Going Home

Yes, we've finally gone home! This means:

1. Dad can finally rest on his OWN bed.
2. No more cute doctors/ pretty nurses.
3. No more Floating Island for breakfast.
4. No more greeting doctors at 6:30 am, pre-coffee and with crust around your eyes.
5. A faster recovery, hopefully. They say that patients really do recover faster at home.

Thanks to everyone who sent well-wishes, visited, etc. :-) You all know who you are.

His daily routine now consists of going to therapy (that takes about two hours), and basically just resting at home. While dad remains wheelchair-bound for now, his progress in therapy is astounding. He can lift himself on his own at the parallel bars; he practices walking on the quad cane; and the movements of his left arm and fingers are now stronger.

Hopefully, with prayers and effort, he can recover 100%. What is amazing here, really, is the power of the mind--if you will it, you can achieve it. I've never believed in that cliche more.

What Daddy Had, What Dad Needs

Intracerebral Hemorrhagic Stroke. Such big words, such intimidating statistics. According to the National Stroke Association, hemorrhagic strokes account for about fifteen percent of all stroke cases, but account for more than 30 percent of all stroke-related deaths. Truly, dad's recovery and progress is nothing short of miraculous. In fact, dad's doctors have said that this is a second lease on life. "Not many people survive this," Dr Javier, his attending physician, told us.

As we go into the rehabilitation phase of his recovery, Dad's needs have changed. Surprisingly, he knows everything, down to the PIN number of his ATM card, down to the last word document he typed out with regard to his latest business venture. While his internal timeline is a bit off (not surprising; if you've been lying down in the hospital for four weeks and if so much drugs are being pushed into your system, your timeline would be a bit off too), it is certainly improving. He is already aware what day it is; in fact, he remembered that it was our driver's wife's birthday tomorrow.

For now, he needs sleep--that is how the brain recovers. He also needs laughter and a stress-free environment. "There are some people I just want to kick out," he sometimes says, in jest, about certain visitors. He needs prayers, as he continues on his greatest journey yet. You will all be pleased to know that he is a cooperative patient, in terms of therapy and diet. He is truly determined to get better. His therapists, too, marvel at his daily progress: every day, he gets stronger, takes one extra step, uses more of his left (weaker) side, etc.

Of course, he may argue on what he needs for now: tapsilog; crispy pata; pretty nurses to look at; blah, blah, blah. So yes, to those who know him, you could say that he is "still Manolo."

Stroke Victims Support

As you already know, my father, Manolo Aquino, suffered a stroke last October 23, 2009. If you know of an expert/ support group/ network on Stroke Victims, or anyone who can give us valuable insights/ advice on how to cope, as well as rehab and treatment, please let me know.

By the way, both my brother and I are Internet-savvy; we know you mean well when you say, "look it up in Google," but believe me, we already have. We just want to exhaust all means possible.

Thank you very much.

What's the Latest?

They say the worst is over, and it certainly feels like it is. More than anything, my dad, my brother and I are absolutely thankful for the prayers and well wishes everyone has been sending our way. We are also grateful for the wild and crazy family that showers us with support, humor, and shoulders to lean on during this time of uncertainty.

Dad has been recovering well. He made me laugh today when one of the nurses introduced herself, and Papa, under his breath, whispered to me, "Now take off your clothes." Baliw na lalake. And yes, Tita Chrisine, I have been on the lookout for the local version of McDreamy/ McSteamy/ Alex Karev. So far, none yet. Boo!

Papa has definitely progressed. He can now take water and is on a clear liquid diet. We are weaning him off the feeding tube. He has already been cleared of the breathing tube, the catheter, and the insulin drip (it's now shots). I think back to the time that we came in just 12 days ago and I am truly thankful for this progress. I am also truly thankful that, throughout this time, he has been absolutely lucid and conscious.

People have been telling me to relax and look for non-hospital related things to think about. In time, we all will. However, for now, this dominates our lives. As my brother goes back to work, he texts me non-stop on dad's condition. I dream about sitting in my dad's ICU room, giving instructions to the nurse. On the side, I DO look out for McSteamy (WALA BA TALAGANG SINGLE NA GWAPONG DOKTOR DITO?); we eat the Filipino rice at Floating Island (yum); I text friends to take me out for lunch or dinner.

On a side note--here are some pieces of unsolicited advice:

1.) Invest in medical insurance. It's something you never want to use, but it'll save your loved ones a ton of headache. Thank God Dad thought of this way in advance!

