IAN: One thing that became a part of my job was travelling with Walter. Phyllis wanted him to go places, and she knew he needed an escort. So sometimes I’d arrive on a Monday morning and she’d say, “How would you like to go to L.A.?” Next thing you know, we’d be on a plane down there, and that evening, we’d be eating dinner with Wayne, Bruce McNall and John Candy! I must admit, I ended up in situations I never expected to encounter as a rehabilitation therapist! My friends got a great kick out of it. They’d say, “Hey, I saw you on Hockey Night in Canada last night!” Of course, it was all a lot of fun, quite amazing, really. Going to an L.A. Kings practice and meeting Wayne in the dressing room afterwards. Driving through Beverly Hills with Wally, Wayne and Janet—at times like that, I would often think, “What the heck am I doing here?” But it was good for Wally, and it gave Phyllis peace of mind to know that he could go places, and I was with him to make sure he didn’t wander off or get into trouble. We went to Atlanta to see Brent play, and San Diego to see Keith. I got one of my first glimpses of how hard it was for Wayne while he was on the road. It was after a game at the Buffalo Auditorium, and the fans were just pushing up against the team bus, getting really frantic. Wayne was making a run for it, and I was behind him. Wally wasn’t moving very fast in those days, so I was kind of dragging him along as fast as we could go. The security people were trying to push people back and Wayne was pleading with them, “I just want a couple of minutes alone with my dad. I just want to talk to my dad.” They managed to have a bit of time together there, but then Wayne had to say, “Bye, Dad,” and get on the bus. The fans were going insane.
There’s no question I needed Ian to be with me most of the time, especially in public. But eventually, I became more confident when I was in a situation with strangers. I think my first public speech after the stroke was probably at Brent’s wedding, when he married Nicole. Brent got married in June, 1995. I was pretty nervous, and my speech was very brief. But the more I spoke, the more I came to enjoy it. I had no idea back then that it would become something I’d be asked to do regularly, but it was the beginning of something that would grow to occupy a good deal of my life.
I would say that it was two and a half to three years after the aneurysm that I started to have some ability to be truly independent and to have enough short-term memory retention that I could start and complete a task. I cannot stress enough how important Ian’s role was in getting me to this stage of healthy functioning. Even Dr. de Villiers, who, without a doubt, saved my life, has said that Ian’s one-on-one therapy was the key to my recovery. And I should also point out that I realize how very lucky I was to receive it. We had the means to hire someone like Ian full-time; I’m fully aware that not everyone does, and that many people who could benefit from this kind of intensive long-term therapy do not receive it. But more and more, experts in the field of stroke and aneurysm are recognizing that the key to helping victims of these brain events to become thriving survivors is this level of attention.
By the time Ian was ready to wrap up his time with me, early in 1995, I finally understood that my mother had indeed passed away, that Brent was a grown-up and that I really was retired from my job at Bell. I was starting to piece together and accept what had happened to me, and was beginning to get the idea that with effort on my part, my life could move on. I had been taken off the medication they’d given me to help control my emotions, and suddenly, I had more energy, and more interest in being out and around people. I’d well and truly quit smoking; the original nicotine withdrawal had actually taken place, slowly and painfully, while I was in the hospital recovering from the surgery. Now I was nagging everyone else to give up the habit!
It was a step forward to be able to buy something at Canadian Tire on my own, do a few chores at the farm, attend a hockey game or talk to people at public functions, albeit under the watchful eye of Ian and members of my family. But now I had some drive of my own to get better—and some drive to, well, drive!
