JO BETH is now in her home for the next calendar year, docked at Calvert Marina in Solomons, Maryland, off the Chesapeake Bay. Lisa and I are taking a break from sailing and traveling. This is due almost entirely to my health, though there are a few other reasons. Before I go any further, I want to say my health is good and we are both doing well. Many of you know what had happened with us in the last year; if you don’t, please read on…
JO BETH at anchor in Jackson Creek, Deltaville, VA, just prior to our planned departure for points north…
The past year aboard JO BETH has been challenging. Ours is a way of life mysterious to many and shared by few. We are ruled by the weather and constantly in motion; being still is a sign of something wrong. We hook ourselves and our little ship into the seabed to sleep and rest, and we literally live by the rise and fall of the ocean tides. It is simultaneously difficult and simplistic, and when things do go wrong – really wrong – the effect is tremendous.
Part of what happened in the spring and fall of 2023 has been covered in my last few blog posts, available here and here. If you’re not aware of what happened, here’s a synopsis:
· In June of 2023, I went overboard in the Atlantic Ocean while sailing during a squall off of Cape May, New Jersey…Good Old Boat Magazine also published an article of the account…
· In October of 2023, I awoke at anchor in St. Michaels, Maryland with no use of my left arm and hand – this required us to put JO BETH in winter storage on land and for me to endure three months of intensive physical therapy…
In our last blog post, available here, we returned to JO BETH to resume our life. We were back aboard the boat and had proceeded to Deltaville, Virginia to pick up our sails which had been removed by our sailmaker, stored, and repaired as needed prior to putting the boat up for the winter. We enjoyed a lovely couple of weeks at anchor in Jackson Creek. The sails were back on, our small incidental projects completed, and we were ready to go – New England, Maine, and Atlantic Canada – after that, a trip to the Florida Keys and possibly The Bahamas. We had met with old friends, shared pizza and beer, done laundry, and bought groceries. We had a good weather window to leave for a sail nonstop to Newport, Rhode Island on Saturday, June 1. All was well.
Then, on May 30th, at roughly 6:45 in the morning, I experienced a cerebellar stroke.
The morning to this point was like any other; I had awakened and was sitting on the settee in the saloon, going through my phone, checking email, the Instagram and Facebook pages, and so on. Suddenly I became aware didn’t feel well; not nauseous or achy, just decidedly unwell. Thinking some fresh air might help, I set my phone on the navigation table and started up the companionway ladder. I was standing on the bottom step and had reached up to slide the companionway hatch backwards, when suddenly, with no warning, the world rapidly spun out of control.
JO BETH hauled out at Deltaville Boatyard, post stroke…
I tried to step off the ladder but instead fell away, landing flat on my face, half onto the cabin sole (the floor) and the settee. I lay still for a moment, a loud, loud ringing in my ears. I pushed myself up to sit on the settee cushion, but promptly fell over again on my opposite side. I began to sweat profusely and now was seriously nauseous. The world continued to spin. I fell off the settee and crawled to the head – the toilet – where I retched violently. Lisa woke and asked if I was ok. I replied, “no, I don’t think so. Something is seriously wrong.” My retching fast became uncontrollable dry heaves.
Lisa got up and helped me back onto the saloon settee. “What can I do?” she asked. I’m Type-II diabetic and have been for years; my blood glucose levels were always well controlled with medications. Wondering if this may be some sort of diabetic episode, I asked her to check my blood sugar. She did, and the reading came back well over 300, dangerously high. “That can’t be right,” I thought. Now, my shirt was drenched with sweat. I asked her to test again. She looked at the meter; still over 300. I began to retch. “Let’s get you to a doctor. There’s an urgent care clinic near here, I think. Can you get into the dinghy?”
It never occurred to me or Lisa I was experiencing a stroke. My symptoms mimicked severe vertigo, almost to the letter, and we both thought that’s what this was. I had experienced vertigo years before. My physician and I determined the cause was ear washes, using high pressure streams of warm water shot into the ear and allowed to drain. The supposition was the water disrupted the delicate balance mechanisms in my inner ear. The only differences now was the previous episodes had been much milder and shorter in duration, resolving in minutes. Plus, I hadn’t had an ear wash in over a decade. Once we stopped doing the washes and switched to the ‘vacuum’ system, voila – no more vertigo. Until now, or so I thought. It had never been this bad.
