Stroke unit – who? “Heart and brain are racing. My brother’s first call since we were alive. We’re over 50. I’m amazed, I want to be surprised, but the shock has preceded me. My brother explained a long time ago that our dad was on an intense side. It seems he was lucky because of his misfortune.” , because he and his wife were present when my father suddenly ran aimlessly and could no longer speak.
I am speechless too. And deep down, I know it’s the fact that we’re siblings on the phone for the first time in our lives that bothers me more than the news of our dad’s stroke. I’m a prisoner too. Was his voice really worried, as well as paying attention to me?
You touched my feelings. Finally, he suggests, “Let’s go there together and discuss what to do.”
My heart is wide open like a barn door, the good news rising above it, “I have a brother”… Although I almost lost my father to it, my brain is complete.
Until we meet, I run at full speed: I check appointments, reschedule, what to wear? Will he call me again? Coming to the point of “searching for stroke and its consequences”, I realized that I feel and act like a teen in love. Do I realize the gravity of the situation?
Sure, finally I’m normal, I have a brother available and connected to me.
I am praying for my father: that he recovers thanks to the medication and can return to independence. Fortunately for me, I accuse him of deliberately providing the opportunity for C. I finally talk to each other. Wasn’t it his desire for years that his children be “together”?
“I’ll pick you up,” I show C. On another phone call, “We’ll show up at Dad’s house on his white diesel-powered ship, he’s happy about that.” I didn’t think it might not be responsive. And he doesn’t care about his old Mercer. My heart really beats when the front door opens and we’re face to face. With a cardigan and a man’s handbag, plus a roomy mane, the untamed one at that. A delightful mix of petite and (unintentionally) hippie, I think. M. , my sister-in-law, muttered “Best regards” in the background, perhaps to my father-in-law, without even looking at me, it doesn’t matter.
I want to be a really great driver, so relax, casually change gears, and engage in engaged conversation that you don’t have to stop at stop lights and traffic lights. Of course, the stroke pathway plays a central role again; I wonder if I would also realize the seriousness of the situation right away. Quiet admiration spreads through me. This turns into raucous admiration when we talk about private matters. I would never have imagined that this person, who was so focused on facts and figures, could tell me anything entertaining. I even laugh out loud when he tells the story of his chase in the bathing lake. He has just seen from the water a man searching for his abandoned pants and stealing his wallet. He was followed in showers… Si smiles. And who can’t stand it when others make fun of him.
Instead of revealing these thoughts, he smiled at the road ahead. I almost become religious when I can also talk about my life and find open ears. C. inquires with interest, showing respect for my commitment to a social profession. His comments, amazingly insightful and far-sighted. My Insight: This man is also a social being, under the costume of numbers hides a sensitive soul. Others have known her x times, but in my family…
I have long forgotten the time and purpose of our trip, while recounting the details of my last trip. Although he would never spend his vacation this way, M. and his comic team didn’t let and allow him to be a partner. In his comment, I note my appreciation for not being afraid to see the blood and wounds of my charge and to take care of them accordingly.
Animal rescue campaigns come to mind, I must have been 10 years old.
The car has long been in the parking lot in front of the clinic, and the car doors will not open.
This is a completely different number. What wounds and constraints we shall have to look upon in an old man who has only recently been able to live, I think to myself when we enter into the stairwell, which pretends to lead into a hotel room. And: We didn’t agree on what questions to ask now and how to represent our position that Pa should remain in clinic care for as long as possible until we see the next step more clearly. My stomach tells me I can’t be hungry. –
I looked at my brother from the roof of the car. He looks exhausted. Ba was twisted and lying there like a fighting pillow with broken sheets, pipes running down his arms and nose. We couldn’t speak to him, but to the chief physician. (S) Hit his barking tone for a brief period which I know well since my childhood. Here it was convenient, I didn’t have the strength to face it.
My rearview mirror shows me the folds around my narrow lips more clearly. Breaths are like sighs, a few half-sentences and C. mumbling to himself now fills the passenger compartment up to C’s front door. After we’ve named our next steps and assign tasks, he said, “We’ll make a call.”
Me: “I’d be happy to have you back with me.”
“tell me something”
We have received more than 100 stories from adult readers on the topic of “War and Peace”, twelve of them in Final Round. They are always printed on this page on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and are published on this editorial team’s website – as texts and audio clips in which the Kulturchef stories are published Stefan M. Dettlinger to be read.
Our readers then decide the winner of the third “Tell Me Something” writing contest: the six winners will be decided in an online vote after August 20.
I complete my part of inquiries for our father quickly and professionally I think. The time I spent mentally with C. The tone with which he spoke to the doctor brings back with astonishing clarity all the scenes from childhood where he uses his voice along with grimace of hissing and threatening words and always hitting and kicking again. At that time, every irrelevant statement could upset him, so he built himself in front of me as a predator and let me look at the throat of his child, and later at the throat of his young man. Spit was sprayed out, his face twisted with anger, he cursed me with the same sentences over and over: “You are nothing, you can do nothing, you will end up in the gutter anyway. And if I have to take care of him…!”
During his apprenticeship, he even wanted to pay something for my social regression…the daily bread at the time. I was a calm, cautious child, and I became very discouraged. In doing so, I remember a time when I would do secret revenge acts, like urinating on his toothbrush before he got ready for bed. Then my relief a little. From a methodological point of view, it appears that it was a competitive issue: C. colleagues could not. Ma, our poor, anxious mother, had to put up with the chaos, could not prove herself against Si, and had to wait for his father and his judged hand after work…
In addition, the impressions of our joint visit to our father still emerge, the comforting bond which – quite evidently – I do not want to be without any more.
Author Traody Hell
Traudy hell Already during school days He wrote comedies for Theater-AG, later sketches and mock dialogues on the phone, for example on the occasion of weddings or birthdays.
The therapist also advertises professionally Bad Mergentheim A lot, her specially written texts are now somewhat shorter. Many poems were created in this way, including, for example, a cycle of poems about and North Sea.
Can I build on it? Did we find each other forever? Anyway, I look forward to my first call with him. He (M) should bring him and in the background I hear him whistle at her. Aha, do m. My comrades suffer in the end? C. was friends with me again that evening, and seemed to appreciate my success in searching for Pa. I feel respect for my brother!
Together the father accompanied us during the rehabilitation period and the nursing home. Our relationship remained intact, even if there were disagreements, which is perfectly normal between siblings anyway.
Then the father died suddenly four days before his birthday which we wanted to celebrate with him in the nursing home.
After discussing the funeral with the pastor, C. He shouted at me in front of the parsonage and left me standing. It was about my unorthodox idea of eulogy and of course inheritance. I fainted as I used to. After that, there was contact only through lawyers. Not at all now.