St. Kenny and My Friends

I’ve written about my husband, Kenny, who was a saint through all of this – turning his life inside out, upside down, managing his work as the news director of two TV stations from my hospital room. He took notes on every doctor and nurse, every drug, every conversation, every change that happened to me. He sent constant updates to our friends and families. He was there when I reached out my hand. He brought me a digital clock when he realized I couldn’t read the wall clock. I had beautiful pajamas.

I have much more to say about him, but he deserves a whole chapter that is requiring more meditation and prayer.

But I can talk about my friends.  Jan turned her life in LA “off” for a month, spending it with us at the hospital in Dallas. This is one of those life questions I’m moved to ask myself - “Would I do that for a friend?”

Would you? Until she did that for me, it would never have occurred to me that an unrelated someone might give me this gift.

Granted, we’ve been the best of friends for nearly 25 years. We talk virtually every day. We’ve cussed and discussed every topic – men, children, relationships, jobs, aging, traffic, hair color, politics, menus – there is no topic we haven’t covered.

And we’ve invented a conversational tactic that even saves time – when we hit a topic we’ve already discussed, and we already know how we feel about it, we observe a moment of silence to mark that we don’t need to discuss it again.

We don’t agree on everything. We observe a moment of silence for those things, too.

We’ve even had the luxury of taking several “girls’ only” vacations. It is hard to travel with just anyone. (I’ve traveled with some who deserve to be left behind on the side of the road.) We had a magnificent eight-day trip through the Southeast, including Graceland in Memphis. (Sorry, I’m taking a brief detour here.) Before Graceland, Jan was so-so on Elvis.

She did not understand that Elvis is the most handsome man ever born. And arguably the most talented. I love Elvis. So, we ended up at Graceland on a snowy December morning, we toured the house, ended up in the trophy room and Jan said…”OK, now I get it.” We shed a few surreptitious tears at the graves. Took pictures of ourselves, and giggled like the girls we are.

Anyway, Jan had planned to come to help me recover from the surgery, and already had her ticket to Dallas when the seizures started. So, instead of traveling on to my home in Tyler, she stayed in Dallas.

It was like having an “extension of self” in the room. I’ve asked her what we did, all those days, and she says we “talked”. Of course we did. Even with me in a coma we would be talking. Eventually I was pointing and trying to make myself understood. Later I got a trach that had a blue button “talky thing” that let me whisper. Step by step, I talked my way to recovery.

She was brilliant at figuring out how to help. There is a lot of messy “doing” that has to be done.

Of course, it was Jan’s glasses that I saw when I woke from the coma. That memory has stayed with me, with my poor brain trying to figure out where I was and why Jan was wearing glasses and what had happened to me.

I associate Jan with grilled cheese sandwiches from the hospital’s cafeteria downstairs. Even with the feeding tube, they eventually wanted me to eat “real” food. Those grilled cheese sandwiches were the first thing that actually tasted good.  

By the way, I’ve never told this to a soul, but I thought this might be a great time to diet. There are all kinds of crazy, but the crazy you are after a TBI is a special, rarefied kind.

Even Jan needed a break. Another friend, Lindsey, came to spend two nights over a weekend. She is a warm, gregarious woman…very easy to be around, and one of those people that makes you relax and say, “ahhh”. One of the nights I was convinced there were ships in a harbor that needed to be guided in. “Is there a lighthouse?” “Yes,” I said, “but it’s broken.” So we spent the next hour, she tells me, guiding the ships into the harbor. I was worried about Christmas gifts, and decided I could make instant hot chocolate mix to give to people. She agreed. I went to sleep, but suddenly sat up and cried, “I can’t do this math to figure out the recipe.” “That’s OK, we have a calculator.” “Good.” I fell back and went to sleep.

Lindsey’s husband, Paul, is a lovely man and our dogs’ veterinarian. (Paul is a magician. He takes care of exotic birds and ferrets…he is so sweet to his patients he makes me want to cry. Would that everyone in the world were so kind.) While I was in the hospital, three of our Chihuahuas went to stay at Paul’s clinic, where they were spoiled rotten. It was Paul and Lindsey’s gift. If you ever wonder what to do for someone who is very sick, take the worry of their animals off their shoulders.

While we are on the subject of kindness, let me tell you about our neighbors. They asked what they could do, and we asked them to care for our maltipoo, Lincoln, and elderly Chihuahua, Angel. Boarding would just not have been a good option. Kenny asked these dear ones if they would walk Lincoln and Angel several times a day. Praise be. They did. They managed these two home-bound pups with love and concern. I heard second-hand stories about how they were doing. I never had to worry.

Worry is the enemy of recovery. It is like an acid that eats at every good thing. I’ve learned this, and I’m trying to be as kind as my friends have been, and are, to me. When I was literally hanging by a thread (not to put too much drama here, but I was) my friends stepped in to help me hold on.

What lessons I learned! And how this has made me question my own response to friends who need help. Can I be as openhanded and kind? Do I have the willingness to say “yes” when someone asks? I hope so. I really do.