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How do you say thanks?
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August 10, 2012 |
By Mike Weland
I'm remiss. It's been almost four months since I
wound up in the hospital, and in spite of all
the encouragement and support I've received,
I've not yet said, "thank you."
I honestly believe that there is no other place
in the world so blessed, and despite my not
articulating it, I am truly grateful for the
many heartfelt kindnesses that the people of
this community have shown me each and every day.
Since I came here in 1991, I've known this place
was special; I was honored to cover the news of
this community, to see firsthand how this
community rallies when there's someone in need.
I was impressed early on that this community
welcomes everyone willing to help; this is a bad
place to volunteer in because help is never
turned down!
I had much to be thankful for before I
experienced my stroke April 22; I'd helped
neighbors and neighbors helped me all the time.
I truly learned the definition of the word
"neighbor" for the first time when I moved here,
not because I needed help, but because my
willingness to help was appreciated.
In other places I'd lived, and as an Army brat
they were many, being allowed to help was hard;
motives were questioned, qualifications
demanded. Unless you signed forms acknowledging
that you understood you were helping
voluntarily, that there'd be no recompense and
that you accepted responsibility if your best
efforts to help failed ... your help wasn't
wanted.
Here, skill, ability and credentials are
important, but the lack thereof isn't a bar from
helping; there are always things those willing
to help can do, and help is welcome.
My wife and I were allowed to become EMTs after
considerable training, and for a time we were
members of search and rescue. I thought it
amazing that, with a bit of dedication and
effort, our help was not only welcome, but
gratefully received.
When I recognized something was wrong, I called
for my wife, Debbie, expecting she'd tell me I
was okay ... just need a little rest. Based on
my experience as an EMT, I knew by the signs I
was having a stroke, and I never let out a
greater sigh of relief than I did when Mike
Ladely came through the door.
I tried to tell him I'd be okay, he assured me
that I would.
After my stroke, I never imagined that I'd be
the recipient of aid; I didn't want it and I
didn't know how to accept it. I'd never been a
day in the hospital before and I thought I'd
spring right up with no one of my neighbors
except the EMTs and the ER crew at Boundary
Community Hospital being the wiser.
I admit, I was scared when told I needed to be
at Kootenai Medical Center ... I didn't know if
I could be back in time to be at work Monday and
I didn't know if I'd be able.
I told the Life-Flight crew I had no fear of
flying, having crossed the ocean back and forth
from age six months to six years as a boy whose
family went where the Army sent my Dad; as a
soldier myself who made nearly 40 jumps as an
82nd Airborne paratrooper.
I didn't make it to work; but it wasn't by
choice. I don't remember much, but I'm told I
kicked and screamed in ICU, demanding that I be
let go. I still have a scar on my working right
leg from the strap used to hold me down.
My wife and a family friend, Heather Gemmrig
came by; I begged them both to let me loose so I
could go home ... and I don't remember. I
finally calmed down on what must have been my
second day in ICU, and I remember apologizing
for being such an ass. I was moved to the
medical floor.
I can't remember her name or face, but a
therapist came into my room, handed me a cane,
and told me to walk. I do remember that after I
did, she held me while I cried my eyes out and
thanked her for showing me I could.
I was moved to therapy, and I was bane to the
nurses; I tried so hard to get up and into my
wheelchair that they set an alarm that went off
even when I tried to roll over, something I
never stopped doing. I figured out where the
alarm was and turned it off.
I was shocked and ashamed when friends started
showing up ... Tom Ulappa visited that first day
while I was having lunch, gave me a great thick
book and, unbeknownst to me, told the nurses I
needed more food. It took two days, but I had o
rescind that order.
Dave Kramer and Dean Satchwell stopped in; J.P.
and Edna Runyan brought puzzle books and a loud
cowbell to ring should I need help. Debbie came
in regularly, and was hurt when I asked her to
go away; Rebecca Huseby, Walt and Jane Kirby,
Ron Smith, Father Gregory Horton and many others
stopped in to say "hey," and to offer well
wishes and prayers.
Joe and Nancy Farrell came in. I've known him
for years, but I'd not known Nancy, who came in
on a cane and wearing a leg brace similar to
mine. She survived a much more devastating
stroke than I had 16 years ago, and begged me
not to give up.
Debbie was at wits end; dealing with me and
going to NIC; the fence holding our birds had
fallen, the garden I planted the day of my
stroke had gone to weeds, she couldn't carry the
sacks of seed by herself.
When word got out, people we barely knew showed
up and went to work. Fences were rebuilt, food
delivered, the lawn mowed and the birds and
garden tended.
The whole time I was in the hospital, my goal
was to get back to work and cover the primary
election for the county. My doctor told me I
wouldn't be able; I needed at least one more
week. County Clerk Glenda Poston told me to
listen to the doctor.
I left the day before election anyway, against
doctor's orders.
I was still in my pajamas and a tee-shirt when
Debbie turned into the back parking lot of the
court house; that had been my usual dress as
zippers and buttons aren't easy with one hand. I
asked her why she was stopping, she said she
needed to see something. Before I could object,
Kenny Baker came out of the ambulance barn,
followed by my most of the ambulance crew, many
of whom were there when I needed help.
Doctors say strokes make survivors overly
emotional. I don't know anything about that.
But I broke down when I looked past Kenny's
shoulder and saw everyone from the courthouse
... coming my way with hugs and well wishes. I
was so embarrassed.
I'm embarrassed now, and trying to quit sobbing.
It might be the emotional aspect of having
survived a brain injury, but I don't think so.
I think it's because I don't know how to say
"thank you" to everyone who means so much; it's
not easy to be one wanting to help to need help,
especially while mourning not being able to help
anymore. I can live well with what I have left;
it's hard to abide feeling helpless.
I wasn't there on Independence Day; I wasn't
feeling well and I was scared, but on the Fourth
of July the people of this community held a
fundraiser on my behalf. With more than enough
food, they ran out in record time and raised
more than $1,400 to help Debbie and I with
medical expenses.
As I recall, when Debbie told me, I broke down
bawling again, not surprised but surprised it
was for me. I would much rather be helping
someone else.
And not a day has gone by since that my friends
and neighbors don't lift me up, telling me I
look good, that they're proud to see that I'm
still up and about, even though I'm crippled now
and lurch along like Quasimodo, only slower.
Without my cane, I look a lot like Joe Cocker
when I try to walk, arms and legs akimbo.
But thanks to all of you, I'm grateful; I just
don't know how to say it well. |
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