fully welcome in our home and has never left us. But he reveals himself here, sort of. He introduced himself many weeks earlier in preparation for this event. See, we have only recently relocated our family from one coast to the other of the United States. We moved from just an hour away from the Pacific Coastline of the state of Oregon, to a couple of hours away from the East Coast in the state of New York. One of our biggest fears in the move was that the people of New York would be offended by our presence, that they would be cold and unfriendly. We found and moved into our new home in a rural mid-state area of the Hudson Valley. A small cul de sac with a small number of homes. Within an hour of our arrival to our new home, the neighborhood kids were standing at the end of our driveway hoping and wondering if we had kids, how many kids, and could they come out to play. Fears of unfriendly New Yorkers were starting to evaporate on day one.
A few weeks passed and several thunderstorms had hit, causing some nasty looking damage to our gravel driveway. An evening later I found myself at the end of our driveway digging a run off control ditch while a man and his son were practicing riding bikes. Greetings to one another turned into introductions, which turned into a 45 minute chat that had to end when our clothes were getting wet from the rain. When I got inside it was time for dinner. My family was seated for the meal and I proceeded to tell them about the family across the street. Long story short, we were a new family to the area, needing some friends, and they were a family that could use some friends, some kids to play with that understand what it is like to live in a family with disabilities. My wife and I have raised our kids to understand and accept that we are weird. My explanation of the family across the street matched the description of ours. They were weird and could use some friends. We are weird and could use some friends. My daughter looked at my wife and pondered, "do you think this is why God didn't let us get that other house and had us move here?" Wise beyond her years and sensitive to the workings of our Lord.
Thus, as my wife ran me through the tests as instructed by 911, God reveals himself in the form of the neighbor rushing into our living room just ahead of the EMTs. He watched out the front door and made sure they knew where to go. He, unfortunately, has an intimate knowledge of the local area hospitals and was able to advise us on where to go and where not to go. The EMTs asked me many questions, and wanted me to make some decisions I knew I was unable to make at that time and moment. "Whatever my wife says goes right now." I knew that something had happened to my brain, I was in a cloudy state of mind, but aware enough to say that I couldn't make good decisions, but my wife could. "Ok then." As the EMTs loaded me into the ambulance and prepared to usher me off to the advised hospital, this neighbor was ushering my wife out the door and to our van. "Go, catch up to the ambulance and start following them, your kids are safe, I'll stay as long as you need me to...go!" My wife and I were off to the hospital while God in the form of our neighbor stayed with our kids and kept them safe and calm.
The signs of stroke were starting to wane before the EMTs arrived. By the time they arrived I was talking, able to move my arm, and able to tie my shoes. I was stable in walking and able to move without assistance from my chair to the ambulance. By the time we arrived at the hospital most of the numbness was gone and my mind was becoming clearer. I still slurred a little bit, was slow to respond to basic questions, and my lips tongue and fingers still had mild numbness. But I was able to answer the questions. "Who is the current president...(oh man, do you have to bring him up right now? O'Bummer? ) "Obama...who was the first president (should I answer Randolph of the first congress or give the actual?) Washington" Yep, my brain was already back to being sarcastic and yet taking into consideration the severity of the situation, able to restrain itself. It would lighten the hold on that restraint as time went on though. The doctors were somewhat baffled. How could a young man sitting in front of them have had a stroke. The signs were there, but belief was not yet present.
Apparently ticks and lyme disease can cause some strange neurological conditions that are otherwise unable to be explained. Could this be a tick? I was seeing spots, which typically precede a migraine for me, could this be an atypical assymetric migraine? These were all theories developing at the hospital. Ultimately though, ruling out a stroke could only be done with a CAT scan and an MRI. The CAT was inconclusive, not determined. And in walks God again. This time for a bit of humor. Into the ER room walks a big black man. He is there to draw blood. Lots of it. Several vials of it. One to detect lyme disease, another to test for....lots of it. In conversation he learns that we are from Montana. "Can I ask you folks a sensitive question?....Are there pockets of black people in Montana?" Talk about off topic and out of the blue. "Well...um...I know of a couple of black kids that I graduated with." "And I know one black person from my home town." "Yah, that's what I thought. One of the xray techs is from Montana and he said that you guys had a couple pockets of black people. I thought he was lying. I might have to bring him in here and have him explain where those pockets are to you guys and see if he is telling the truth. I wonder what pockets of black people he's talking about. I mean, I know there are lots of pockets of black people in North Carolina, but I didn't think there were any in Montana. Thanks" The humorous part is, we are in the middle of coming to grips with I have just had a stroke and here is this man asking us a "sensitive" question about race pockets in Montana. And yet, we remember him. Among all the chaos, we remember a large black man asking about the racial make up of Montana.
