Althea: A Story of Love

by Philip Rastocny

  Sure enough, when I arrived, my parking spot was waiting for me. I snickered to myself as I grabbed Althea’s pipe and strolled off to the front door. Passing through the lobby, I thought to myself, Althea will be pleased to hear I am using this visualization technique.

  I arrived a little later than usual because of my now matching hair style. As I turned around the corner to the ICU, I saw Althea lying there on the bed like an angel wrapped in a green hospital garment.

  “Good morning, Althea! How are you today?” I said with delight in voice walking in through the doors. Lying there motionless, I wasn’t sure if she was asleep or not. As I approached, she motioned to me to with her right hand, her eyes still closed.

  This was another small miracle I added to our basket along with all of the other miracles of our life’s journey together. I am truly blessed.

  This greeting was not quite the same as when she had her tubular pregnancy back in 1972. When she woke up from that surgery, I rushed to her bedside and without warning she grabbed me and pulled me down to her hugging me tightly as if she never wanted to let go. Although this small motion wasn’t as strong, it was enough to let me know she would soon be well.

  The whole day passed rather uneventfully, but she woke up more often each time gently squeezing my thumb and then falling fast asleep again. She awoke for only ten seconds or so and then drifted off, but each time my senses came to full attention probing for more communication clues. What is she trying to tell me? How can we talk to each other when she is in such a state? This wasn’t going to be like that first surgery where once she woke up we could speak. This time we would have to figure out a way to talk without speaking.

  One attempt at communication came around noon when she slowly raised her hand and pointed at her neck. I tried to figure out what she wanted to say.

  “Althea, what is it? I don’t understand what you want,” I said with my heart throbbing. She was trying desperately to tell me something and I was unable to understand this simple gesture. Did she want some water? Did she not know where she was or what equipment was attached to her? Was her neck hurting? I didn’t understand.

  She motioned again this time down her throat with two fingers and I followed by moving my finger down her neck. “Althea, I see you moving your finger down your neck but I don’t understand.” I said a little louder this time with more desperation in my voice. She persisted stroking her neck and I persisted in confessing my inability to understand, and after about a minute of this, she gave up.

  Her hand slapped against the bed sheets in frustration and I felt like I let her down. This broke my heart. She was obviously in some sort of distress and I felt awful not being able to interpret her signs. A nurse came into the room and watched her with me overhearing my words. Both of us looked at each other with puzzled looks on our faces and then breaking the silence the nurse said, “Well if you figure out what she was trying to say, let me know.”

  I exhaled, feeling worse now than ever.

  My head cleared like the fog lifting from the ocean early in the morning, and I saw the whole picture. A feeling of insight grew inside of me and I became stronger and stronger.

  I saw her breathing was slower and getting raspy. It sounded like her lungs were filling with fluid just like when she had one of her asthma attacks. That’s it! She needs help to breathe—she wants her breathing tube suctioned out!

  Althea’s whole life with me was one of constant coughing and clearing of her airway. Her asthma made it difficult at times for her to catch her breath, so she would use an inhaler. It appeared that this may be one of those times—or at least something similar to it.

  When someone close to you does something repetitiously, you become desensitized to it. After a long enough time you may not even notice it anymore. Others who are new to you would notice this behavior instantly, but because of your prolonged exposure you yourself may not. All of Althea’s asthma-related behaviors were now showing up.

  Of course they were showing up. After all, her stroke would not cure her of her asthma. I was so focused on her stroke I had completely forgotten about her other problems. At that moment, I made a commitment to myself to be more alert for any signs of distress. This would not happen again.

  I shared with the nurse what I had just figured out. Leaning over her bed, the nurse took a suction tube and put it to her breathing tube. Instantly, a long string of brownish goop came streaming out and into the suction line. More and more came out as the nurse twisted and turned the line. The anxiety left Althea’s face and her breathing slowly returned to normal. An hour later she repeated this gesture again, and this time I quickly complied.

  The nurse sent a sputum sample to the lab for analysis. I replayed Althea’s sensitivity to antibiotics to her, and she noted this in the chart.

  Thinking about my inability to communicate with Althea, my frustration grew. How could we do this? I felt so helpless. And then those same strong feelings of insight overpowered me again. It seemed so simple, so obvious.

  “Althea,” I said leaning in close to her face, “I’ve figured out a way for you to talk to me. I need you to listen closely now and not go to sleep.” Althea’s hand moved to the middle of her chest and she rested quietly.

  I put my right thumb into her right hand and she instinctively curled her fingers around it. With my left hand, I raised our hands to my chest pressing them tight to me. “Let’s do this. Let’s use one squeeze of my thumb when you want to answer yes, and no squeeze of my thumb when you want to answer no.” She lovingly squeezed my thumb once in response. I knew she would remember this. Two squeezes for no was not Althea’s style.

