Author: Donna Chandler

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AM I THE ONLY ONE . . . . . who has witnessed a miracle

Donna Chandler

Brain Surgery for a Headache
By: Donna Hale Chandler

It was shortly after lunch when my 25-year-old daughter first complained of a blinding headache, I wasn’t terribly concerned. I had been a sufferer of Cluster Headaches for years and knew that a headache does not automatically translate to ‘I have a brain tumor and only hours left to live.’ I simply assumed that I had passed on those bad headache genes to my youngest and gave her all the home remedy advice that had worked for me in the past.

However, nothing seemed effective for her. The headache would hit with blinding speed, last for hours and then finally ease allowing my daughter to function somewhat normally. One particularly painful day, I received a call to drive her to the emergency room. She felt her head was exploding, her vision was blurred, sounds were painful, altogether a miserable day.

After sitting in the ER waiting room for over an hour, she was ready to give up and go home. The bright lights and loud hospital noises were becoming more and more unbearable for her. At last, someone came for her, listened to the description of her pain, took her vitals and again left us to wait. At least this time we could dim the lights and pull the curtain to cut out a little bit of the noise.

A doctor finally appeared, looking concerned and over-worked. The first order of business, he announced, would be a CT scan.  My daughter was immediately on alert with dollar signs flashing amidst the bright lights. She asked the doctor if he could just give her something for the pain as she was without health insurance and a CT scan sounded like a pretty expensive procedure.

The elderly doctor stood firm, insisting that a CT scan be performed. After all there is not a price tag on one’s health. She received an injection to help with the pain and soon was whisked away for the scan. Again, the waiting began, this time for the results of the CT scan and to find out what test would be next. The doctor had mentioned a spinal tap and she was not at all thrilled with the idea of a foot-long needle being inserted into her back.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity. Nurses appeared in mass with the doctor hurrying along behind them. At first it was difficult to understand what they were talking about. I heard the word ‘aneurism’ and had no idea what that could mean. But it seemed there was no time for lengthy explanations. There was a bleed in her brain which could bring about instant death or a severe stroke at any moment. A medical helicopter had been ordered to fly her to a bigger hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Even though the new hospital was less than 10 miles away, driving there in an ambulance was not even considered.

As if by magic the small room suddenly filled with ‘helicopter people’. It seemed that everyone was asking different questions at the same time. I heard a young woman ask her, as she started an IV, “Do you have any allergies?” “Peanuts,” was her quick reply. “Ok,” the young woman quipped with a smile, “We promise to not serve peanuts on this flight.” With that, they were off and I was suddenly standing alone.

Once I arrived at St. Joseph Hospital in Ann Arbor, I found that she had already been taken in for yet more tests. Her father arrived and along with her we met with the doctor. A vessel in her brain was ‘leaking’ blood. Should it burst, the consequences would be dire. It was Sunday evening and they were trying to locate a brain surgeon for immediate surgery. 

Just as the doctor again came to us with news, her boyfriend came rushing into the examining room. We were advised that the best neurosurgeon for her situation had been located but he practiced out of Ford Hospital in Detroit. She would need to be transferred there immediately. The doctors felt that she was stable enough to be taken via ambulance the 50 miles to Detroit. So again, we prepared to leave one medical institution for another.

We watched in a daze as she was readied and then loaded into an ambulance. Once she was settled, we sprinted to our car to follow along. We had not even gotten out of Ann Arbor when the ambulance pulled into an empty store parking lot and stopped. ‘Oh dear’, we all thought, “Something has happened and this can’t be good.”

As we pulled in behind, the driver of the ambulance came trotting back to speak to us. He said that she seemed to be having a reaction to a medication and they would be taking her back to the Ann Arbor hospital as they weren’t comfortable continuing with her in her present condition.  As we started back the way we had just come, we were wondering what in the world could possibly happen next.