The first hospital I went to is a stroke unit, but not on the weekends. Several of the nurses commented about this, "don't ask" is what I was told. How do you have a weekdays only stroke unit? The CAT scan was inconclusive, the neurology team doesn't work weekends, and they didn't have an MRI machine. I was transferred to a new hospital. AMC, Albany Medical Center, is a learning hospital. They had an MRI machine AND a neurology team on premises on the weekends. Before I was loaded up into the ambulance, my wife and I pondered whether she should follow, or head home. It was nearing 11pm. In walks a young nurse, stuffy nose, coughing, and sneezing, but with clear words for a family not certain of what to do. "If he were staying here for the night, what would you do tonight?" "Go home, take care of the kids, and follow up in the morning." "So, go home and do that. There really isn't much more else that will happen tonight. He is in good hands and going to a good hospital. Go home and get some rest as if he were staying here." So that is what we did. My wife left me her tablet, a critical part to remember in this saga, what seemed like a good idea turned out to be a marvelous one. And then I loaded up into another ambulance and headed north to Albany.
Quick note here for the ambulance drivers and EMTs of this world. Everyone is acutely aware of what you are doing during an emergency, especially when you are not doing what they expect you to do. The driver of the first ambulance decided that her hair was of utmost importance during her time around me. My family and neighbors were very aware of the number of times she fixed and primped her hair. Just an FYI.
The Albany crew was rather quick at getting me in and assessing what was known. Unfortunately it tapered off from there. I was a young, relatively healthy male, who had a stroke, but all signs and symptoms had faded. Though my event was critical, it was for the most part, non-life threatening. So, I made the bottom of the priority list. I arrived at the ER of AMC around midnight. I was rediagnosed soon after that. But I would not be admitted to the hospital and placed in a bed till nearly 4am. That's 2 Netflix movies while waiting in the ER listening to others throw fits and fight with the ER staff. Thank goodness for free Wi-Fi and my wife's tablet. But we are looking for God in this. Where was God as I waited in the ER room? Though the event happened around 7pm East Coast time, it happened around 4pm Pacific, and 5pm Mountain. By 4am there were over 50 responses to my wife's first Facebook posting, made from the first ER room. "PRAY!" and praying they were. Thanks to digital technology, forming a prayer chain is much faster these days. Within hours my family, her family, and our friends all knew. Power was being assembled in the heavens and here on Earth. By Sunday morning word was out that I was in the hospital. God was not in the technology, but in the response of human beings around the world uniting in my cause.
I once had to call my family and friends to tell them I was in the ER after getting ran over by a pickup truck on April Fools Day. Talking to my family felt quite similar this time. I was coherent, even sarcastic. They had just as difficult of a time believing I was a stroke victim as they had believing the story of why I had tire tread marks across my crown.
It was very early Sunday morning. I had spent the day before trampling the underbrush with my middle son. And spent the evening being carted from one hospital, poked and prodded, blood drawn, and then carted to another hospital, questioned, poked and prodded. And no real conclusion to what had really happened. A lot of speculation, but nothing conclusive. I was finally admitted, assigned a bed...it was 4am.
Quick note here for the ambulance drivers and EMTs of this world. Everyone is acutely aware of what you are doing during an emergency, especially when you are not doing what they expect you to do. The driver of the first ambulance decided that her hair was of utmost importance during her time around me. My family and neighbors were very aware of the number of times she fixed and primped her hair. Just an FYI.
The Albany crew was rather quick at getting me in and assessing what was known. Unfortunately it tapered off from there. I was a young, relatively healthy male, who had a stroke, but all signs and symptoms had faded. Though my event was critical, it was for the most part, non-life threatening. So, I made the bottom of the priority list. I arrived at the ER of AMC around midnight. I was rediagnosed soon after that. But I would not be admitted to the hospital and placed in a bed till nearly 4am. That's 2 Netflix movies while waiting in the ER listening to others throw fits and fight with the ER staff. Thank goodness for free Wi-Fi and my wife's tablet. But we are looking for God in this. Where was God as I waited in the ER room? Though the event happened around 7pm East Coast time, it happened around 4pm Pacific, and 5pm Mountain. By 4am there were over 50 responses to my wife's first Facebook posting, made from the first ER room. "PRAY!" and praying they were. Thanks to digital technology, forming a prayer chain is much faster these days. Within hours my family, her family, and our friends all knew. Power was being assembled in the heavens and here on Earth. By Sunday morning word was out that I was in the hospital. God was not in the technology, but in the response of human beings around the world uniting in my cause.
I once had to call my family and friends to tell them I was in the ER after getting ran over by a pickup truck on April Fools Day. Talking to my family felt quite similar this time. I was coherent, even sarcastic. They had just as difficult of a time believing I was a stroke victim as they had believing the story of why I had tire tread marks across my crown.
It was very early Sunday morning. I had spent the day before trampling the underbrush with my middle son. And spent the evening being carted from one hospital, poked and prodded, blood drawn, and then carted to another hospital, questioned, poked and prodded. And no real conclusion to what had really happened. A lot of speculation, but nothing conclusive. I was finally admitted, assigned a bed...it was 4am.
