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.)