At the hospital, we realized that she had not been taken out of the ambulance and was being treated without moving her back inside. It was several minutes, which of course seemed like hours, that we stood quietly in the darkness waiting for an update. At last, the driver told us that she was again stable and they would be leaving for Detroit. They would be driving with lights and sirens and we were not to try to keep up with them. The driver assured us that once they delivered her, they would wait for us and direct us to her treatment room.

Sure enough, the driver was waiting for us and walked us through the emergency department to a treatment room where she seemed to be in an argument with a doctor. The doctor introduced himself as the neurosurgeon and explained that emergency brain surgery was needed right away but she was hesitating to sign the consent form. Even though she was heavily drugged, she had stayed awake and alert. She was insisting that she only came in for a headache, that she felt better, and that NO, she did not want anyone to shave her head and start poking around in her brain. The ‘discussion’ continued until she reluctantly scribbled her name across the form. As soon as the pen left the paper, everyone flew into action.

It was exactly midnight when all activity ceased. The waiting room was deadly quiet. It seemed that everything had happened so fast and very little had been explained to us.  We sat in the dim lights bewildered, could there possibly be any more surprises in store?

A nurse appeared out of the stillness, sat down beside us and said that she would be keeping us informed as to the progress of the surgery that was to take approximately eight hours. After that, our daughter would be taken to the Intensive Care Unit and would probably spend at least 14 days there. Once she was well enough, physical and occupational therapy would begin and it was very probable that her would remain for another 30 days with them before transitioning to another facility or perhaps, if all went extremely well, to her own home with in-home care.

The night crawled by slowly, until finally around 8 AM a nurse appeared by our side to let us know that everything went well. She had been taken to ICU and we would be able to see her very soon. I dared not ask about the prognosis. I didn’t want to face any bad news. I just wanted to see my youngest child.

A few minutes later we were shown to her room.  Her head was completely covered with bandages except the hair that had not been shaved was gathered into a braided ponytail and was sticking straight out of the top of those thick bandages. She was awake, alert, and knew where she was, what had happened, and who we were, so we were encouraged that at least that part of her memory was intact.

In only four days she was moved from the ICU unit to a private room. Three days later they allowed her to go home.  She had made a miraculous recovery with no need for physical or occupational therapy.

Ten days later when she went back to have the staples removed.  The attending nurse said that in her 25 years of nursing she had never removed staples from a patient who had had this particular surgery and GONE HOME. Every patient had still been hospitalized; some still in intensive care at staples removal.

Now for what should have been an extremely happy ending – but wasn’t quite. The astounding medical bills began to arrive. If you remember when we began, she was hesitant to have the very first test as she was without insurance. The business office helped her apply to different avenues of assistance but in each instance the answer was no. The two main reasons – she was not a single mother with children dependent upon her and the treatment/surgery did not leave her disabled. So, because she recovered and did not have kids, she was on her own with a mountain of debt that, in her lifetime she would never be able to pay. However, she was healthy and you can’t put a price on your health.

As I put these words to paper, it is 18 years later. My daughter is living near me in Florida and has no after effects. I count her as one of my greatest blessings and every time I see her, I marvel at her recovery. She was born on Valentine Day and at one time I called her my valentine but in March of 2004, she became my miracle.

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Family, Humorous

AM I THE ONLY ONE …..with children who exerience the unexplainable?

Donna Chandler

Our Valentine Daughter continues to experience amazing occurrences that are completely unexplainable
By Donna Hale Chandler

Once upon a time a baby girl was born on Valentine’s Day.  She was indeed a sweetheart with blond curly hair and big blue eyes.  As is the way with children she quickly grew, each day bringing small miracles and more questions for her young mind to try to answer.  It seemed as if strange happenings followed her wherever she went.

One of those strange happenings occurred on her birthday.  The night before her special day she was restless, tossed and turned and just couldn’t seem to find sleep.  Finally, she left her bed and decided to sit on the back patio for a few minutes.  Maybe the cool fresh air would sooth her so she could find the rest she needed.  As she walked through the kitchen to the back door and the patio beyond, she glanced at the clock.  Noticing that it was just a few minutes after midnight she silently wished herself a happy birthday. 

