1/31/2018

Ok. Yes with ALL CAPITAL LETTERS-YES! We are super happy that Daddy’s awake. 23 days of medically induced coma was not enjoyable in the least. For him. For us.

It’s hard to explain the state in which he is in. He literally cannot talk. Although he tries with gusto. Not even a whisper can escape his lips. He can’t write on a white board, point,etc... he is completely helpless.

And of course the plan all along was for him to wake up. It was medically induced. He could not breath with any other method and it was the only choice. To allow the machine to breath for him, for his body to heal, etc.

And so, yes, he’s awake. And yes, he has a long road ahead of him. His left lung is still having trouble and there is much damage and scarring.

Daily, they try to wean him from oxygen. Some days are better than others. But the days that are not better are still better. (??)

Better because his body also needs rest. And the days that aren’t so great are actually good. Rest. Good.

When he “talks” he tries so hard to be heard; understood. (Forgive my repeating the same things over and over...I don’t remember what I already said but sometimes I think I said something that I didn’t say or maybe I did. ...) ummm. This girl needs some serious sleep. (Haha)

The main point of this update is to say, I pulled up my boot straps really high and put on my big girl clothes and went to the hospital. Strong. Able. Ready to do this. And I did.

He wore himself out trying to communicate. I videoed him to show him what “I” see. And his eyes widened. I could see all of the whites of his eyes. And I said, see? We gotta figure out a better way here.

And so I was just sunshine and sparkles and repeating everything I already told him because he has much memory leaks.

I told him to give me a smile. I laughed. You know what? I just made his day happy. And laughed at serious things just to keep it light.

He loved it. We had a rapport. It was altogether lovely. I studied him, I bossed him, I made jokes about everything. We stole “your crazy” glances at one another.

And then it was time to leave. It took me an hour to leave. At least. I didn’t want to, but my peeps needed my reassurance and presence.

I do FaceTime them often and even FaceTimed with Daddy for them. They were bubbly and joyful putting on a strong front. (We talked. Me and the kids. And decided we would be as happy as possible for his eyes. And if we wanted to fall apart later, we would. )

I wish I had a picture of David watching his kids love and miss him on the phone. His eyes were so happy and bright. I said you love them, don’t you? He nodded.

I did get on to him sometimes. ‘Honey, all your numbers are going crazy because your trying so hard to say something and you need to rest. Let me ask yes and no questions and we will figure it out. I’m right here, not going anywhere.’

I often say, ‘Are you ok? Do you hurt?’ And went down a long list of all sorts of things to try and deduce what he is trying to say.

On the way home: LIGHTBULB! I figured out one thing he was trying to say!

That man. That beautiful, awesome, wonderful man was most worried about me and the kids getting sick by coming to see him. It all fell in place.

I can honestly say he is the most compassionate person I have ever met. Always thinking of others. Always! He ruins all my attempts at being better.

I kissed him, wiped his sweaty brow, slicked his hair back, and said he looked like John Travolta, Saturday Night Fever style. Or Joe Jr in While You Were Sleeping. He gave me the look.

I love the look. He is there. It’s just gonna take a while for everything to fall in place. That’s ok. I have time.

I said I’m really going now, and he made an attempt to roll his eyes. It’s not full on roll, but I saw. I had already said I was leaving 100 times. I asked him if he believed me. He shook his head no.

Look at that winning after coma smile! Looks pretty darn good if you ask me.

Love, his shelli

Today...

I wish I were as happy as you. Totally. It is good news. He tried so hard to talk to me with no sounds and crooked mouth and sad eyes. I felt so helpless. I thought this step would be happier. But it just broke my heart. Maybe because I’ve been strong thru all of this mostly and it just hit me like a crashing wave today. Me:  are u ok? Do I need to get a nurse? Are u in pain?  Him: incoherent lip movements. 

He cannot lift his arms or legs. He is so week. I just fell apart. 

I would tell him just close your eyes and rest(because I noticed his blood pressure going up when he was trying to tell me ALOT of words that I could not make out at all. He would not close his eyes. He shook his head no. That was funny. I laughed. Still ornery. 

I finally told him close your eyes and rest a minute I will be right back. He nodded yes. But kept his eyes open. I said NOW, close your eyes right now!  Omg. He did. I stepped out and went to the restroom, face-timed Hannah and balled my eyes out. 

I have no tears left at the moment. I will accustom myself to this new step and be strong again. But right now I am just so overwhelmed. 

Love u!
Mi 

Sent from my iPhone

1/30/2018

I was at school when I got a call from mom. She was crying. Naturally, I thought the worst. “Hannah,” she said through the phone. “Daddy is awake, his eyes are open!” For the first time in 23 days, dad opened his eyes fully. He can’t talk at all. The tracheostomy prevents him from doing so. And he looks so pitiful…almost like he had a stroke. His face is lopsided, and he keeps moving his mouth as if to say something, but no words come. We can’t always figure out what it is he is trying to say. “Everything is going to be ok,” we reassure him. No…he shakes his head and mouths the words ‘not right now.’ We managed to deduce that he ‘wants to go home right now,’ and the one he keeps saying over and over, ‘I love all ya’ll.’ “We know you love us, just by the way you look at us.” Mom says. Dad once told mom this when they first got married, and it has been their special little thing ever since.

