You know that feeling, when you are in danger in a dream and
you want to run and hide or fight? You know how your legs and arms feel, like
lead in their respective sockets unable to even move while your brain screams
at them commands. That’s what we feel like right now. In danger, yet unable to
move. There is nothing we can do to fix it. Helpless, sad and angry. It seems
like we take turns having teary days. Today, was moms turn. She cried this
morning before she left…she cried at the hospital when faced with dad’s
weakness, and she cried when she got home.
Fear and grief have a way of getting to you; grabbing and
holding tight and there is nothing you can do but feel the pain. No numbing
agent; no way to get your mind off anything. Life is sometimes truly terrifying.
You begin to think that things are finally going well, and it socks you right
in the solar plexus knocking the breath out of you.
When dad was in a coma, he was only supposed to be intubated
for 21 days maximum. It was several days past before they did a tracheotomy.
The same is true for the trach. It is only supposed to be on for 21 days before
bad things could happen. It’s coming up on 21 days soon. That’s why they are
working so hard to make dad breathe on his own. When mom got to the hospital
today, dad was worn out tired. They had helped him with physical therapy as
well as put him on the trach collar to practice breathing on his own for a
while. Mom said he seemed despondent. “I may not make it.” He worded to mom.
“If I do, I may never get my voice back.” He said other things too, but since
we can only see him mouth the words, some things get lost. He doesn’t like to
repeat anything either. ‘Never mind.’ He will say. It takes too much energy
trying to help us understand him. Its ok, we get it. Mom just holds his hand
and tells him everything will be ok. She tries to be brave in front of him, so
that he has hope and stays strong trying hard to be better. But today was a
difficult day. She couldn’t stay for very long without falling apart. “Will you
rest better if I leave?” She asked him. “Yes, I’m sorry.” He mouthed.
While mom sat with him, the nurses did a trial run to see if
he could stay stabilized if they took the chest tubes out. So, they clamped the
tubes shut. It didn’t work. His right lung collapsed, and they had to
re-inflate it. Scary, I know. The nurses often over exaggerate the good. ‘He
can lift his hand and put it to his stomach!’ they say. No, he can’t. He can
turn his hand from side to side, and barely wiggle his toes. That’s it.
The question we all want to ask but are afraid to, ‘is he
going to be ok?’ The answer? I don’t know. It’s going to take so long. 5 months? 6
months? A year? Or more?
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