Once seated in a comfortable chair under the dark sky, the young girl began to make birthday wishes.  She didn’t wish for material things, she wished for happiness.  She just couldn’t seem to escape the gloom that had descended upon her a few days earlier.  She sat in the night air and thought of her father and how much she missed him.  Illness had taken his life a few months before and she wanted so much to hear him say, “Happy Birthday Valentine” as he had in years past. 

With a heavy sigh she finally stood and started toward the back door, ready to once again go to her bed and try to sleep.  However, before she reached the door, something caught her eye.  In the moonlight she could see something hovering just above the ground.  As she squinted her eyes trying to see into the darkness that blanketed the backyard, the object moved, as if the wind was pushing it toward her.  Curiosity overcame her fear and she tip-toed through the damp lawn for a better look. 

As she drew closer, she could see that it was a beautiful red balloon.  She could not imagine where in the world it had come from in the middle of the night and when she picked it up there was writing on one side.  It said, “Happy Birthday Valentine”.  She held it tightly as she returned to the house, placed it on the pillow next to her and slept the sleep of a happy birthday valentine daughter.

Family

Am I the Only One . . . whose grandfather made the front page?

Donna Chandler

Donna Hale Chandler

I had a mean grandfather.  He was so nasty that I didn’t enjoy being around him and sometimes I’d make excuses not to have to go with my parents when they went to my visit his home.

However, to compensate for all the meanness of one grandfather, I was given another who always told me that I was his favorite of all the grandchildren.  I’m sure he told every one of us the same thing but I would glow each time he whispered in my ear that I was the best.  His name was Ira Hale and he was married to Nancy Hale.  To all of the (us) little ones, they were Mom and Pop Hale.

At one point in time Pop Hale was the Chief of Police of Louisa, Kentucky.  He was very serious about ‘keeping the peace’ and his sons often laughed with each other saying that Pop wouldn’t hesitate to throw any one of them in jail if they broke the law.  There would be no favoritism shown when Pop was on duty.

Mom and Pop lived at the head of a ‘holler’ with no running water.  There was a water pump in the kitchen, a real modern convenience as most people had to go outdoors to pump water or draw it from the well.  There was also a water pump on the back porch that the sons would use to ‘wash up’ before entering the back door into Mom Hale’s always busy kitchen.  With Pop having the important position in town and earning a decent salary, he decided that he would turn one of the bedrooms of their old house into an indoor toilet.  This was an enormous undertaking but once finished it was a wonder to behold, complete with a claw-foot bath tub right in the center of the room.

Moving into the modern world put Pop Hale on the front page of the local newspaper, which printed the story of the Chief of Police who had inside plumbing.  He was truly a man ahead of his time and was missed by many who loved him when he died of black lung from working in the coal mines in his younger days.

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AM I THE ONLY ONE who learned about hurricanes the hard way?

Donna Chandler

By: Donna Hale Chandler

My husband and I were excited to finally retire and move to our little condo in Port St. Lucie.  We had no qualms about leaving Michigan weather behind and were looking forward to sunny winters.  Our trip south to our new home began Labor Day week-end, 2004.

We were floating on clouds as we pulled into the condominium community where my mother had lived happily for several years.  It had been a long drive and we had lots of boxes to unload and unpack.  Our bodies may have been tired but our minds were still traveling a mile a minute as we saw a new future on our horizon.

As soon as word reached my mother that we had arrived, she was at our door, spitting orders about hurricane supplies that must be gathered right away.  I must admit that I was rather annoyed with her.  After all we had serious boxes of ‘stuff’ to put away before thinking about batteries and water.  She seemed determined to dampen our good mood with lists and more lists of what needed to be stocked.

At last, we relented and ventured out to the stores for water, batteries, canned food – you know, Hurricane Supplies.  We were sure that we were wasting our time but it made my mother happy so how could we refuse.