  Success may take many forms, but this feeling of successful communication was the best I had ever felt. My heart was relieved knowing I had at least two ways for her to tell me what was on her mind—the thumb squeezing and our non-verbal ability to feel out each other’s needs. Her semi-conscious state and brief moments of awakening gave us a limited time to “talk” so simpler is better. The knot in my stomach disappeared as did my anxiety. My heart was still racing as I slipped back into our routine of reading, exercising, and bathing but for now I felt like I had conquered a mountain.

  Although an I.V. had been in her arm since the paramedics came to our home, the last time she ate was dinner with me the day before she had her stroke. This afternoon about two o’clock, they came in to put in a feeding tube. I’m sure this will help her regain her strength even quicker now and also relieve some of the stomach pangs.

  While they were inserting the tube down her throat and into her stomach, I took a break and went to the cafeteria to call a few more folks. Sharing with them the moment of Althea greeting me with her hand brought tears to my eyes. I realized the deep impact it had on me since I was hoping for such an embrace, hoping for several days. Both of us needed this and with this simple embrace, both of us were instantly reassured of our commitment to each other.

  About six o’clock a nurse brought in a quart-sized container filled with a thick brown fluid that resembled apple sauce.

  “It’s concentrated nutrition,” the nurse said. “This will help her regain her strength until she can eat solid food.”

  I watched closely as the liquid flowed down the tube disappearing as it entered her mouth. So as not to shock her stomach, they started feeding her at the painfully slow rate of ten cc per hour, gradually increasing it over time. Finally after five days of fasting, her body was starting to get some substantial nutrition. According to the chart, she had lost about seven pounds of body mass since her arrival.

  Lois showed up again to go out to dinner with me. As I sat there with my thumb in her motionless hand, Althea seemed to be asleep. Lois expressed her best wishes to her, but Althea did not respond.

  As I leaned over to tell her that I was going to dinner with Lois, Althea grabbed my thumb and wouldn’t let it go. I started to laugh and laugh and laugh. This was one of those cute little tricks we would play on each other when we kn
ew one of us was going to leave. The one who was staying would cling to the one leaving in a gesture of saying they did not want them to go. This was another miraculous sign that Althea was doing better despite the fact she could not move or talk. The food drip helped and a simple thumb squeeze confirmed that. She was playful even in such a state and it made my heart soar knowing the stroke had not robbed her of that part of her personality.

  Lois took me to her favorite Vietnamese restaurant nearby. We settled in and after ordering we started to chat.

  “I have some bad news,” she began. “Douglas died today at about one o’clock.”

  I threw my head back and I felt my heart sink. Today was a day of rollercoaster emotions for me. Douglas Wilson, our dear friend from church, had passed today and my heart was too numb to really react. I was sad but I could not cry.

  “How is Leroy doing?” I asked thinking of his life partner.

  “He’s mourning as one would expect, but he really hasn’t broken down yet from what I understand. You know how LeRoy is. He always thinks of others first.”

  “And you?” I asked.

  “I will miss him. I will miss his warmth in our services and his spirit filling the sanctuary. He was always there. He was like a part of the church that is now missing. I’m not sure how we will get along without him.”

  Words failed us as we both felt the impact of this huge loss. Douglas had struggled with his health for about six months growing weaker by the day. He had not been a regular part of the services and did not want others to visit him during this stage in his life. Douglas was a proud man, and I deeply respected him and his wishes. I never visited him because he specifically asked his friends not to, and I felt sad now I could not say goodbye to him face to face.

  It had been so long since I saw his sweet smile and I couldn’t recall what our last conversation was about. I visited him at home a few months back, and he was concerned about the church history.

  “They’re cleaning out the storage room and want to throw away the history I compiled,” he said with anger and frustration in his voice.

  I wasn’t able to console him. Whatever I said gave him no comfort and actually irritated him. I wished our last meeting had been different, but life is what it is. I felt bad that these last words were so trying, and I saw the importance of choosing words wisely in any interaction. I summoned my rational mind to minimize his sadness. Instead, I should have spoken from my heart. This seems to be a recurring theme for me. I thought as the sadness of his loss swept over me again.

  I returned to the hospital and to Althea’s bedside. Sliding my thumb into her hand I read to her and watched her sleep. She slept the rest of the evening, waking only briefly one time to stir in her bed. I left the hospital at about nine o’clock and went home to do a pipe ceremony in which I would pray for both Douglas and Althea.

  When I got home, LeRoy called and we had a good talk about Douglas. His heart was breaking but his training and discipline made him ignore his feelings. His detachment—from years of having to do so—turned on and off in our conversations like a light switch. I felt honored that he called me, especially on the same day of his partner’s passing.

  LeRoy was able to read a letter I wrote to Douglas the Friday before Douglas passed. “Douglas was very clear and present while I read him your letter,” LeRoy said. “Douglas was tearful as I completed reading it and he said to me ‘Now this is a great man.’”

