A Stroke of Bad Luck

Last night, as my husband and I were entering the lift to our apartment, we found ourselves with some of our fellow residents. A family of 4 was with us, and my husband began a conversation with them. Yes, we're the sort of folks who like to talk to our neighbours, and fortunately our neighbours don't seem to mind. Not too sure what choice they have stuck in there with us but it's just our way of being civilized. Much nicer than staring into space avoiding eye contact.

This family was one that I remembered from the time we'd first moved into our apartment 15 years ago. We left and lived elsewhere for about 6 years before returning here, and have found that while some people have moved on, there are still some others who have remained in the condominium, and so they are our familiar faces, and the friendly ones who recognize us and who are happy to chat with us.

As my husband chatted I looked at the family, and smiled politely. The mother was doing the talking, and the daughter responded to questions, but the man and his son were quiet. Toward the end of our brief conversation, during which time I became animated upon discovering that the daughter was studying English Literature, the father looked at me and in that moment of eye contact between us, I learnt something new about him.

His eyes were red rimmed and watery, and his gaze was weak, and as I looked at him I took in the shriveled right hand that was visible to me, and the support that his son gave him...and it dawned on me that he had had a stroke. Somewhere in the interval between the time we left our condo, and the time we returned, the man that I remembered as being a lovely, chirpy, energetic, sweet man had undergone a transformation so severe that he would never be the same again.

A stroke is a terrible thing that can befall anyone, young or old. Somehow, blood supply to the brain is interrupted or disturbed and brain function suffers. Sometimes the damage to the brain is so severe that the person can die. Often, the damage leaves a person disabled to some degree. Some can walk, and eat, and speak a little after therapy, many can barely manage basic functions. While the stroke itself is fairly brief, it's consequences are long lasting and permanent. Persons with strokes face permanent disability, and must then live trapped in damaged bodies that require the help and care of others to some degree. Independence, something so prized by us all, goes out the window, and the stroke victim must rely on others for a range of things, depending on the severity of the stroke. Personal dignity and space need to be reinterpreted to allow for the intervention of doctors, nurses, therapists, and family members who will assist to help make life livable, hard as that may be to imagine.

Uncle, as I call him, could walk with some help, he looked like he could function a fair bit on his own, but in the look that we exchanged, I realized that he could not connect verbally with me. Perhaps he might have said something eventually, but he could not participate in the conversation at that point, he could not share his views, or comment on someone else's. Whatever was meant to have passed between us remained unsaid, lost in the ether where thoughts unvoiced and hopes unheard linger, never to emerge.

We reached our floor, and wished everyone a good weekend and happy National Day and exited the lift. Because the wife was the vocal one, our attention was drawn to her, and as the doors closed it was her face that I saw. She seemed tired. Her daughter had looked tired too. It was a tired family. And yet, there was a spark of something about them. They had come home together as a family from somewhere...I'm not sure where, but they had driven home, and Uncle had been with them, and even though they looked tired they were together.

That togetherness struck me. In the face of adversity, especially the adversity of illness, families either gel together, or fall apart. Illness makes or breaks them. There's nothing quite like chronic illness to bring the substance of a family to the fore. In the cauldron of suffering, pain, tears and frustration, the essence of each individual is tested and purified, and the dross rises up. The selfishness, the irritability, the anger...everything that shows up the lack of love within each of us is drawn out of us. Do we skim it away each day and begin anew the task of sacrificial love, or do we drown in the dross and find ourselves paralyzed by our weaknesses? This then is the challenge of life with imperfection staring us in the face. Imperfection in others, and imperfection in ourselves.

Uncle and his family have their act together, at least it seemed so to me. A stroke of bad luck befell them, but I think they will pull through. I do hope that my next encounter with him will be different. I hope that we will have a little more time together. I hope to hold his hand and look him in the eye and in that glance say "Hello". I hope to have the grace and compassion to know if it's better to leave him alone. I hope and pray that Uncle's remaining years bring him more joy than sadness, and that in the end, he will know that whatever his body has become, his was a life worth living.

Thanks for reading.

Pav