During the night of September 5, Hurricane Francis came screaming ashore.  As power was the first thing we lost we could only listen to the howling wind and pounding rain.  The next morning, it appeared we made moved to hell.  It was hotter than hot.  Helicopters were in the sky watching for looters.  As we moved slowly from day to day, we began to wonder if we’d made a wise decision moving to No Electricity Land.

We learned a lot as we suffered through the aftermath of Frances.  Not only did we learn how important those Hurricane Supplies were, we learned that you cannot make a cup of instant coffee over a candle, we learned that MRE’s taste like the Food of the Gods when you’re hungry and of course we learned the importance of water – cold water was in small supply.

About the time the lights came back on and the a/c began to cool our upstairs condo, Hurricane Jeanne came barreling through, throwing us once again into the darkness and the heat.  Again, we were lining up for ice and water from volunteers with the Red Cross and other organizations.  Again, we were checking on neighbors that we’d barely met and instantly bonded with over a cup of coffee boiled on an outdoor grill.

Years later I can look back and laugh at the fact that my mother had to drive me to the water/ice lines as I had no proof of residency.  It became quite a joke that I finally was old enough to retire but not old enough to go out after dark without my mama.  As I look back on these memories both my husband and my mother have passed away but back in 2004, we were quite the team as we stood together again Frances and Jeanne.   

Family

AM I THE ONLY ONE . . . . who still misses their granny?

Donna Chandler

MY GRANNY by:
Donna Hale Chandler

My granny, Rebecca Diamond, was a woman born years before her time.  She was a mixture of pioneer woman and refined lady.  She would deliver the mail on horseback over the hills of Kentucky during the week and on Sunday, put on her white gloves, black patent-leather shoes and matching purse and go to church.  Becky, as most people called my granny was born in 1896.  She married my grandfather, Oscar in 1912, at the ripe old age of 16.

I don’t remember much about my grandfather because when I was only 4 years old Granny divorced him, never to speak to him again.  In 1953, a woman filing for divorce in the hills of Kentucky was an unheard of happening.  Being a divorced female in those days carried the stigma of being a ‘loose woman’.  Granny evidently made the decision that getting rid of the womanizer she had married was worth a small black mark to her reputation.

Even though Granny seemed quite ‘refined’ to me, when we would talk quietly and share a cup of tea, she was still ‘country’ through and through.  I can see her now in my mind’s eye as she ‘saucered’ her tea if it was too hot to drink.  I would try to do the same thing but always seems to spill and make a mess.  Pouring just a little bit of tea into the saucer and drinking from that while still holding your teacup takes some practice.  I stayed with her a week each summer.  There was no running water and I thought it was great fun to get cold water from the well.  I didn’t even mind the trips to the outhouse when bathroom trips were necessary.  Granny had plenty of bags on lime in the toilet which took care of any unpleasant orders.  If nature’s call occurred in the middle of the night, there was a chamber pot under the bed that was pulled out and used, then emptied the next morning once the sun was up.  I wasn’t really enthused about making use of it, just as I was not very appreciative of the warm cow’s milk that my uncle would bring to her in quart mason jars after the cows were milked each morning.

As an adult, when I look back on those days, things must have been terribly difficult for Granny, as a woman alone, but I never remember hearing a complaint or a bad word come from her lips.  She always had a smile and a good word for those around her.  Her sons kept her coal house full so she would have coal for her cook-stove and for her fireplace in the winter.  I think she was quite happy in her world.  At least I hope that she was.

I recall my younger sister telling me of a shopping trip with our mother and Granny.  The outing was particularly to have Granny properly fitted for a bra – or brassier as they were called at that time.  The trip ‘to town’ was a special occasion for the three females and included lunch at a small diner on the edge of town.  My mother and sister both ordered hamburgers and French fries.  Granny told the waitress that she would have the same except she didn’t want the fries.  As a matter of fact, she didn’t want the hamburger either – just a bun would do her just fine.

I’m sure an entire book could be written about Granny and her amazing life as a woman on her own after surviving the Great Depression.  I know for sure that when she passed away in 1981 at the age of 85, she had seen much, influenced countless lives and is still missed by many friends and family who loved her.