A little bit of design, a whole lot of nonsense

Here’s a picture of my Dad (#628) circa 1985 watch out for those ears blowin’ in the wind. Also, please take the time to check out that guy to his left in the crazy 80′s short shirt and headband, now that’s style. Dad used to be quite the athlete. I remember him running all the time. He ran marathons, he even competed in a triathlon once, finished and everything. A far cry from my most recent accomplishment of being able to run fifteen minutes at a time without passing out (more on that later).

A few days after my 16th birthday he dad had a major stroke. It was early one weekend morning and my mom woke up to find him in extreme pain. She’s a nurse so she knew what was happening almost instantaneously. She called the ambulance and woke me and my sister up. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the image of the paramedics carrying my dad out of the house on a stretcher to the ambulance. I don’t think I’ll ever forget a lot of the images from that day and the few days after. I had just gotten my driver’s license and hadn’t been legally able to drive for more than a few days. Mom rode to the hospital in the ambulance with my dad and I drove my sister to the hospital in the mini van.

The next few days spent in the hospital were a blur of relatives and friends. My dad stayed in ICU for a long time. He had suffered a pretty severe stroke in the left side of his brain which affected the entire right side of his body. His leg, his arm, his vocal chords, his tongue, it was almost like half of him wasn’t working, like half of him was dead. I remember that they tried some sort of experimental drug on him in the emergency room but it didn’t work because it wasn’t given to him soon enough. During the time he spent in ICU we were told that he would eventually have minimal improvement but he wasn’t expected to ever regain the use of his right arm, leg, or be able to speak. My dad the former marathon runner would never be able to walk again, might not ever be able to tell me he loved me again, might not ever even recognize me again.

It was a hard time, and especially hard for a sixteen-year-old. I can’t imagine what a time it must have been for my younger sister who was only thirteen. Despite the bleak diagnosis of the doctor the next few weeks, months, and years would show constant improvement. Dad has always been motivated, he ran marathon’s for goodness sake. He has two bachelor’s degrees, he used to read giant civil war history books – for fun. After weeks in ICU they moved him to a rehabilitation center where he could work with therapists on a daily basis. It was here that the long journey began for him. Slowly but surely he re-learned how to use his right arm, right leg, and even began to speak again. Now I won’t say that he is now – or ever will be – completely back to where he was before he got sick. There are no marathons in his future or public speaking events but he is mobile and he can get out a few words here and there.

I’ll never forget the first time I clearly heard him pronounce a word. Something wasn’t going his way, if I remember correctly someone tried to serve him broccoli, dad HATES broccoli. I think the conversation went something like this:

Unidentified hospital staff member: “Here’s some lunch for you Mr. Davis, looks like chicken and broccoli today, do you like broccoli?”

Dad: “Shit”

It was so clear and determined, Dad was not eating any broccoli that day. I think he was just as surprised as the rest of us. It’s been a family joke since. I could go on about how this event changed my life, go on about the years and years of work my dad has put in and the countless let downs he’s faced but I don’t want this to go that direction. I think the most important thing about this is the amazing journey he’s made, the hard work he’s put in, the people he’s impressed, the people he’s inspired. I’m not going to say it’s all fun and games today. He still faces a lot  when we wakes up in the morning,  still has days that I’m sure he doesn’t want to get out of bed. But I can definitely say that today my dad can walk, he can use his right hand, he can do most things for himself, and he can tell me that he loves me every time that I see him. And I cherish it each time it happens.

I love you Dad.