It quickly became obvious I couldn’t get into the dinghy or assist Lisa. She contacted our friend John, who was in the marina aboard his sailboat and asked for him to dinghy to JO BETH and help. She also radioed Jackson Creek Marina and asked the two dockmasters to stand by, explaining there was a medical situation unfolding. After a few minutes we were alongside one of the docks and secured. I heard Dennis, the marina manager, ask Lisa what was happening. She told him I seemed to be having a severe vertigo episode and she wanted help getting me off the boat and onto the dock. We were going to take the marina loaner car to a close by urgent care clinic. Dennis took one look at me and said, “no you’re not doing that. I’m calling the rescue squad. He needs a hospital.” Turns out both dockhands are former EMT’s. Dennis had retired from EMT service a few years prior; the other dockhand, Shane, had worked for the local volunteer EMT services which were now on their way to pick me up. Shane took one look and said, “I think this is a stroke.”
Dennis came aboard the boat and began administering some basic care, taking my pulse and having me perform a stroke exam. My pulse rate was strong and I passed different stroke exams multiple times, performing all the movements and tasks with little issue aside from the fact I was prone and became nauseous if I opened my eyes or turned my head the slightest bit.
By the time the ambulance crew arrived a few minutes later, a small group of folks had gathered at the dock adjacent to JO BETH. The ambulance crew began their work: a million questions, blood pressure taken (very high!), and stroke exams administered… again. Lisa told them about the crazy high blood sugar readings we had gotten earlier. They managed to get me turned over and onto a backboard. It then took six guys to wrangle me off the boat and onto the dock.
I was taken by ambulance to Walter Reed Riverview Hospital in Gloucester, Virginia, about a 45 minute drive from Deltaville. I have very little memory of the ambulance ride or arrival at the hospital. I recall bits and pieces of the emergency room physician’s assistant (PA) coming in with questions and had the clear impression my condition was causing a lot of puzzlement. Lisa left and went to try to find something to eat and returned with a turkey sandwich. As soon as the aroma hit me, I became violently nauseous again. She went to the waiting room to eat.
By now I’d been in the ER four or five hours and had a chest x-ray and CT scan, both of which showed nothing wrong [Lisa later filled in the timeline.] While Lisa was gone, an ER neurologist and his PA came into the room; it’s here things took a turn. They stood me up and began administering more tests. I was a bit more coherent now and the neurologist, a slight Pakistani man, asked me, “I presume you’re familiar with the test given to someone suspected of drunk driving?” I was taken aback. “Why would you presume that?” I asked and glanced questioningly at his assistant, a short young woman who looked alarmingly young – like she was still in high-school. She smiled and said, “he’s asking if you’re familiar with a heel-toe balance and walking test.” I told him I thought I understood what he was talking about and then reiterated I had no balance. If the nurse so much as relaxed his grip on my shoulders, I would go down. It’s no surprise I failed the test spectacularly. What came next was a turning point.
The doctor had me fix my gaze on his fingertip and follow his hand with only my eyes. His assistant stood behind him and watched intently. The nurse, still standing behind me, held my head in both hands, simultaneously keeping my head from moving and me vertical. The doctor’s finger moved left and stopped. Then right, and stopped. “Nystagmus,” he said. His assistant, her eyes alarmingly wide, told the nurse to immediately order a specialized type of MRI.
Within an hour, the MRI was done and I was back in the ER exam room. The PA came in soon after. She stopped in the doorway and paused. “It was a stroke,” she said. I stared at her, confused. “What?” I said. “Someone had a stroke?” She stepped closer to me. “You had a stroke – a cerebellar stroke. It was at the base of your brain in the cerebellum. We can see it in the MRI. We don’t see any sign of bleeding, it was caused by a blockage of a vessel; a clot perhaps. It seems done. You were likely at the peak of it during the ambulance trip here, or perhaps as you got here.” I just stared and blinked. After six or so hours in the hospital we finally had a diagnosis. ‘Nystagmus,’ which is a rapid-vibration like movement of the eyes when at the extreme left or right sides of their moveable range is a hallmark indicator of a cerebellar stroke. Lisa held her head in her hands then looked up. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“We’re going to do a virtual visit with a stroke specialist. Depending on her opinion, we may move you to the stroke center in Norfolk,” the PA continued. At this point I could keep my eyes open and move my head slightly without becoming violently ill - so long as I wasn’t standing. An attendant wheeled a special video conferencing module into the room and positioned it in front of me. After a moment, the screen blinked on and another doctor appeared. More stroke tests followed, along with a series of questions. It was finished inside of five minutes. During the virtual visit with the stroke specialist was the first of many times I’d hear the phrase, “you are a remarkably lucky man.”
