I got some bad news at lunch yesterday- Qdoba has taken my favorite thing- the Chicken Mole Burrito – off its menu. I was bummed. Then I paid my first visit to Austin Krueger and immediately regretted having wasted even a moment on such empty complaint. I can be so foolish, sometimes.
Austin is on the brink of his senior year in college- or at least he was until suffering a terrible stroke-like episode in mid- June which caused him brain damage and very nearly claimed his life. (My blog entry on June 13th- you’ll find it in the archive- talks more about Austin, his background, and the reasons why this was an especially shocking surprise.)
I’ve been receiving periodic updates on Austin’s condition from another voice student of mine, Jennifer Ledanski, who’s a close family friend and who has been looking in on him as much as she could – but even all of that information couldn’t really prepare me for the moment when I first laid eyes on Austin.
First of all, he is living at St. Columbia Rehabilitation Center in Milwaukee. When I finally found the nurse’s station up on the third floor and said that I wanted to visit Austin Krueger, the woman simply pointed behind me to a lounge across the hall – – – and to a young man in a wheel chair, facing away from me, . . seated at a small round table with a portable DVD player in front of him. It was Austin. And sitting beside him was a tall, muscular middle-aged man who turned out to be his father. As I stepped into the lounge, I could hear the guy saying to Austin “there are people who don’t believe that you can come back from this- just like Sea Biscuit – (that turned out to be the movie he was watching) – but you need to believe that you can. Do you believe it, son?” (That’s when I realized that this was his dad.) And Austin nodded his head quietly.
I gulped, walked up to the table, said Hi to Austin and introduced myself to his dad. Austin seemed to recognize me and immediately thanked me for coming- and there were certainly glimmers of the old Austin there. But you can tell immediately that Austin has been dealt a savage blow. First of all, you can see it in his head, which is caved in his right temple – an area as large as a softball – because bones in his skull were surgically removed because of the terrible swelling in the brain which accompanied his stroke. Austin’s face never even hints at a smile – and there is something rather haunted look in his eyes. He speaks with amazing clarity but with diminished volume and fairly flat inflection – and he is perpetually asking questions about when he can go back to his room or requesting more milk. At one point, his dad- tenderly yet firmly – looked right into Austin’s eyes and said “I will be getting you more milk, son. You need to be patient. Remember, Austin, we are working on that.” And Austin said “You’re right- I’m sorry.” I felt a lump in my throat at that moment, so impressed with Austin’s dad and his patience and gentleness and firmness – and impressed with Austin’s quiet determination to somehow rise to the occasion.
We ended up talking about a number of different things, although frankly Austin’s dad had to do about 9/10th’s of the talking. I would ask Austin questions about his therapy or the food or the nurses and get very very brief answers. And there is a real restlessness to Austin- which probably stems from some of the brain damage but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of it just comes from a young man used to bounding around on the basketball court being confined to a wheelchair. (I arrived at about 6:40 and at several points over the next ten minutes, Austin would ask his dad if they could go back to the room.
The most talking which Austin did was when I asked him what movies he especially enjoys watching- and his dad said that “The Count of Monte Cristo” was probably his son’s favorite. He then asked Austin to tell me about the story, which he proceeded to do. I hung on every word, grateful for this and other unmistakable indications that Austin is still there.
Austin has made tremendous progress – that’s for sure – and one high point of the visit was when Austin was asked by his dad to tell me how many steps he had walked that day. “66” was Austin’s answer, and he said that with the closest thing to a smile that I would see in the whole visit. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the idea that Austin, who I’ve seen tear up the basketball court with limitless energy and blazing speed, now is excited to have managed 66 steps in a single day. His dad also mentioned, to be perfectly clear, that Austin’s left side isn’t moving at all yet- so these are not steps that are really being taken with both feet. . . and yet they are excited by any and all victories which they can claim.
The most interesting moment was when we were finally back in Austin’s room and his dad wanted to go and get a nurse to help with the transfer from wheelchair to bed. Austin’s dad told me to wait there with his son- and to make certain that Austin did not undo the safety harness which was holding him in the chair. “Listen carefully for a click!” he said, and I did – and I went so far as to hold Austin’s hands in my own, at least until he asked me to adjust the blanket around his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said- and he made no move to release his safety harness.
As we were getting to Austin’s room, I noticed several signs on the door – including one that something about how important it was that Austin never be laid in bed on his right side – and then the sign went on to say “the patient has no right *********” – and I think the term was probably the name of the bone which was removed from the upper right side of his skull. There was something chilling about seeing that warning sign and made him seem all the more vulnerable.
Austin will soon have surgery to reconstruct his skull- but of course the damage on the inside is not fixable in the same sort of straightforward, tangible way. I walked out of there not certain of very much about Austin’s future except this- whatever is now achievable by Austin, he will surely achieve. His dad and mom and many friends and all who are praying for him will help see to it that Austin gains back as much of his former self and his former abilities as is humanly possible.
pictured: the table where I sat with Austin and his dad at St. Columbia’s Rehabilitation Center