That was a big deal for me, getting my licence back. One of the first things that happens after a stroke like mine is that the authorities revoke your driving privileges, which is entirely justifiable. But I knew I’d feel far more genuinely independent if I could drive myself. We had to get the approval of the doctor before I could even have a driving test. The provincial testers had to be sure that I had the ability to pay attention, that I had good enough concentration and reaction time. They asked questions, and then they got me in the car and monitored every mistake. I missed a road sign, and they were concerned about that. They didn’t give me my licence back right away. When I finally got it in February, 1995, I was proud of myself! If you get your licence back, it means you’ve made a pretty darned good recovery. The one lingering worry was that I drove too slowly and maybe couldn’t handle driving at high rates of speed. Could I handle that much coming at me or would I try to slow it down too much? Driving is pretty much the most complex task that any of us do. Hundreds of decisions need to be made per second. I was driving way under the speed limit. But I told Ian, “I was trained. I drove the Bell trucks for thirty-five years and was told to drive five kilometres under the speed limit. Those people are wrong!”
Now I drive all over the place. Phyllis will say, “I need milk and bread. Can you drive to the grocery store and get it?” Sometimes I will still forget. I mean, we all do this. I’ll leave and be gone for half an hour and come back with nothing and wonder, “What the hell was I supposed to get anyway?” I’ll get to where I’m going, and somebody will start talking to me, and I will forget the items I was supposed to pick up. But I joke about it.
I was aware that I was getting more independent and needing Ian less. But other things were going on around me that I wasn’t picking up on at the time, and it wasn’t on account of my memory lapses. Life truly is full of surprises, and in this case, I’m delighted to say, it was a good one.
IAN: Kim and me. How did that happen? Well, I saw her so much when she came to see her dad. When Wally went home, and I was helping him, I saw her all the more. We formed a pretty close friendship. But we started to see each other as more than friends near the end of my working with Wally. Because of the close contact we had around him, I could see what a strong and caring person Kim was, and what a bond she had with her family. I think she saw that in me, too. I don’t know, it really grew out of our close friendship. But neither of us wanted it to interfere in any way with Wally’s recovery. When I left him to go back to work at the hospital, I guess I knew at that point I wasn’t going to really be gone anyway! Phyllis already knew. I think I was so much a part of the family by then, nobody was surprised. I finished up full-time with Wally in February, 1995, and Kim and I got married in August.
But the biggest reason that we decided it was time was that we didn’t want Wally to become too dependent on me. He sometimes had a tendency to let me do things that he really could do. When I wasn’t around, he seemed able to do a lot more for himself. So I sat down with him and said, “You know, I think it’s time for me to go.” And he agreed to that.
I know Wally continues to deal with the memory deficits, but what’s unique about him is that he’s developed these coping tools, and he doesn’t worry about it so much. He doesn’t worry about small things any more, either. His focus is so much on other people anyway. He always had that compassion, but I think it’s developed even more since the stroke. I think if I was meeting him for the first time today, I’d think, “What a great guy.” I feel lucky to have spent the time I have with him. He is my role model. And my father-in-law!
They were married six months after Ian wrapped up his time as my official rehab therapist. Today, they live on the family farm, and have three young boys of their own. I have to say that I’m glad I didn’t have two daughters, because I wouldn’t have wanted to have two strokes in order to find them both husbands.
I can’t say there was a particular day or moment when I realized I was truly getting better. It was literally years of hard
work and gradual steps forward in my recovery before I was independent again. My friends and family say there were moments for them, too, when they realized, “Hey, Wally’s getting better.” For my buddy Bryan, it was the day he saw me driving in my own car up to his house. It shocked him, because he didn’t even know I had my licence back! Now he says the only problem is that I forget to drive over and visit him often enough.
Keith and Wayne say they knew I was better when I started picking out my clothes again and got out of jeans and running shoes—items I’d never wear before!
BRENT: One of the big moments for me was when I was telling him about how I did in a game, and he said, “Well, did you get any goals?” And I said, “No, I got a couple of assists.” For a long time, he just hadn’t been interested. And then the next time he asked, I had gotten a goal and two assists, and we lost four-three, and he said, “Well, what happened to the second goal?” And I thought, “Oh, he’s definitely getting better!” When he started talking about how 100 per cent of the shots won’t go in, you know, and drilling me about it, we were all thinking, “He’s getting better. He’s getting back to himself.” Yeah, when he started yelling back at us and giving us pointers on hockey, that was a good thing. I would call him on purpose and say I didn’t do well during the games, just to hear his voice, just to hear him talk about hockey with me.