By now, it was 12 or so hours since the stroke began; I had been in the ER for at least seven hours. I was transferred to a standard care floor and put on a heart telemetry machine which I later learned was being continuously monitored by the ICU. I also learned I was on 24 hour standby to be moved to the hospital ICU or emergency transported to the Walter Reed Stroke Center in Norfolk.
Friends of ours, Tom and Pat, staying on their boat in Deltaville came to the hospital with a change of clothes for Lisa and briefly came to my room for a visit. I was exhausted and now hungry. It was past the dinner hour and the nurse offered me sugar-free Jello. “I can bring you red, green, or orange,” she said. I asked for applesauce instead. Lisa fell into a lounge chair in the room and was soon asleep. For the first time since my arrival, I worried about JO BETH.
Walking in the rural country roads in Virginia was excellent for my recovery…
I had been told by the neurologist assigned to care for me my chances of permanent recovery were around 50%. I’d see the most improvement in the first six week; whatever gains were made after that would be slow in coming and require intense therapy. He continued, saying I’d need at least six months or even a year of physical therapy and a week’s long stay in an intense rehabilitation facility. There would be speech therapy, and I might have to learn to walk and to eat again. This meant moving off the boat again and putting it in storage – and everything that entailed.
Lisa contacted our friend Stu, who also lives in Deltaville, to ask for his help in readying the boat to be hauled. We had met Stu in Hilton Head Island a few years earlier when he was sailing his Pacific Seacraft 31, LOUISE, to the Bahamas. We became friends and when he saw JO BETH was in Deltaville, he reached out to us. He told us when he returned from his Bahamas trip, he stopped in Deltaville and fell in love with the tiny community. He bought a home there and put LOUISE in a quaint and tidy marina off Jackson Creek. We had eaten dinner with him at his home only a few nights earlier. Stu would open his house and heart to us both and was an integral part of my recovery and my path to healing.
Turns out I did better than expected – out of pig-headedness, Lisa would say. The second day in the hospital, after Lisa left to see to Jo Beth, I saw a speech therapist. She was clearly taken aback when I had a ‘normal’ conversation with her. The physical therapist I saw the same day was very hesitant when I told her I wanted walk on my own and try the mock stairs. I did fine; certainly, I needed help in some instances, but overall I was fine. I went back to my room, suddenly tired, and for the first time since the stroke, I slept for a few hours. I woke up at dusk, crawled out of the bed – I had been identified as a ‘fall risk’ and had since learned how to turn off the alarms – and walked on my own, but holding onto to a handrail.
Early next morning, the hospital’s head of neurology came to my room. By now, I had been walking around my room and short distances in the hallway on my own without holding onto anything. She was shocked at my abilities; she had me walk while she followed, demonstrate drinking from a cup, with and without a straw, and had me perform some speech exercises.
She left the room and quickly returned. “How do you feel about being dismissed today? Do you have support? Help? Where will you go - you can’t go back your boat; not yet, anyway. And you really shouldn’t travel at all, for a while.” Lisa and I had discussed this already. Stu had offered his guest room and home for a few weeks until we could transition to the next step. For us, that next step looked like going to Tennessee and moving into Lisa’s parent’s house [we’ve had the house rented for years] after kicking out the renters. Neither of us really wanted to do that, but we saw no other way. I told the doctor I felt good and had fantastic support. I put our plans at her feet. In three hours or so, to Lisa’s total shock and surprise, I walked out of the hospital - with her help of course.
