No Comprehension here. Those words spoken by a neurologist to Whitney and Margaret Morse in May, 2005 caused horrible despair but pushed this couple to determined perseverance in a long battle of healing. Mr. Morse sustained in January, 2005 a sub-cranial bleed followed by two strokes. He was diagnosed with Wernicke's Aphasia, a communication disorder as the result of stroke. In this story of their journey of faith, perseverance and healing Margaret Morse wants to convey to the reader the importance of believing, caring and hope when one is faced with crisis, in this case the results of severe stroke. Dedication: This book is written for those families affected by stroke and it is written for "the one I love."

Laugh a Lot Cry a Lot

When Tragedy Strikes-A journey through stroke/s and healingBy Margaret Berger Morse

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Margaret Berger Morse
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7300-5

Chapter One

January 19, 2005 marked the beginning of a horrible journey for my husband, Whitney Doane Morse and our family. On that cold, winter's day Whitney was working at his part time job in the local hardware store, Pages Hardware, Appliance and Service Center, Guilford, Connecticut. Working as he always did in the attic of the building organizing various products Whitney sustained a sub-cranial hemorrhage; an acute cerebrovascular accident. He had driven to work that day just after seven a.m. and within two hours had been brought home. His co-worker, one of the Pages Hardware Store co-owners, Stephen Page drove him home. Stephen told me that Whitney had come down from the attic where he was working and complained of an excruciating headache. Whitney wanted someone to drive him home. His car remained at the store until it was brought to us later that morning.

Having heard a car in the driveway, I opened the back door. Whitney/Whit stumbled into our house through the door trying to shrug out of his jacket while Stephen briefly told me about the situation. Whit literally fell into the large leather lounge chair just a few feet from the door. Stephen left and I looked to see what was happening to Whit. His face was a dull, pasty white and showed his pain as he complained of an excruciating headache so terrible that he could hardly get the words out. I knew Whit's threshold for pain to be pretty high, therefore to have him come into our home in this state was truly worrisome. I called his physician and was told by the receptionist that since Whit already had an appointment scheduled later in the day for some blood work that we should wait and come at the appointed time. I wondered at the lack of concern. For six hours Whitney sat waiting, not leaving the chair, but constantly moving about. He couldn't eat or drink. Not eating or drinking turned out to be a good thing as we found out later when we learned of his condition. Three p.m. arrived - our car was back by then. Snow was now beginning to fall. Whit could hardly make it to the car and seemed disoriented. I drove him to the doctor's office, a five minute drive, and helped him get out of the car. I had to guide him through the door. The nurse took us into a small office cubicle to wait. I helped Whit get his coat off as he struggled to keep from falling over. I helped him sit in an available chair.

Within a few minutes the doctor came in and had Whit move to the examining table. Whit did so, with difficulty. I explained to the doctor what had been happening, beginning from when Whit had come home from Page Hardware early in the day; what I saw through out the day while we waited. I was absolutely stunned when the doctor said, "This is a typical virus that is happening a lot. Several older men have come in this week. I am sure it is no more than that." I could hardly believe my ears. I had had a virus within the past several months, a motion sickness of sorts and had been on medication. I wondered if the doctor had felt that this is what Whit had though I am sure the illness I had was not catching. The doctor then commented to Whit. "Go home Mr. Morse and go to bed. Get some rest. Let this virus run its course." Indicating that we can leave Whit stood up and we left the examining room. Once out the door of the room Whit walks right into a wall in front of the doctor. The doctor turns him in the right direction and asks, "Are you all right?" Whit does not respond. The doctor without saying anything helped Whit through the outer door to the waiting room. I was stunned that we had been dismissed so quickly. All of these small incidents, we now know, should have pointed all of us to think stroke and/or bleed. But none of the incidents did. Not one us thought "stroke." Whit and I were sent home. Perhaps, I should have recognized symptoms, perhaps the doctor should have, but we didn't. It is all hindsight now.