2.) Do the "if the worst should happen" talk with your kids. I am not joking. Dad gave me this talk a few months ago and it has made me a bit aware of what to do. Thankfully, the worst hasn't happened, but at least I know that I'm covered.

3.) Never wear heels to the hospital. Fashionwise, comfort and layers is key. But always try to look your best, even if you're a bleary-eyed zombie walking around at 2 am. You never know who might be around! :-D

Life in the Hospital

There's much to be desired when living in a hospital. You yearn for home-cooked food, your own bed, your loved one to be home well and safe. Thankfully, though, the human body and spirit adapt well to change. And so we begin our routine in the hospital.

Dad now has his own adjustments, and we all have to keep up. New relatives flying in or watching over him for the first time are alarmed at all the tubes, alarms, beeps and sounds that go on around him. The nurses' faces become more and more familiar; you basically know when the attending physicians will be doing their rounds. (However, my aunts, cousins and I have yet to find our own version of McDreamy/ McSteamy). As dad progresses, the routine constantly changes. For now, it consists of joking around, massaging his hands, his legs, his nape, his back. we talk to him, make him write; we read magazines when he sleeps. We sleep during the day, we have our favorite dishes at Floating Island restaurant.

However, during the quiet moments, you become more aware of how great the little things that you used to think were mundane. For instance, I tried the Filipino Rice at Floating Island (a yummy concoction of rice, tinapa, salted egg and tomatoes) and thought about how my dad would LOVE it and how I couldn't wait for him to get really really well so he could have just a little bite of it. I thought about my old routine--getting up, seeing him at the breakfast table reading the newspapers, and talking to him. Granted, I still talk to him a lot now. It's just that things are a little different. A little more quiet, perhaps. Maybe a little more poignant, even.

My brother and I are deeply touched at the prayers and visitors. And for those that commend us on how vigilant and dutiful we are--please don't. You all have experienced the joy of being Manolo's friend. Now imagine him as a father--wouldn't you do the same thing?

Once again, let's continue the prayers. The journey's not over!

Rollercoaster Ride

Despite the large hurdle that we overcame last night, Papa still has a lot of challenges to face before him. Aside from pneumonia (which is a normal occurrence due to the breathing tube), his blood pressure and temperature are incredibly erratic. We are incredibly optimistic on his recovery, however. Prayers and support are very much needed.

The hardest question came from my dad this evening. "What do I do now?", he scribbled with his pen. Imagine your mind racing at 100 million miles per minute, but your body cannot follow. Knowing my dad, he is frustrated. He is Papa. The Boss. The guy who scares off boyfriends by a simple glare over the newspaper. The guy who barks orders in the morning: "Edith! Sapatos ko!". The guy who cracks stupid jokes. The workaholic. The provider. The chick magnet. (Hehe). And now, he is the man who is sick.

I simply told him that his job, now, is to rest. It's our job to take care of him and make sure he gets better. I just hope he relaxes and lets us do the work. I just hope he realizes that he is still all that: Papa. The Boss. The Joker. The Tito. The Grandfather-to-be. The Friend. the Provider. The Workaholic. The Chick Magnet. It's just that right now, he is sick. But he will get better, and he will back to his old self.

The Surgery-Dad's condition, before and after

On Monday, 26 October 2009 at 9pm, Manolo Aquino went under the knife to take out a blood clot in his brain. This was also to prevent a herniation of the clot, which could have damaged the brain stem. Through prayers, and the talented team of surgeons that attended to him, we got the call at about 1130 pm from Dr Santiago declaring that his surgery was successful, and it went smoothly AND quickly. (Imagine the collective sighs of relief from me, my brother, my cousin, my grandmother, and my aunts!)

My brother Adrian was the first person to attend to my dad after the surgery. I followed right after. I was surprised to find Dad awake, and more alert. Apparently, he hadn't slept!

Papa has been lucid, responsive and communicative the whole time after the attack. However, post-surgery, we have already noticed a number of significant improvements. Pre-surgery, his requests were mostly for random cravings, including coke, juice, fish and rice, etc. He mostly complained about his aches and pains.

Now, Papa has been enumerating his maintenance medicines, down to the last detail. He has inquired about his blood sugar and insulin. He has asked what day it was, which hospital he is at, what time it was, etc. He has asked to draw the curtains around his bedside back. I won't be surprised if he asks me to wipe the smears and fingerprints on the glass door.

Makulit ang tatay ko, as always. But this I know for sure--we are SO HAPPY that he is so wonderfully kulit right now. :-)