How do you say thanks?
August 10, 2012
By Mike Weland

I'm remiss. It's been almost four months since I wound up in the hospital, and in spite of all the encouragement and support I've received, I've not yet said, "thank you."

I honestly believe that there is no other place in the world so blessed, and despite my not articulating it, I am truly grateful for the many heartfelt kindnesses that the people of this community have shown me each and every day.

Since I came here in 1991, I've known this place was special; I was honored to cover the news of this community, to see firsthand how this community rallies when there's someone in need. I was impressed early on that this community welcomes everyone willing to help; this is a bad place to volunteer in because help is never turned down!

I had much to be thankful for before I experienced my stroke April 22; I'd helped neighbors and neighbors helped me all the time.

I truly learned the definition of the word "neighbor" for the first time when I moved here, not because I needed help, but because my willingness to help was appreciated.

In other places I'd lived, and as an Army brat they were many, being allowed to help was hard; motives were questioned, qualifications demanded. Unless you signed forms acknowledging that you understood you were helping voluntarily, that there'd be no recompense and that you accepted responsibility if your best efforts to help failed ... your help wasn't wanted.

Here, skill, ability and credentials are important, but the lack thereof isn't a bar from helping; there are always things those willing to help can do, and help is welcome.

My wife and I were allowed to become EMTs after considerable training, and for a time we were members of search and rescue. I thought it amazing that, with a bit of dedication and effort, our help was not only welcome, but gratefully received.

When I recognized something was wrong, I called for my wife, Debbie, expecting she'd tell me I was okay ... just need a little rest. Based on my experience as an EMT, I knew by the signs I was having a stroke, and I never let out a greater sigh of relief than I did when Mike Ladely came through the door.

I tried to tell him I'd be okay, he assured me that I would.

After my stroke, I never imagined that I'd be the recipient of aid; I didn't want it and I didn't know how to accept it. I'd never been a day in the hospital before and I thought I'd spring right up with no one of my neighbors except the EMTs and the ER crew at Boundary Community Hospital being the wiser.

I admit, I was scared when told I needed to be at Kootenai Medical Center ... I didn't know if I could be back in time to be at work Monday and I didn't know if I'd be able.

I told the Life-Flight crew I had no fear of flying, having crossed the ocean back and forth from age six months to six years as a boy whose family went where the Army sent my Dad; as a soldier myself who made nearly 40 jumps as an 82nd Airborne paratrooper.

I didn't make it to work; but it wasn't by choice. I don't remember much, but I'm told I kicked and screamed in ICU, demanding that I be let go. I still have a scar on my working right leg from the strap used to hold me down.

My wife and a family friend, Heather Gemmrig came by; I begged them both to let me loose so I could go home ... and I don't remember. I finally calmed down on what must have been my second day in ICU, and I remember apologizing for being such an ass. I was moved to the medical floor.

I can't remember her name or face, but a therapist came into my room, handed me a cane, and told me to walk. I do remember that after I did, she held me while I cried my eyes out and thanked her for showing me I could.

I was moved to therapy, and I was bane to the nurses; I tried so hard to get up and into my wheelchair that they set an alarm that went off even when I tried to roll over, something I never stopped doing. I figured out where the alarm was and turned it off.

I was shocked and ashamed when friends started showing up ... Tom Ulappa visited that first day while I was having lunch, gave me a great thick book and, unbeknownst to me, told the nurses I needed more food. It took two days, but I had o rescind that order.

Dave Kramer and Dean Satchwell stopped in; J.P. and Edna Runyan brought puzzle books and a loud cowbell to ring should I need help. Debbie came in regularly, and was hurt when I asked her to go away; Rebecca Huseby, Walt and Jane Kirby, Ron Smith, Father Gregory Horton and many others stopped in to say "hey," and to offer well wishes and prayers.

Joe and Nancy Farrell came in. I've known him for years, but I'd not known Nancy, who came in on a cane and wearing a leg brace similar to mine. She survived a much more devastating stroke than I had 16 years ago, and begged me not to give up.

Debbie was at wits end; dealing with me and going to NIC; the fence holding our birds had fallen, the garden I planted the day of my stroke had gone to weeds, she couldn't carry the sacks of seed by herself.

When word got out, people we barely knew showed up and went to work. Fences were rebuilt, food delivered, the lawn mowed and the birds and garden tended.

The whole time I was in the hospital, my goal was to get back to work and cover the primary election for the county. My doctor told me I wouldn't be able; I needed at least one more week. County Clerk Glenda Poston told me to listen to the doctor.

I left the day before election anyway, against doctor's orders.

I was still in my pajamas and a tee-shirt when Debbie turned into the back parking lot of the court house; that had been my usual dress as zippers and buttons aren't easy with one hand. I asked her why she was stopping, she said she needed to see something. Before I could object, Kenny Baker came out of the ambulance barn, followed by my most of the ambulance crew, many of whom were there when I needed help.

Doctors say strokes make survivors overly emotional. I don't know anything about that.

But I broke down when I looked past Kenny's shoulder and saw everyone from the courthouse ... coming my way with hugs and well wishes. I was so embarrassed.

I'm embarrassed now, and trying to quit sobbing. It might be the emotional aspect of having survived a brain injury, but I don't think so.

I think it's because I don't know how to say "thank you" to everyone who means so much; it's not easy to be one wanting to help to need help, especially while mourning not being able to help anymore. I can live well with what I have left; it's hard to abide feeling helpless.

I wasn't there on Independence Day; I wasn't feeling well and I was scared, but on the Fourth of July the people of this community held a fundraiser on my behalf. With more than enough food, they ran out in record time and raised more than $1,400 to help Debbie and I with medical expenses.

As I recall, when Debbie told me, I broke down bawling again, not surprised but surprised it was for me. I would much rather be helping someone else.

And not a day has gone by since that my friends and neighbors don't lift me up, telling me I look good, that they're proud to see that I'm still up and about, even though I'm crippled now and lurch along like Quasimodo, only slower.

Without my cane, I look a lot like Joe Cocker when I try to walk, arms and legs akimbo.

But thanks to all of you, I'm grateful; I just don't know how to say it well.