Two Saturdays ago we were discussing built-ins. Shiplap or reclaimed wood? Would white built-ins in the living room contrast too starkly against brown kitchen cabinets? Maybe we should have our cabinets painted dove gray to tie into our driftwood accents. Or should we scale back the underlying nautical theme and go more for a mountainy feel? Regardless, we will definitely need to remodel the fireplace. And let’s not forget the kitchen lighting. That’s a non-negotiable.
***
After church the next morning we were standing in the kitchen, our family of four. We were transforming leftover pot roast into crispy beef and cheese quesadillas. We marveled how spicy “Farmer Sue’s” salsa was—a purchase I had made two nights prior. The boys were sneaking chips and asking for the peeling to be removed from their pears. And then everything shifted. Eric was unable to bring a tortilla chip to his mouth and looked at me with scared eyes that said, “something is wrong.”
He steadied himself on our island and was unable to speak a response to my questions: are you in pain? Are you dizzy? Honey, what’s wrong; what can I do? Does your left arm hurt? Are you hot? Cold? And finally, “should I call 911?” He was drooling. The right side of his face drooped. He was unable to speak. The boys were wide-eyed and searching my face and voice for cues how to respond. We moved Eric into a chair at our kitchen table and Noah climbed up on his lap and started rubbing his back. Zach brought Eric a cup of water. Eric was still unable to speak. His brain knew the words; his mouth couldn’t articulate them.
I put on a show for the boys and Eric went upstairs to our bedroom. I called my mom (an RN). No answer. My dad. No answer. My brother (also an RN) answered. I gave a rushed synopsis of our previous five minutes and he cut me off— “take him to the ER!” I raced upstairs and by then Eric was back to normal. Lucid, verbal, alert. We got back on the phone with my brother who walked us through a series of tests and questions. Eric passed all of them.
And now, The Talk.
E: that was weird
M: oh my gosh, honey! That was terrifying!
E: I know, so bizarre
M: that was more than just bizarre! so scary!
E: I agree
M: should we go to the ER?
E: it will impact my career
M: maybe, but would it give you peace of mind?
E: would it give YOU peace of mind?
***
The CT Scan, MRI and EKG came back negative. No sign of stroke. But this didn’t appear to be an anxiety attack. Or a case of low blood sugar. Or vertigo. Or high blood pressure. Eric was diagnosed with a TIA, a transient ischemic attack, or a mini stroke. There could be multiple causes of a TIA; Eric demonstrated none of them. A TIA could also be an indication that a bigger stroke was coming. We were discharged and referred to a TIA clinic in Denver. Our follow-up appointment would be 3 days later.
Eight hours of tests would show that Eric had exceptional labs—no clotting, perfect cholesterol levels, stellar blood pressure, no plaque or build-up in any of his arteries or blood vessels. Eric played along when every doctor presumed he must be an avid runner. (Ha!) But there was one thing they discovered…a PFO, patent foramen ovale, a tiny hole in his heart. 25% of the population has this but doesn’t (and most likely won’t ever) know about it. Rarely are they problematic. But in SOME instances (I will spare you the medical explanation), it can cause a TIA.
TIAs, PFOs and the FAA. What would this mean for Eric’s career as a commercial pilot? Per the FAA, Eric will be required to take a leave of absence for a minimum of one year. Only because they found a PFO (and because he will have the tiny hole patched), will his leave be lessened from the otherwise 2-year mandate to one year. A five-minute fluke that is turning into a 52 week sentence. We get it, and perhaps we even hear your collective sigh of relief…nobody wants a pilot who is at risk for stroking. But his cardiologist, neurologist, and team of doctors, technicians and practitioners will tell you: he’s not.
(Side note: Isn’t it funny that the mountain of paperwork and calls to aeromedical doctors and union reps and chief pilots and insurance companies have become FAR. MORE. STRESSFUL. than the issue at hand…a healthy 43YO having what appeared to be a mini stroke!?)
SO! Here we are with 50 weeks splayed in front of us and no clear direction where/when/how to go. It’s both exhilarating and overwhelming. But we have crystal clear confidence and perspective in at least one thing. God’s provision. This did NOT catch Him by surprise. He has already authored this chapter of our lives.
Seven months ago our 4YO infused our family with the reminder that everything on this planet is finite. Fleeting. Temporary. When Eric was slumped over the kitchen sink with strands of drool flowing from his mouth we were given that same reminder. God is patient with us. He gives us time and moments and opportunities to realize that it’s not kitchen lighting that transforms us. It’s the Light, Himself.
Dramatic Paddocks 