  I was moved by this and felt like my frail friend understood at the end. Our feelings for each other were still in place and like good souls we had forgiven each other for things that may have upset us. I told LeRoy I was going to do a pipe ceremony for him and he was grateful.

  “I’ll let you know when the funeral will be. I’m a little overwhelmed right now and haven’t given it much thought.”

  “Take your time. I’ll be there at the funeral and I am always here for you, my friend,” I said trying my best to find the right words to support him. I knew LeRoy would handle this passing intellectually, but I was worried about his long-term emotional healing and wanted to be a part of that.

  We talked for another thirty minutes as we shared information about our loved ones with each other. We were each involved in our own personal struggles and we both needed time to heal. Allowing each other their pace to do this was what we both needed. Although feeling like there was more I wished I could do, I said a sincere goodbye.

  I sat back for a moment in my chair with the phone in my hand. I tried to feel Douglas’ spirit and could not. I believe he crossed over and would not have expected any less. Douglas was firm in his beliefs and did not fear death. His passing would leave a hole in our spiritual community that would take time to fill. His contributions would never be forgotten. But Douglas was not the kind of person to stay once things were done. He was gone.

  Slipping out of my chair I unfolded my ceremonial items onto the breakfast bar in preparation for a pipe ceremony. Smudging off each item with our bowl of California sage, I slowly and deliberately performed this ritual in the most respectful way I could. With the opening rituals complete, I began my prayers holding my pipe close to my heart.

  “Oh Great Spirit,” I said aloud with as much reverence I could find, “I come here tonight to ask you for help and healing. Many things have happened today that I need help with. I say special prayers for my dear friend Douglas who is now with you. Send your good healing Spirits to LeRoy as he struggles with his grief. Let him know his soul mate is with you and their love for each other will continue despite this barrier that now divides them. I also ask you send your good healing Spirits to my wife, Althea. Heal and cure her of this issue she has in her brain. I know you understand what is best and you have given me signs of her healing, so I ask that you send these good Spirits to her to help her continue in this healing way. I ask that you completely cure her of this stoke and bring her back to me as she was before this challenge.”

  I finished with smoking the pipe and felt my prayers travel to the Creator. I put up the ceremonial items and sat down at my computer to write a letter to LeRoy. I wanted to capture my feelings as best I could while they were still fresh from our conversation. I started the letter with the usual salutation “Dear LeRoy,” and then continued pouring out my heart to him. Once I finished writing the best heart-felt words I could find, I decided to use a picture of Douglas as a background to this letter.

  Searching around for the pictures I had of Douglas, I found one of which he himself was very proud. For one special event, Douglas made a Native American costume and performed a ceremonial dance early on in his relationship with LeRoy. It showed a young Douglas with his knee on the ground, his hand gracefully sweeping toward the sky with his palm facing up, fingers extended. The long buckskin fringe hung down from his extended arm and his gaze was focused on his open palm.

  I overlaid the text I had just written on top this picture and another miracle occurred. Douglas’ extended palm cradled Leroy’s name in the salutation! This should have been no surprise since their closeness easily transcended this physical reality. This letter magically summarized their relationship. What a moment! I was so choked up. Nothing happens by accident. I printed it out, addressed an envelope, and sent it to him.

  Chapter 7 — February 25, 2008 — Day 5

  * * *

  Althea and I love the outdoors. We love driving through parks, hiking in the woods, fishing of all sorts, and camping for days in the wilderness never seeing another soul. Our idea of a perfect outing is curling up next to a campfire watching shooting stars fly by overhead.

  Some of our greatest outdoor adventures included motorcycle camping. Althea had a red Honda 700 Magna and I had a green Honda 750 Magna, both custom painted. We would pack up our tent, sleeping bags, and supplies and head out on the highway for weeks at a time pitching the tent each night somewhere new. We traveled all over the states surrounding Colorado and found pleasure in the simple joys discovered along the way.

 
; One night while near Buena Vista, Colorado, we were coming back to our riverside campsite after a long day’s drive southwest of town. It was after midnight and we were on a long, straight stretch of road driving through in the late night blackness. Out laser-bright headlamps were the only lights around for miles. We slowed down enjoying the glorious ride when Althea noticed we were the only ones on the road and how remarkable the moon looked hanging low in the sky. She turned off her headlight as did I and saw its dull glow along the striped lines on the well worn blacktop. Althea let off the throttle and put down her feet down in preparation to stop.

  We pulled off on the road and parked the bikes on the edge of the highway. We sat on the pavement and stared up at the sky. The Milky Way smeared its wispy white band from horizon to horizon appearing like a long undulating cloud against dotting stars. The moon was setting in the west and cast a mystical glow throughout the entire valley flooding the mountains in a faint blue hue. Creeping closer to the west ridge, it sank into the tall trees like dripping wax. Anyone taking the time to watch it would have been awe struck; sitting on the edge of a main mountain highway without traffic was jaw dropping.