Parking in the driveway to our home I helped Whitney out of our car, walked with him up the sidewalk already covered with a thin layer of snow and through the back door. I helped Whit take off his jacket; walked him up the stairs to our bedroom. He needed help getting undressed and into bed. He seemed totally unaware and once I got him into his bed, though awake he tossed and turned. I was unsure that Whit understood anything I was saying to him as I told him I would go down stairs and make some tea. Within a few minutes I heard Whit up and moving about. I ran up the stairs and found him in our guest bedroom. He was peeing in the drawer of one of the bureaus. I said. "Honey, what are you doing?" Whit looked at me with this strange expression as if I should know the answer to my question as he said, "The paint brushes need to be cleaned." I think in panic, this is all wrong. Something is terribly wrong. I help Whit to the bathroom to finish urinating in the toilet and then help him back to the bedroom. Before I can get him back into bed Whit slumps down into a nearby chair. Kneeling beside him with my cell phone in hand, I call 911. I was afraid Whit would become unconscious since he couldn't seem to focus, and his breathing seemed to be fading. I kept talking to him as I waited for someone to answer the phone. I am sure it was only moments but it seemed like long minutes as I waited for someone to pick up and then go through a whole series of questions. I needed an ambulance immediately and answering what seemed like too, too many questions was not only frustrating but my anxiety level, my concern for Whit was quickly rising.

The ambulance with the two Emergency Medical Technicians came within ten minutes to take Whit to Middlesex hospital, Middletown, Connecticut. The EMTs would not have been able to get Whit on a stretcher and carry him down our stairs since the stairs turn in two places. Instead, the EMTs were able to walk Whit carefully down the stairs, each holding an elbow to keep him steady, guiding him slowly and place him on the stretcher in our living room. Covering Whit with a couple of blankets they carried him on the stretcher out the front door, down snow covered steps and out our front gate to the ambulance. It was very cold, the roads were hazardous, icy and it was now snowing very hard.

While waiting for the ambulance I had called both our daughters, Torrey and Jessica. I then called our close friends, Bob and Evelyn Linskey. I asked them to go over to Whit's Mom's home, speak with her and stay with her. Torrey, Jessica and her boy friend, Rob would meet me as soon as they could at the hospital. The snow storm was picking up and they were driving from their jobs an hour and more away.

I rode in the front of the ambulance with the driver as we headed toward Middlesex Hospital in Middletown, Connecticut. On the ride to the hospital Whit had begun to fall into an unconscious state. The EMT with Whit kept saying "Mr. Morse we are almost there. Stay with us." Once we got to the hospital the emergency people were trying to keep him awake. The ER doctor, Dr. Jim Levine slapped Whitney's face repeatedly issued the same command, "Stay with us Mr. Morse." I found out later that Whit was in fact experiencing a sub-cranial bleed from the base of his neck. His brain was literally filling with blood ... and had been all day ... his brain was drowning in blood. Whit was drowning internally as his brain was filling up with his blood. He/we were in a very serious, critical situation.

The people at Middlesex Hospital were good at their job of caring for patients, very good, but they knew they didn't have the equipment to deal with this kind of head injury. As Whit moaned and groaned and seemed to be fading away, the ER doctor, Dr. Levine continued to slap his face and tell him to stay with us. Torrey, Jessica and Rob were with me now and we feared for Whit's life. We stood near the table Whit was laying on, praying that he would stay with us, talking to him, telling him how much we loved him, and not to go away.

After some preliminary testing, getting Whit stabilized, the ER staff gave me a choice of sending him to Yale New Haven Hospital in New Haven, Connecticut or St. Francis Hospital in Hartford, Connecticut. I chose the latter. This was another absolutely scary ride in the horrible winter weather, through blowing freezing snow, the ambulance siren blaring. The two ambulance attendants happened to be young men whose fathers were acquaintances of my husband and me. I had actually taught the father of one of them, Louis Hiedtman, and Whitney had bowled with the other young man's dad, Larry Putney. Both of these men were a comfort to me as we rode along the icy highway to the hospital.

Our daughters followed the ambulance from Middlesex Hospital in one of their cars, meeting me in the waiting area once we arrived. I called Whit's sister, Jane Davis and my sisters, Barbara Shock in California; Jeanne Jones in Illinois; Bobbie Buckley in Florida; several friends to share this terrible news and to pray. Whit's cousin, Evelyn Linskey and later his sister would update Whit's Mom. Torrey, Jessica and I sat in the waiting room for several hours waiting for news of Whit's prognosis and eventual admission to the hospital.

The following day Dr. Levine from the Middlesex Hospital ER called our home and talked to Torrey who was there. He expressed his concern for Whitney and was apologetic that he could not have done more. He later wrote a note to us expressing again his concern and asking about Whit's condition. This man was truly caring and I will not forget his kindness.

Chapter Two

The next several days Whit went through many tests. Initially he had an angiography which showed no evidence of aneurysm. Initial tests showed that not only did he have a sub-cranial bleed but he also was experiencing hydrocephalus, fluid on his brain. A procedure, a ventriculostomy was done to lessen the fluid. This procedure called for a temporary stint to be put into Whit's skull to help drain the fluid.

