An unexpected journey with my brother Steve, courageous stroke survivor for 12 years, ends
QUINCY ? It has been a long and unexpected journey with my older brother, Steve. Over the past 12 years, I've shared with readers stories of his determination, struggles and achievements after he had a massive bleeding stroke at age 70.
I learned a great deal about him as I witnessed his courageous adjustment to the instantaneous loss of significant control over much of his life because of the stroke.
This past Saturday, my brother died peacefully of pneumonia and congestive heart failure at the Hebrew Rehabilitation Center at NewBridge on the Charles in Dedham. His death occurred on the same day, June 15, that he had the stroke 12 years earlier.
His doctor recently said 12 years was a long time to live in long-term care. I believe my brother had that longevity because of both his spirit and the excellent medical treatment and nursing care he received.
He was 82, and into his final hours, he did his best to hold onto the life he had.
A sunny morning turns into a medical crisis
On June 15, 2012, a beautiful sunny morning, Steve, a retired teacher, walked out of the door of his home on Cape Cod and went to work as a rural postal carrier at the East Sandwich post office. He liked that job, especially driving around the Cape in his postal vehicle.
His coworkers said he was unusually quiet that day, and around mid-morning, he collapsed before he had finished sorting the mail. It may have saved his life that this emergency happened at work, and not at home, because he was single and lived alone.
That was the first of several lucky breaks he had. West Barnstable firefighters rushed him to Cape Cod Hospital in Hyannis, where he was placed in a coma for 10 days to try to let his bleeding brain begin to heal. After a week or so, he was then sent to Spaulding Hospital in Cambridge. He received seven weeks of intensive physical therapy with a temporary feeding tube in his stomach.
The next stop was Hancock Park Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Quincy, another excellent facility where the rehab therapists gave it all they had to see if he might walk again and the nurses encouraged him every day.
Trying so hard to walk again
Walking again was not to be, but he made other advances, learning how to swallow again, to stand with support and to move himself about in a wheelchair. On Jan. 31, 2013, he became a long-term care resident of the Hebrew Rehabilitation Center at NewBridge on the Charles in Dedham.
When I was born, I cried and the world rejoiced. When I died, the world cried and I was liberated.
Tibetan saying as told to Elizabeth Reilly by her father
He had lost the use of the whole left side of his body. He slowly adapted to what he still was able to do. Using his strong right leg, right arm and a mechanical lift, he could pull himself to a standing position and, with an aide, get out of bed and into a wheelchair.
In 2015, I wrote this: "My brother is, in his way, slowly adjusting to his new life in long-term care. For a single man, now 73, it has been a drastic and depressing change. The transition has come in very small steps and will always have its advances and retreats.
"He does not lead his life there the way I imagine I might, but ... my 'job,' aside from being his advocate, is to step back and understand more about what he wants and needs to be comfortable and reasonably content. He has done a remarkable job of accepting and trying to adapt, taking more control over his daily life."
'I'm doing the best I can'
As he grew older, he declined physically and mentally, which was expected, but he usually kept trying.
"I'm doing the best I can," he would say these past few months when he had particular difficulties or emotional flare-ups and sometimes just shut down.
He kept a handmade sign in his room that said, "Equanimity." His goal was staying calm under pressure and adjusting to what the moment brings.
Looking Back to 2013 A GOOD AGE: Brother’s move to long-term care biggest challenge yet
Through all these years, it was uplifting to see how the staff at NewBridge stayed positive and understood how proud Steve was of his ability to cope, even if he "had his moments." He didn't join in most activities but stayed busy reading the newspaper and watching political and sports coverage on TV.
He could be irritable and he sometimes would display little interest in what someone else had to say, yet the staff appreciated that he was also very kind. (He told me he would sometimes try to help another resident at the dinner table with his good hand.)
Losing my family 'memory bank'
For 12 years now, I've spent a good deal of my time, and my thoughts, on my brother and his well-being. I received so much in return. He almost always said thank you. He expressed his gratitude in other ways, such as asking about something he knew I found interesting. He always had an excellent memory for details of our childhood, and was very smart. I could ask him something about the Red Sox, or the Celtics, and he would give a concise answer.
I'll miss him in other ways. I will no longer be able to ask what he remembers about Mom and Dad, or our neighbors when we were growing up in the 1940s and 1950s. I'm reading a book, "Wedding of the Waters," about the Erie Canal, which was a mile from our house outside Rochester, New York. We rode our bikes out there to play and I know he would have had some memory to share.
Just in time, a surprise envelope arrives from Vermont
It still seems unreal that he is gone. For the first few days, I've woken up and had to remember that all over again. It surprises me that I miss him as much as I missed our parents when they died. I try to focus on how fortunate I was to have him here as long as I did.
On his last afternoon alive, a large envelope from Vermont arrived in the mail. Rosemary, on the staff, brought it right to his room, opened it and showed him the photographic prints his faithful correspondent Will had sent.
The photos were of Will and his family from years ago, when Steve used to visit. One was of his daughter, Vanessa, who was an intern in U.S. Sen. Patrick Leahy's office, with the senator and Will and his wife, Sara, now also a state senator. My brother slowly reached out his hand to try to hold the prints, as if he had a memory of that time. I wasn't sure, but I was touched by the connection made as time was running out. Thank you, Will.
At a certain time of day, I often would call Steve, or he would call me. And when I was driving home, to avoid Boston traffic I would sometimes take the long route around where he lived at NewBridge in Dedham, and I could offer to stop and see him.
That just happened Monday, but I knew he would no longer be there getting ready for supper. I will miss him so much and forever be grateful for the loving care and support he received.
Thank you all.
Reach Sue Scheible at [email protected].
This article originally appeared on The Patriot Ledger: Steve Scheible, 82, brother of Patriot Ledger columnist Sue, dies