I came to treasure my daily walks following the stroke…
The next several weeks flew by. Stu and I took a couple of early morning walks together and then I struck out on my own. By the following weekend, I was walking two miles, completely unaided. I bought a blood pressure cuff and began monitoring my blood pressure twice per day. I changed my diet to a strict low-carb plan. In a month, I was walking five miles completely unaided, and doing balance exercises with various standing yoga postures every mile or so. I began shedding excess weight. At the six week follow up visit with the neurologist who saw me in the hospital, he expressed his amazement. “You’ve done what very few people have ever done. You’re a remarkably lucky man.” He then leaned in close and narrowed his eyes. “But make no mistake,” he said. “You’ve come a long way, but you have no room to deviate from this path. Staying with your new lifestyle, you have a 95% chance of avoiding any future problems. But if you deviate, even minorly, I assure you, a second stroke awaits you.”
Mornings along Jackson Creek in Deltaville, VA, were absolutely stunning…
Then, it was done. He dismissed me from his care, with the promise from me to follow up with my primary care physician in six months.
Lisa and I returned to Deltaville and began making plans to get back aboard JO BETH. She had been hauled by Deltaville Boatyard days after the stroke as we had no idea what to expect. We decided to have the yard renew the bottom paint prior to her relaunch. Within a week, she was afloat again and secured in a slip at Jackson Creek Marina.
[Lisa and I want to extend a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the wonderful people at Deltaville Boatyard – Keith, Jacquie, Heidi, and their amazing staff. They went above and beyond – all of them - in their kindness and generosity during this time. And the same heartfelt ‘thank you’ goes to Dennis and Shane at Jackson Creek Marina; it was only after the fact we discovered how carefully they monitored us and my progress. Of course, there are our new found friends at the Jackson Creek Marina – Frits and Andrea on S/V MONEYPENNY; John on S/V MIDNIGHT; Vin and Kim from the Netherlands aboard S/V HERON; Beverley and John on S/V LIBERTY; and so many more who provided invaluable support and checked on both of us through the entirety of the summer. Also, thanks go to Jerry, Jake, Justin, Isaac, and Meghan at Evolution Sails. Thank you all, from the bottoms of our hearts!]
Part of my dismissal agreement with the neurologist was that we wouldn’t attempt to sail or make any passages for six weeks, and that when we did sail, we would take it easy and remain in the shelter of Chesapeake Bay. We spent the next month bringing JO BETH back to herself. When that was done, we left the marina slip and moved to anchor in Jackson Creek. Once we did, the water heater promptly failed.
Our Dutch friend Vin and his friendly pup Harley….
You may recall the water heater element had to be replaced after being inadvertently damaged during the recommissioning process following JO BETH’s haulout the previous winter. This current failure was simply due to age – trying to marry a new heating element to an old fixture and gasket. We moved to the service dock at Deltaville Boatyard, ordered a replacement heater, and began the installation with the help of a yard mechanic. We then anchored again in Jackson Creek and prepared to wait out the passage of Tropical Storm Debbie.
Debbie wasn’t too bad. The strongest winds we saw were in the range of 35 knots or so; sub-gale conditions. The most stressful moment came when another boat, a 62 foot trawler yacht from New Zealand which had been anchored a half-mile in front of us, drug her anchor during some of the strongest winds. The owner was aboard by himself and, as we later found, had anchored with an insufficient amount of chain for the conditions we were now experiencing, with no snubber in place to absorb any shock loading on the anchor chain. I had been awakened by the rising wind and had gotten up to check things when I noticed his lights alarmingly close to our bow and approaching fast. I yelled down to Lisa to quickly get up and come aft; if he was going to hit us, it would be in the bow area where our berth was located.
JO BETH being prepped for bottom painting at Deltaville Boatyard…
It soon became apparent he was awake with his engine running. By the time he wrested control of his boat, he had come within five feet of striking our bow. In fact, we were concerned that because he had moved so close across our bow, the underwater gear on his boat might snag our anchor chain. Fortunately all ended well, with him getting securely re-anchored beside us and then moving at first light to an adjacent bay and anchoring there. After two days, the weather cleared and we moved a bit closer to the marina from the more sheltered area further back in the creek where we had anchored for the storm.
Continued in Part II, coming soon!