PHYLLIS: Oh, it seemed it went on forever, Wally’s recovery. But when he went off all of his medication, we saw a big improvement. A lot of it he had to take, but as they gradually took him off it, he started to improve. It was a huge difference when the pills all stopped. But he is a totally different person.
KIM: Everyone will tell you, and it’s true, that my dad’s a different person now. Before the stroke, my dad did everything in the house. He paid the bills. He did all the man things! And my mum was—she was Mum. So for her, it was a time of adjustment. That was something that he always took care of. She was busy with the five kids at home. After the aneurysm she just had to deal with so much. She was wonderful to him.
His recovery was very gradual. As Ian says, you’d think you were making leaps, and all of a sudden, you’d be at a standstill. And then he’d progress again. Then he’d go backwards … but all these phases he had to go through. The stroke has changed him. In a lot of ways, good ways. He is so much less serious now. Sometimes we have to … well, my mum called one night and told Ian that she wanted a refund! I guess my dad had been carrying on, just being silly, which is nice to see, because for so many years, you never really saw that side of him. He’s wonderful with little children. Absolutely wonderful with them. He’ll pick my boys up at school and take them to McDonald’s for lunch, which, my mum says, he never did with one of his own five children. The boys adore him.
GLEN: Really, he’s two different guys. Before, he wouldn’t miss a hockey game for anything. Now, he’ll make sure he shovels four driveways before he watches TV. Before, not a chance. He’s got way more energy now. I think it’s just that whole “another chance to live” sort of thing. He has no sense of time. The best way to describe his behaviour is, you know, time doesn’t exist. If he has to be somewhere at eight, but he’s talking to someone, he won’t leave until he’s completely satisfied that he’s talked to that person long enough. You have to understand that that’s just the way he is. If you don’t understand that, then it can be frustrating for you. He hasn’t made a 100 per cent recovery, but he does incredibly well.
I think all of us have found our own ways of coping with Dad getting sick. I think about how it must affect Wayne, that Dad doesn’t remember his records and Stanley Cups. And Keith, who was retiring from playing hockey and starting a new career in coaching without Dad’s help. And Kim, who sacrificed three years of her life to look after not just my dad, but Mum and Ellen, too. And my dad not remembering that Brent was a teenager, and not being able to make it to Brent’s NHL draft. And though we realize that Dad’s not the same person now, we’re all happy that he made it through and that we still have him as he is—which is wonderful.
Another twist along the road to recovery for me was finding out that I enjoyed playing golf. You have to know that this was quite a surprise to my family. Before my aneurysm, I had no time for the game. I thought it was stupid and said so. What could be more ridiculous than whacking a little round white ball around a big green lawn? Give me a wooden stick, a black rubber puck and some ice any day! I simply did not see the appeal. But once again, Ian was thinking about anything that I could possibly do with my time now that I was retired. Several of my friends golfed, so he arranged to have me go out with one of them. At first, I wasn’t any more interested in participating in this than I was in anything else. But gradually I took to it. Now I can honestly say I love the game! When I’m home, I’m out three times a week with my friends Warren MacGregor, Bob Coyne and Burt Beney. Maybe it’s because I’m moving around, and it helps me with my restlessness. And maybe learning golf coincided with the time when I was becoming more social and outward-looking. Being out with my friends, sharing a laugh, walking around—really, it’s perfect!
There are many things that I never imagined possible in my life, but one thing I genuinely never would have predicted was that I’d end up playing a game of golf with the man who saved my life. But several years ago, I found myself partnered at a tournament with Dr. de Villiers to raise money for a children’s hospital. I was actually formally introduced to him, and I put my hand out and said, “Thank you ever so much, Doctor.” It was the first time I really got to say that. I was in his office after the operation, but I have no memory of that.