The first night following this procedure Whit not realizing what was happening to him or knowing where he was, tried to get up. He apparently had to go to the bathroom. He got out of bed and was able to stand up but the tube that was hooked to a pole prevented him from moving. Again not realizing his situation, he tried in vain to move. In the process he reached up and pulled out the drain. He couldn't get any further because he was also hooked up to other tubes. The night nurse found him standing by his bed struggling with all of the apparatuses and completely nude since he had some how shrugged out of his Johnny coat. Not a happy scene. The nurse called me on my cell phone at the hospitality suite where I was staying. When I arrived Whitney was settled back in his bed asleep but agitated. I slept in a chair near him through that night and the next.

The nurses at St. Francis were wonderful and caring. One of them, Nancy, was actually a niece of Ruth Palmer also a nurse and one of Whitney's former co-workers at the State of Connecticut Health Department, one of the areas he had worked while employed with the State for over thirty years.

Another nurse, Donna would come in each morning to give Whit a shave and see to his personal needs. I found Donna sensitive and very patient with my husband. Donna bonded with our family since she with her family had walked through cancer with one of her children. Our eldest daughter, Torrey had journeyed through a rare adult cancer Diffuse Histiocytic lymphoma when she was eight. At the time of Whitney's strokes, Torrey was a twenty-seven year cancer survivor. Our family's story as she journeyed through cancer is told in my book, Torrey Miracle - A Matter of Choice, 2001. Donna and I had several intimate conversations concerning her son and our daughter, their journeys with cancer.

During several of our wait times at St. Francis Hospital Torrey, Jessica and I didn't know what to do with ourselves so we made cards for their dad. I put several of them together and we hung them in the various rooms of the several hospitals and rehabilitation facilities that Whit would eventually stay over the next several months.

For two years following Whit's return home these cards hung taped together on our refrigerator. I have them still and have showed them to Whit several times reminding him of those terrible days and nights when we almost lost him. Whitney was given a medication originally to help him forget. I wanted him to remember so that he would know that he had come through an ordeal that many don't and that God took care of him.

Torrey wrote out a passage from the Old Testament for our family to focus on as we walked this journey with Whit.

10 Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10

On another day we wrote out the words from Psalm 103: 1-5 also in the Old Testament.

1 Bless the Lord O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name. 2 Bless the Lord O my soul, and do not forget all his benefits. 3 Who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases. 4 Who redeems your life from the Pit. Who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy. 5 Who satisfies you with good as long as you live, so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

We posted these scriptures in Whit's various hospital and rehab rooms, then on our wall at our home and in Vermont at our summer camp. Psalm 103 had been given to our family just over twenty-seven years ago by our dear friend, Virginia Cox as a scripture to meditate on during Torrey's journey with cancer.

Chapter Three

Following a week in St. Francis Hospital Whitney was moved to the 'ROC,' the Rehabilitation Hospital of Connecticut, a fine, highly rated facility in Hartford, Connecticut. The family and I considered three such rehabilitation facilities, all with excellent records in working with brain related injuries. The Hospital of Central Connecticut in New Britain, Connecticut is the newest and was highly recommended. Gaylord Hospital Rehabilitation Center in Wallingford, Connecticut is the oldest and most well known facility of this sort in our nation. The Rehabilitation Hospital of Connecticut (the ROC) was associated with Saint Francis hospital and our family knew several families with members who had previously received excellent care at this facility. The latter was the only rehabilitation hospital that had a space available so we took Whitney there.

Whitney had experienced a left side deficit from the original sub-cranial bleed meaning his left side, leg and arm, was not functioning at 100 percent. He began physical therapy for this deficit at the 'ROC.' During the next few days he made improvement though he was not totally aware of all that was happening to him. I sat watching with our daughter, Torrey during one of these therapy sessions. It was difficult to see this able bodied man now barely walking, shuffling along dragging his left side, unsure of himself. Whit seemed not to realize that he was dragging his foot. I knew there would be many months of therapy beginning at this facility and then at home before all would be well again.

This scenario was not to be. On his fourth day at the 'ROC' Whitney woke up with a rash, agitated and not coherent. This time period is all sort of a blur now but what may have occurred is a wrong medication. Whit had been given an anti-depressant on two occasions while he was at this facility and since then we have learned that this is not necessarily what a person who had sustained a sub-cranial bleed should be given. There is no way to tell or prove this. And in fact, it is once again all hindsight of which no prediction could have been made.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Laugh a Lot Cry a Lotby Margaret Berger Morse Copyright © 2009 by Margaret Berger Morse. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.