About 3:50 Wednesday I was sitting at my desk at work, banging out PHP code to handle website change request tickets that had been pouring in. After three weeks off I was refreshed and starting to feel very confident in my work.
My iPhone rang. It was a 501 (Central Arkansas) number that was not saved as a contact. I answered. It was the phone call every son or daughter dreads.
“Is this Paul Ryburn?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Mr. Ryburn, this is a paramedic with (can’t remember name of company). Your mother has had a stroke. We are with her now.” In the background I heard them calling her name over and over trying to bring her back to consciousness. The paramedic told me she opened her eyes, a good sign.
“Will you call me from the hospital with an update?” I asked.
“The doctor will call you,” said the paramedic. I thanked her and hung up.
I ran and told my director what had happened, then grabbed my stuff, locked my computer without even doing a git push on my day’s work (developers will understand what a violation of protocol that is) and got in the car.
I usually drive less than 5 over the speed limit, but this time I sped home. The paramedic’s voice sounded grim. This could be the big one, I thought. I could be burying my mother this weekend.
I’m an only child. Growing up, I loved being an only child. I never had to share. But that means I have no one to share the burden at times like this. I’m going it alone. Yes, I have a huge support network in my friends, but I will be in a different city.
I got home and packed a suitcase, crying as I realized I had to consider the possibility of a funeral when I packed. I packed a dress shirt and some slacks. I packed daily clothes too. I saw it would be in the 70s in Little Rock this weekend so I packed some shorts as well as jeans. I made a list of other things that needed to come with me: iPhone charger, external charger, the cords for the MacBook.
I packed the stuffed love bug my mom gave me for Christmas last year that giggles when you press its tummy. I realized that might be one of the last Christmas presents I ever get from her. I felt incredibly bad for not going home for Christmas last December.
I had to deal with the fact that I have an older car that is a little scary to take on trips. It broke down two years ago and it took mechanics almost five months to figure out what was wrong. It has not needed anything except routine service since, but still, a bit scary. I had no choice though.
All packed and still probably an hour away from the phone call from the ER, I realized I needed to see my friends. I walked down the Main Street Mall, tears streaming down my face. I went to the Silly Goose and talked to my friends John D and Jessica. I went to the Blind Bear and talked to my friend Feeny. Of course I drank water at both places. I know that seems absurd to some of you that I went to bars facing the death of a parent, but bars are where my friends hang out/work.
Then I went back home. Having heard nothing by 5:38, I couldn’t take it any more. I called Baptist Medical Center in Little Rock and asked for an update. After several transfers, I was handed to her attending doctor in the ER. He had good news for me. “It’s not a stroke,” he told me. “We’re not sure what it is, but we ran a CAT scan and there are no signs of blood on her brain. She’s very confused. She’s complaining that she is in pain but can’t tell us exactly where. Of course, we are going to keep her for observation but she’s out of the danger zone.”
“So I’m safe waiting until the morning to come over there?” I asked. I hate driving in the dark. I hate driving in general.
“I think you are,” the doc assured me.
Reassured, I went back to the Blind Bear for a bit, coming home at 10:30. I had checked the sunrise for Thursday – 6:58 AM – so I had pegged 7 as my departure time. I read in bed for an hour and a half, hoping to fall asleep as I read, but it wasn’t happening. About midnight I decided food might help, so I got dressed and walked over to Huey’s and got a Texas Toast Burger. From 1 to 5 I drifted in and out of consciousness but never reached deep sleep. At 5 I got up and got ready.
At 7 I loaded the car and got onto I-40 West. “Please don’t fail me, car,” I pleaded. I had looked out the window before I left and noticed fog over the area. “Guess I’ll be driving with my lights on,” I thought.
The fog wasn’t that bad as I crossed the bridge, but by the time I hit West Memphis visibility was 1/16 of a mile or less. As the speed limit went up to 70, I found myself doing about 50. I just didn’t feel safe going any faster. I didn’t know what was in front of me. I had to pay close attention to the lines to stay in my lane. I veered out of my lane a couple of times. “If there are any cops around, they are going to think I am drunk,” I thought. “But then again, how could the cops see me in this fog?”
Meanwhile, my phone was blowing up. The “ping” of Facebook Messenger, the “ding” of texts, the “bloop” of notification of Facebook comments. I had posted my mom’s condition to Facebook and everyone was sending messages of support. That’s one thing that I knew would get me through this, that I have hundreds of friends who care about me.