All he said in reply was, “Don’t thank me, it was your own will to live and everybody else who helped you.” He’s a very humble person.
When the golfing was over, there was a banquet at which I was supposed to speak, and we were seated together waiting for dinner. Dr. de Villiers leaned over and said in a soft voice, “By the way, Walter, there’s an apology I want to make to you. I truly am sorry.”
“What?”
“Well, when I operated on you I never expected it to happen, and I am sorry.”
I jumped to the logical conclusion and said, “Don’t worry, Doctor. Sure I don’t have much of a memory, but no more headaches. I’m fine.”
“Well, Walter,” he said, “you might think you’re fine, but I want you to know how sorry I am.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Walter, when I opened you up, I never expected what happened.”
By now, my heart was starting to pump, I could barely speak. I had to catch my breath. I said, “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Well, Walter, when I opened you up, I wasn’t truly prepared. I didn’t realize there was so much intelligence in there, and it just poured out. I wasn’t able to contain it all. You obviously understood what Einstein felt every day of his life.”
“Doctor,” I replied, hardly missing a beat, “I still can.”
He’s a great guy and one of the best surgeons around.
BOB COYNE: I remember when we had dinner with Dr. de Villiers at that golf tournament, and he leaned over the table to me and said, “You know, you cannot imagine how overwhelmed I am at this moment. Most of my successful patients are in wheelchairs in recovery homes somewhere, not speaking, just sitting. The unsuccessful ones, of course, don’t make it at all. For me, walking in here tonight and witnessing this man speaking to a crowd the way I’ve just seen … I’m just not used to this.”
It was very emotional for Dr. de Villiers to meet Wally. He was really moved and impressed.
Well, I am grateful for a lot of things, Dr. de Villiers’s help among them. I truly knew I was recovering when I started to feel grateful. How could I not? So many people helped me out. I’m still in the process of trying to thank everyone.
For instance, I’ll always remember the look on Laurie Ham’s face about three years ago, when I showed up out of the blue at the Sheraton Hamilton Hotel, where
she works as a corporate sales manager. I wanted to surprise her. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see me, all those years later, standing in the lobby with open arms and a bouquet of flowers, but I did want her to know how much I appreciated what she had done for me, that day back in 1991. That was very important to me. And to show her, and maybe myself, too, just how far I’d come.
In many ways, these past few years have been the beginning of a whole new life for me, and I am as surprised and delighted as anyone else to have been given this kind of “second chance” gift. When people say there’s no looking back, you can take it almost literally in my case. I’m not the man I was before 1991 and never will be. I accept that. But I’m not the man I was just after my aneurysm, either. I’ve moved on. Whatever my problems, something happened to me along the way to my recovery. Something good. Something that changed my attitude, my sense of myself, and turned my life into something once again worth living.
chapter six
BACK IN THE GAME
I really don’t like to sit still for too long. I’m most comfortable when I’m active. I struggle day to day with long-term memory loss and with short-term memory problems, but I’ve developed techniques for remembering. I have to have ways to cue my memory or I get into trouble. I went to the local Wal-Mart in Brantford one day to get something for Phyllis. I parked the car and then couldn’t remember what I was supposed to bring home. I went to the camera department and asked to use the phone. I called Phyllis and said, “What was I supposed to get?” It was embarrassing, even though the people who work in the camera department are friends of mine. When I came out, I was still so shaken up, I couldn’t remember where I’d parked the blasted car. Wandered around, finally found it. Now if I go to the mall, I’ll park in a certain spot, and count the lampposts from the car to the mall or look at where I am in relationship to the writing on the building. Am I under the letter “L” or the “T”? If I am going somewhere and doing more than one thing, I have a little notepad where I’ll write it all down. That way, if I forget, I can always remind myself.
On Family, Hockey and Healing Page 15