The nurses say that it will take a couple of months to wean him off the ventilator and out of ICU, but then he can get a regular bed in the hospital while he recovers. It seems like such a long time, but like mom said, its ok however long it takes, as long as he gets better. He is so weak. He can’t move his arms or legs. It takes all that he has got just to mouth words, and barely move his head yes or no. You can tell that he is frustrated at the lack of ability he has, but he pushes on in spite of it. “Are you tired?” Mom asks him, “Do you want to take a nap?” He shakes his head no and exerts himself in his efforts to communicate.

Mom sits by his side, reassuring him that she is not leaving, and he will be ok. We played for him voicemails from his mom, and his sister and brother. He smiled a little sideways smile. “Everybody loves you,” we tell him.

Mom, who has been unbelievably strong through this whole situation had a very rough day. It was so hard for her to see him in pain and trying to communicate. We are not able to see what it is he is trying to say, and he keeps trying to tell us. Mom cried and cried today.

I dropped my classes for this semester. I wasn’t going to be able to focus on anything. Anything at all. The hour and a half I was at school this morning, I was so miserable. I wanted to be near my family, close to the boys, close to dad. I was worried I might miss something.

Religiously, mom whips out her phone full of Daddy pictures; making him a little more human. One of the nurses came in to see dad. “Well howdy there!” he said. Dad acknowledged him with a halfway nod. “We are gonna get you feeling better, so you can go fishin’ again, ok?’ Dad smiled. Mom does this on purpose, showing nurses and doctors alike what he looks like when he is healthy. We believe it humanizes him and makes him more than ‘just another patient.’ This particular nurse, she had shown this picture of dad. All smiles with a ‘I can’t believe it’s so big’ catch of the day. 

Today we feel small and helpless. We see him awake, and in pain. Unable to communicate, and there is nothing we can do. But sit with him and tell him we love him. And love him we do. So much it hurts.

When mom was getting ready to leave, she said, “I have to go now, and take care of the kids.” He shook his head. He wanted her to stay. She laughed a little sad laugh, “You want me to stay?’ He nodded. And then shook his head as if to say, “Yes, I want you to stay, but I know you have to go and I understand.” He worded ‘go home’ as best he could. And she leaned in and gave him a kiss.

Please keep praying. Yes, this is something wonderful. But he has such a long, long recovery. Don’t forget about him. We need those prayers and thoughts.

Love, Hannah  

1/29/2018

I had forgotten to check the mail today. So I went and checked to see if there was any just now. I feel like the guy on the old show Sanford and Son every time we get medical bills..."This is the big one Elizabeth!! I'm comin..." while clutching my chest. Me and mom were pleasantly surprised however to receive a card from Phillips painting roofing and gutters. Curious, we opened it, and we saw a beautiful card with well wishes and signatures from all of dads friends and colleagues. It brought a big smile to both of our faces, and we couldn't wait to share it with all of you. We plan on putting it in dads hospital room, where, when he wakes up he will see what wonderful friends he has. Thank you all so so much! We love all of you, and thank you for loving my daddy.
P.S. (Blogger needs heart emojis...just a thought...)

Love, Hannah 

Its hard, sometimes, being a big sister. Deciding when and what information to share with little ears, and overall just trying to keep everyone happy. Drying tears, and seeing through snarky comments to the hurting little heart inside. Its not easy. Yeah, video games and special food might help for a minute, but the pain is still there. Cuddles, fuzzy blankets, video games, movies, Legos and computer time take their minds off the pain for a few precious minutes.

Some people tell me to be strong. I am strong. I am the strongest I ever have been. I have no choice. The pain is there, I accept it, and move on in spite of it. The thing is, its ok to be weak. No one needs me to be more than what I can be. Some days, I feel like superwoman and conquer 15 major things that needed to be done. Other days, its all I can do to brush my teeth and hair. And that's ok. Right now, our life is in pieces. Its ok to fall apart, to cuddle up and just cry. We miss dad. The glue that holds our family together, the strongest of us all is so weak, and seeing him is like staring fear in the face. You feel a knot in your gut, and terror in your heart. You look at him, and he just lays there, so so sick. So fragile.

Mom sits with him everyday. The two times I have been in his hospital room, It has completely torn me apart. When the tears have gone away, all that remains is a physical and emotional tiredness, that seems unquenchable. No matter how much you sleep, it remains. I don't know how she does it. She holds his hand and strokes his hair. She talks to him in a comforting voice, and she stays all day, every day. I would be a mess. She is strong. Stronger than she ever has been before. She feels that pain, that fear, and she goes on.