By Exit 265, about 19 miles into Arkansas, visibility had been reduced to maybe two car lengths in front of me. I was down to about 45 MPH. Truck drivers more experienced with fog than I were passing me, which was terrifying. I prayed I would not be sideswiped. “I hope today is not the day I precede my mother in death,” I thought.
Of course, there was all kinds of road construction too. I had to veer into the shoulder several times and then back over. The speed limit was reduced to 60 in the construction zones. “I don’t think that’s a problem for me today,” I observed.
As I got over Crowley’s Ridge the fog eased up a tiny bit, back to 1/16 mile visibility, and I got up to the low 60s for the first time since I had crossed the river bridge. By Brinkley the fog was gone and I hit normal speed. I started passing the trucks that passed me in the fog. At exit 155 I turned off onto I-30, noting that the giant JESUS sign at the intersection of the two interstates was still there. Gotta love Arkansas.
I pulled into Baptist’s parking garage at 9:40. Normally a trip to Little Rock takes an hour and 45 minutes. The fog added almost an extra hour. Turns out it didn’t matter, though. When I got to my mom’s room, she was out getting tests done. I paced the floor, a Foo Fighters song stuck in my head. I actually got a lot of stuff about my life in Memphis figured out during this period. And damn it was hot in that room. Not everyone keeps their A/C on 68 like I do. And yes I have the A/C on right now. In December.
About 11:30 they wheeled her in. She was awake but looked out of it. She didn’t notice me, even after I called out “Mama” a couple of times. All she was interested in was getting back in her bed. “Look who’s here!” the nurses said several times. Finally she swiveled her head and noticed a black T-shirt that read “Blind Bear Speakeasy” and realized she could only know one person who would wear that shirt. “Paul!” she said. We hugged and I helped her into bed. We spent the next hour catching up.
Her case manager came in. She asked my mother (and me) about her living situation, how far away I was, how handicapped-accessible her home was, whether she had a walker, that kind of thing. The case worker took notes and made recommendations for a few items that could make my mother’s life easier. “Do you think you’re ready to move from independent living to assisted living yet?” the case worker asked. My mother said no.
The doctor came in about 1, and he had good news. “You are fine,” the doc said. “There is no evidence of a stroke. We want to run some more tests to determine what happened, but we can probably let you go home this afternoon, or Friday morning.”
That was good news not only for my mom, but for me. After having just missed three weeks of work for personal reasons, and work being INCREDIBLY understanding about it, I wanted to get back in there and knock it out of the park for our 168,000 members. And now here I was having to take more time off work again. I wanted to at least be back at work by Monday at the latest. (And, I have to admit, I really didn’t want to miss D-RANKS with B-RAD on Sunday.)
I ate lunch then ran over to my mother’s apartment on a wild goose chase trying to locate her purse. All her neighbors were curious about who I was. Her neighbor and friend Sylvia and I exchanged phone numbers. That was probably a good thing not only for this immediate trip, but for the future. Sylvia was super sweet and told me she bawled when the ambulance arrived and saw it was for my mom.
Back at the hospital, they told us they would not get the results of the tests until Friday morning, so my mom would be staying overnight. It was time for me to find a place to spend the night. “I’m not using my apartment tonight,” my mom told me. “You can stay there.”
“I’m not staying in a retirement community!” I told her. I got on Google and started searching for a hotel. Since my mom moved into her community in 2008, when I have visited I have stayed in Downtown Little Rock hotels, so I could walk to the Flying Saucer. This time, however, the Saucer just didn’t seem that important. I started searching for West Little Rock hotels, eventually settling on the Hampton Inn at 1301 South Shackleford, about a mile from the hospital. Shackleford south of Kanis is an up-and-coming area, with a new shopping center, restaurants, and hotels.
I checked in about 6, getting a room on the second floor. There was a king-sized bed, a big TV, refrigerator, and microwave. I unpacked, got the MacBook out, and caught up on what I had missed all day. I had absolutely no desire to go hit the West Little Rock bars, which for the most part suck anyway. This was going to be a “me” evening. I was going to unwind, watch Thursday Night Football, and write in my journal (my personal notebook that I keep, not this blog).
I did get a hankering to go one place, though: The mini-convenience store in the lobby of the hotel. You decide what you want and they add it to your bill. The prices are slightly above average but not ridiculous. About 7:30 I decided I needed some snacks for the football game. I went down and selected a bag of Tostitos Scoops and a jar of salsa. A little while later I decided water was not interesting enough and went down and bought a bottle of orange juice. They had beer and the prices weren’t too bad ($3.75 for a bottle of Heineken for example) but what fun would it be to drink beer in a hotel room by myself? I wasn’t interested.
