Kyle Ruffin - In Strokes Shadow: My Caregiver Story

Chapter 1

On March 5, 2010, five short months after I left corporate life and only two months after the official January 2 launch date of K Ruffin & Associates, LLC, I got a call.

It was a perfectly sunny day. The kind of day that signaled the emergence of my favorite time of year. Spring. The sky was a beautiful pale blue with only the hint of clouds. The air was refreshingly cool, rather than down in the bitter winter temps with wind chill factors that added insult to injury. Those days were giving way to what I knew would be the best summer ever. A wonderfully free summer for the first time in my life. Id be able to take off whenever I wanted to. Head to the shore on a Tuesday. Drink with friends during the week at outdoor cafes in Philly. Play hooky whenever I felt like it. After all, I could control the flow of my work, and I only had to answer to me.

That morning, I was in the car on my way to a meeting. When my cellphone rang, I hesitated before hitting the answer button. The call was from my cousin Clairees in Maryland. Our conversations tended to be lengthy, and I was already running late. Then it hit me. A weekday call in the middle of the morning from Clair was unusual. Maybe I should pick up. So, I answered.

Kyle, I have your mother on my other line. Shes not making sense, Clair calmly explained.

Really? I answered. What do you mean shes not making sense?

You may want to go check her on her. Something just doesnt seem right.

Even though Mom and I lived twelve minutes apart, we didnt frequently speak to or see each other. She was always on the move, travelling the world or just hanging with her posse. They were the African American equivalent of Ladies Who Lunch. Retired and enjoying the spoils of lifes labor.

By some unexplainable twist of fate, the meeting I was on my way to was very close to my mothers house. Within minutes, I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home for the thousandth time. But this time would be different. Like my 2:00 a.m. arrival fourteen years before, after my mother called me to say she couldnt wake my father, this arrival would change my life forever.

I went into the house and headed straight up the steps to Mommys bedroom. She was sitting at the foot of her king-size bed, smiling and repeatedly saying, Okay. Okay. Okay. No matter what I asked, she responded Okay.

Mommy was being unusually agreeable. Yes, at forty-eight years old, I still called her Mommy. No matter how old I got or how successful I was in my career, in our relationship, I would always be the child, the youngest, the baby.

I asked if she wanted to go to the hospital. She cocked her head to the side and liltingly replied, Okay. I had asked her this question a week before when I paid a rare weekday visit and discovered her in bed at one oclock in the afternoon. That day, she complained of being light-headed and a bit dizzy. She refused any intervention. All I need is rest, she said. I didnt push.

On this day, with a strangely euphoric look on her face, Mommy agreed to go to the hospital and immediately began getting dressed. I called 911 and fielded calls from Doreen, Claireess sister, who had already been alerted to Mommys strange behavior. Doreen, who works in a hospital in Atlanta, gave me a quick test to help determine what was happening. She told me to ask Mommy to smile. When she did, only one side of her mouth complied. That nearly confirmed our worse fears.

The paramedics and police came quickly, filling a bedroom that at any other time felt large, with all their beeping equipment and physical girth. After conducting their assessment, Mommy finished getting dressed and walked out of the house on her own power to the ambulance waiting at the curb. She had worked her way into a well-fitting pair of brown corduroy pants and a thick olive-green turtleneck. On her way out, she grabbed her short brown shearling jacket, which was proof that her stylish ways were still intact. There was no limp. She wasnt visibly favoring one side over the other. Physically she appeared fine. But that would soon change.

After I snatched up a few hospital essentialsher wallet, her cellphone, my breathI followed the ambulance to the hospital that served as the local stroke center.

The phone tree had already come to life. Within an hour, friends and family began to crowd her curtained-off space in the emergency room. Part reunion, part support group, everyone was there for me and Mommy, the only remaining members of our immediate family.

We each came and went, spilling into the hall or in and out of the nearby door to the outside, making and taking phone calls. For the next several hours, doctors, technicians, and nurses came in and out. They conducted more tests, while Mommy asked over and over What happened? The results of a CAT scan confirmed shed had a stroke, and thats what we told her each time she asked.

She continued to show very few physical symptoms. She could raise both arms and legs. She could grip the nurses hand. She could adjust herself on the bed without help. The asymmetry of her face and her limited vocabulary were the only discernible evidence of stroke.

It was then that I began to realize that I was now entering a world I only knew from a distance through the public service announcements and partnerships I had established at the KYW Newsradio in Philadelphia. I had been the liaison between the station and all those good causes that rise up or reach down to meet people on sad, unexpected journeys like the one I was about to begin. I had worked closely with The Delaware Valley Stroke Association after the stations young news director suffered a stroke, so I knew a little, but not a lot. I never imagined that this tragedy would touch me.

In October of 2009, I bailed out of corporate chaos. One of worse economic downturns in US history had turned my dream job as the marketing director for KYW Newsradio, one of the top all-news stations in the country, into one I was driven to flee. I took a giant leap of faith and started a boutique communications business, where the only overhead required was a computer and a phone. I already had both. The decision may have seemed questionable, given daily reports of layoffs, salary cuts, and businesses disappearing overnight. But Im not a risk-taker. I dont play now and ask questions later. I had a plan. A roadmap for taking control of my destiny.

My husband, Fred, and I are DINKS, the sometimes envied, sometime despised double income no kids couple. We had very little debt, not even a car payment. There were no insanely high college tuition bills in our future, and our retirement plans were adequately funded, considering we were still young enough to continue to contribute respectably.

I had nothing to lose. I had solid work relationships earned over twenty-five years of delivering in some of the most challenging environments. I had respect that came from working at companies or nonprofit organizations that were household names. Those two things alone would land me a job if chasing my dream didnt work out.

I traded the dense, hyperactive swirl of working in the city, where I danced around Independence Mall, weaving in between international tourists and school groups to grab lunch or the rare treat of non-newsroom coffee. No more driving to work in the morning, hearing what I wrote yesterday on the air today and knowing that more than a million people were hearing it too. But my new adventure was bittersweet. I was no longer connected to big brands that meant Id instantly get my calls returned. But also, no more cocked eyebrows from those impressed that I, a young African American woman, could rise to the heights of marketing director for Philadelphias iconic all-news station. No more stunned and often apologetic looks from men in dark suits when they realize that with a name like Kyle, I was not white, nor was I a man. No more dancing to someone elses beat. I would set the rhythm of my life. Finally.