Its funny how our bodies react to sadness. It feels the hurt and it is almost like you can feel the pain, physically. Your body is like, I am so sad, I must be hurt somewhere! Our hearts are heavy and tears come daily, fast and strong.

Keep on praying guys. We have miles to go yet....
Love,
Hannah-Rose

1/29/2018

Imagine... if you will, someone you want to communicate with, except he isn’t  able to squeeze your hand or even blink for yes and no.

I look at his monitor and see blood pressure go up( way up. )

I notify the most kindest nurse. Ready to ease and calm my nerves without  an ounce of belittling.

I apologize profusely telling her I’m not sure but I think he is trying to say he’s in pain.

And so the day goes in this way.  I have to say it breaks my heart not knowing what he wants despite his trying.

I can only assure him it’s temporary and soon he will be able to speak for himself.

But I am in charge of speaking for him.  And often I am so lost. I don’t give up, I just realize how important communication is, when you are in a situation like this and don’t know how to interpret...

Please be better soon. We miss you!

1/29/2018

Day 22, a letter to my honey....

Dear Davey,

They had to do a tracheotomy this morning at 830. I came as fast as I could and was there in the hall waiting.  The doctors took excellent care of you and treated me as if I were a very important person. I could not have asked for better.

I am in the waiting area waiting for the nurse to give the ok for me to park in your room.

You now have that uncomfortable tube in your throat that SAVED YOUR LIFE out of your mouth, so I have no complaints; just one request... get better soon. We miss you.

I wish I could talk to you, to snuggle, to look into your eyes, to hear your laugh...especially laughing at my jokes that I stole from you.

You have made me a better person. You are so kind, gentle, tolerant....

Your momma sure did make you a perfect human being.

I love you honey and am forever grateful for the mom you have.

We are all waiting for you to come back to us. We are not finished loving you yet!

You are amazingly amazing.

Love, ur shell.

1/28/2017

Day 21.

I came home yesterday. Teared out... (and yes, I made that word up myself...a mix in between tired and no more tears...) you know those times that you are officially at the end and it’s hard to take one more step? And then God gives reprieve; comfort; courage, etc. whatever He feels like you need to get more gumption.

Yesterday was the end.

And today was gumption.

I arrived. My favorite nurse was his nurse. Heavy sigh...  and my favorite respiratory therapist (RT) was mine, too. Right off the bat, things are good.

David... my David. He tried ssssoooo hard to open his eyes and move his arms.

He has maintained the pain and sedation cut back. Yesterday he slept the whole day, despite less meds.

Today, however, I cannot say he was totally alert, but he did a heck of a job for effort. It was comforting, exciting, hopeful... to see his eyes, only half way and several times.

Each time I would say, ‘Hey there! Here I am. I am here.’

I told him many other things, even though he is still pretty high on pain/amnesia med.

Did I mention the amnesia aspect? Apparently, they give people who are medically induced into coma, pain with amnesia medicine, so he won’t remember all the horrific things he’s been through and how many days he has missed. There really is such s thing as PTSD after a coma.

However, as he had moments of minutiae alertness, I went along with the amnesia route and encouraged him with words like, ‘everything’s ok. You get the tube out of your throat tomorrow. You were very sick and we took you to the hospital. It hasn’t been very long. Don’t worry about us. All is well. Just get better. And you are getting better. You will be home in no time.’ And things of that nature... just to reassure him all is well and not to worry.

I rubbed his head with one drop of essential oil, put lotion on his feet and hands, (yes, nurse said, ‘BY ALL MEANS, YES’)

I reassured him with loving words, and a multitude of kisses on his forehead, nose and hands.

I am sorry, I cannot clearly recall every detail at the moment, but, bottom line, he was trying so hard to communicate.

I called the kiddos and put them on speaker. His face lit up as much as it was able....a slight raise of the brow and an attempt to raise his arm. A plus for effort!

I called his momma. She spoke to him on speaker and he responded the same. Although as I was talking to her off speaker he was moving his arm and raising his brow at precise moments. And tried so very hard to open his eyes; each time me saying,Hey there, you!’ ‘I am here. All is well. ‘. You will be home in no time.

It was probably an hour or a little less, and I noticed his blood pressure elevating, so told him to rest and not to worry. He would be home soon

I feel I need to come to an end. My brain feels like jello with no memory retention of what I’ve said and what I’ve not.

He will have the ventilation tube removed tomorrow morning, and have a tracheostomy, to assist him further in the weaning process.

It will probably be a quiet, restful day for him. He needs it. And I shall be right by his side; waiting.

Once again, as Hannah usually leads off with or ends saying, thank you so much, for your prayers, love, and support. I cannot imagine life without it. Really. You have helped our minds to be focused on him alone. And I am forever grateful.

Love love
David’s Doll Face, Shelli.
(Hey I don’t make up those names for myself. He gives them to me. And it’s comforting to hear and see them.)