My mom told me there was no way she would be released before 10, so I saw no reason for an early bedtime. I went to bed at 1 and got a fabulous night’s sleep. At 8 I got up and went down for breakfast. I must say, hotel breakfasts have improved over the “continental breakfasts” I remember from my time as a traveling Lotus Notes instructor in 1999.
As I was eating, Sylvia called to let me know she would be there to let us in my mom’s apartment (she had lost her keys but eventually found them in her shoe) and that she was bringing my mom lunch. Then my mom herself called at 9. “They’re asking if you will be able to drive me home,” she told me.
“I didn’t think they would release you this early!” I replied. I expedited packing and hurried over there. They wheeled her down and we got her in my car. She lives in the Good Shepherd retirement community on Aldersgate Road, also about a mile from the hospital. I helped her to her apartment – she was able to walk, no wheelchair needed.
“Since it’s still early in the day, I have time to grocery shopping for you before I go back,” I told her. She hadn’t been able to get out in 10 weeks and had been relying on Amazon Prime, but they don’t have everything she needs.
“Here’s my long list,” she told me, and pulled out this 11-foot list (no I am not exaggerating) of stuff she needed. “Now, I don’t expect you to get that. So here’s a short list.” And she pulled out a 3-foot version of the list.”
“I will be here until Sunday if I even get the short list,” I told her. “I don’t know how to shop. I never buy more than a few items at a time. Pick the 10 items you need the most, write them down with exact brands and sizes so I don’t have to guess, and I will go get them for you.” So she did.
I drove to the Kroger at Markham and Shackleford where I have shopped for/with her in years past. Oh no! The Kroger sign was gone and the building was empty. Now what? I didn’t know where another Kroger was.
Fortunately, I had help. “Siri, where is the nearest Kroger?” I asked. “See for yourself,” Siri said, and showed me a map of a Kroger at 8415 West Markham, next to the Red Lobster at Rodney Parham. Having learned to drive in Little Rock, I knew where that was. Now it was just a matter of getting there. I got on Shackleford and made a left onto Markham. It was lunch hour and Little Rock traffic was FIERCE. I thought I would never get there. I almost turned into Chip’s BBQ for a sandwich but I was getting impatient to get back to Memphis, realizing I could make Silly Goose’s happy hour if traffic on I-40 was agreeable.
I got even more irritable when I got to Kroger. I don’t know how to shop for another person. I couldn’t find the bread. I couldn’t find the frozen orange juice. I had to ask the butcher where the olive loaf was (they were out). People seemed to have no awareness that they were in the way. I hated every minute of being there. My mom would have been horrified that I used the self-checkout instead of standing in line, which she thinks is the proper way to do it. I took Rodney Parham to Kanis back, nearly having a stroke of my own at that damn light at John Barrow Road. Kanis really needs to be four lanes from 12th Street all the way to Bowman.
At 1 I was on the road again. I thought about taking a car selfie to post to Facebook. “All that’ll do is show people how shitty my car’s upholstery is, better not,” I thought, deciding against it. This time weather and traffic cooperated and I crossed into Tennessee at 2:50, giving me an hour to unpack before hitting the Goose. Later yesterday evening I attended my apartment building’s holiday party with Motel Mirrors (John Paul Keith and Amy LaVere), a huge buffet and booze. Thanks to Number 10 for treating its residents so well.
I am so glad I went over there, even though I knew by Thursday morning my mother’s condition was not life-threatening. The shape she was in when she was wheeled in that room at 11:30 – when she didn’t even notice I was in the room – and the shape she was in a couple of hours later, physically and mentally, was totally different. Having me there improved her health so much.
As many of you know, I have been in something of a dark period of my life from mid-August through my three-week vacation. I believe I have figured out the antidote: Being there for others. From helping my neighbor Moody move, to giving that giant bear to the girls, to banging out change tickets at work, to helping my mom while she was sick – it’s just a tremendous boost. I feel normal again, my confidence is back, and I am ready to face the world now. Some of you have noticed that I have been wearing my hair darker than normal, a medium brown, to match the dark period. This morning I re-blonded myself. The dark period is over.
Thank you so much to all of you who have commented, texted, or messaged to express your concern. This week could not have gone better given the circumstances and I learned a lot about myself. I appreciate all of you.
Apologies if there are typos in this post. Usually I proofread them but this one is just too damn long and I am about out of time. I have already missed my window of time to go to the holiday farmers market and I am going to be late for brunch with Bloom at Bardog if I don’t get going. Hopefully I will be back with normal news posts by Monday at the latest. Thanks everyone.
