Tuesday

Two weeks, and many changes.

I was able to see Steve two weeks ago as I passed through Salt Lake City on September 24.   Steve had just been transferred to the stroke rehabilitation facility and was still settling into this new hospital.  Luckily, Mary Ann had shared with me a picture of Steve in his room there, preparing me for what to expect. Despite this, it was striking seeing Steve laid up in his hospital bed with a ventilator trachea tube at the base of his neck.  During that visit, Steve communicated by giving a thumbs up or a “so, so” signal with his right hand.  His mobility was very limited to his right arm and right leg.  Most frustratingly for him, Steve’s stroke inhibited him from raising his eyelids.  During this first visit he was only able to open his eyes one time.  

Yesterday, I routed through Salt Lake City in order to see Steve again.  The changes were immediately noticeable.  When I walked in, Todd Jinkins announced I was in the room.  Steve opened his eyes with effort.  Then he spoke a quiet raspy whisper, “pHohn, glad you’re here.”   Steve was able to speak!  Although quiet and sometimes fading and inaudible, Steve could communicate with spoken words.  Steve’s respiratory therapist explained how they had installed a special speaking-valve in his trachea ventilator which allows him to pass air across his vocal cords rather than escape back out the main ventilator tube.

Small group of us accompanied Steve on his morning physical therapy session. The first step was to get Steve out of his hospital bed and into a motorized wheelchair.  Steve’s physical therapist gave specific directions, “grab ahold of the edge of the bed with both hands, Steve.” Steve did as instructed.  This was another change from two weeks ago; although still weaker, Steve had some control and mobility of his left arm.  Once in his chair with ventilator in tow, Steve was asked to control the wheelchair and follow one of the therapy staff to the elevator.  Someone asked if Steve wanted his special glasses that force his eyelids open.  Steve gave an audible “no” then forced his eyes open and motored off down the hall to the elevator.  Another change from last visit, with effort Steve could open his eyes and could be mobile.  

Steve’s morning physical therapy session consisted of a short walk.  The therapy staff fitted Steve with a body harness, very reminiscent of a smokejumper parachute harness, then hooked his shoulder strap rings to a body-weight-assist winch attached to a roller track in the ceiling.  Steve placed his elbows in an elevated walker, then started the laborious journey to the other end of the room.  Staff assisted Steve in moving his legs, keeping his hips even and under his body, and his head up.  With encouragement and prompting, Steve would make adjustments as he shuffled 25 feet down, sat to rest, then made the return trip.   During this walk, the body-weight-assist winch was supporting 25% of Steve’s weight.  This walk was very clunky and strenuous, but Steve showed he was willing to work hard.  

When Steve returned to his room, his physical therapist said he was going on a Colorado River rafting trip and would be out the rest of the week, so Steve would be getting a substitute starting tomorrow.  Steve said, “Emerald Mile, read that book.”  Steve’s friend Murphy, also in the room, explained that The Emerald Mile was a great book about the fasted boat ride in the history of the Grand Canyon.  Obviously, Steve was tracking. 

I finished my visit by offering to play some guitar for Steve.  In the early 2000’s Steve and I used to play in a two piece band called Armed & Hammered.  I asked Steve if he had any requests, he said, “All the hits…..  Armed & Hammered,” while giving his crooked snarly smile.  I played songs Steve and I knew well, and Steve quietly sang along and played air-guitar and air-mandolin while reclining in his wheelchair.  Someone in the room put a harmonica in Steve’s right hand, and he began to play along with one song.  I noticed Steve flip the harmonica around so the high notes were on the correct side (the right side like a piano’s keys).  

I stopped and ask, “what key is your harmonica in?”  

Steve answered, “G.”  Then he said, “play ‘Moonshiner’”.   

This song is in the key of A Minor, whose relative major is G.  This song also has a distinctive harmonica part and was an Armed & Hammered standard.  I began the song, and on time, Steve came in with the basic framework of the harmonica part.  As our playing session began to wind down I told Steve I would need to get on the road soon, Steve said, “he’s got a long dive”, which I did - 6 hours.  

As I went to Steve’s side to say goodbye, I and grabbed Steve’s hand.  He pulled me in and whispered, “Your great.”  This was an inside joke we had after playing a show.  At the end of every gig, Steve would always say this, with the known expectation that I was supposed to say, “No, no.  You’re great!,” which I did.    

Steve is working hard and making incremental improvements.  The progress was very noticeable over a 15 day period.  He still has a very long road ahead.  The letters, photos, cards, and visitors all help to energize Bubba, after all, he is a people person.  I am most relieved that Steve is still Steve.  His mind and personality are still intact - just like his “Moonshiner” harmonica solo, the framework of Steve is there.  

Paul Hohn