It was another good weekend for our Mama. She is as tough as nails. I love her for continuing to fight, for not giving in when even the simplest tasks (squeezing a hand, lifting a finger, raising an arm, or juggling a soccer ball – kidding) seem impossible. I know she is in there. If there was any doubt before, she has proven it time and time again over the past week. I know that she can hear us – and I’m sure wants nothing more than to consistently fill our constant pleading for more movement, more responsiveness. I think sometimes she is looking at us thinking, “I am out of tricks for today, people! If you want me to do something more, than give me a cookie ‘cause this liquid diet is not working for me!” She is making phenomenal progress all things considered. We are maybe three miles into the 26.2 mile marathon, but there have been many moments when we weren’t sure we’d even make it this far. There is a long, long way to go – which can be very daunting – but she is been pretty impressive thus far. It can’t be easy for her. For as much as we are in the spiritual and emotional fight of our lives, she is in the physical fight of hers. I could not be more proud of her.
As total aside and to give you some insight into her therapy, there is a lot of right-side, left-side stuff going on. As in, “Sherrie, can you turn your head to the left? Ok. Now, can you turn your head to the right? Good.” I keep waiting for the therapist to throw in “To left one time, to the right one time…now, sliiiiide!” I have never been a fan of the obligatory wedding-style line dance (usually at the request of a long lost cousin that decided to make an appearance), but if Mom decided she wanted to bust out a Cha Cha Slide during her therapy, I would not complain. Keep your fingers crossed for that. We might even let them play Mambo No. 5 if we knew she’d respond to it!
Also, here’s a clarifying note given some of the questions we have received. Per Dr. Roth last week, Mom is no longer in a coma. He encouraged us to not think about her state as in a coma vs. out of a coma (another reminder that those Grey's Anatomy writers full of it!), but rather in terms of increasing levels of consciousness. In fact, when she arrived at the RIC, she was what they would call "minimally conscious" (not in a coma) but she has continued become more alert and is progressing out of her minimally conscious state as you have read in previous posts. A big part of the game at this stage is managing her level of alertness. As her brain continues to heal, the doctors expect her to become increasingly alert; however, she has a few things working against her on this front. First, her body is weaker from being in bed and dealing with the effects the initial trauma. She has lost a lot of muscle tone in the process. Second, she is on a laundry list of medications nearly 3/4 of a page long that all have drowsiness as a side effect!! The vast majority of these are preventative – to avoid seizures, blood clots, infection, for example – but are necessary to ensure she doesn't have complications that would impede her progress. I am down for the count after a teaspoon of NyQuil so I can only imagine what she is fighting against to stay awake for her therapy sessions. As time goes on and she is weaned off medications, we will get a better picture of her natural level of alertness.
Despite our wrestle internally to stay positive and find joy in the small wins, the journey remains exceedingly challenging – for both Mom and all of us who miss her as she was. The daily uphill climb towards optimism and faith regularly seems ominous and some days completely insurmountable. We rarely know much about the path that lies ahead other than that it's uncertain and rocky, but we have all committed to each other to keep moving, to stick with it for as long as it takes. When we have finally dragged our minds and hearts to the the peak of each day (i.e., our best selves, our best feelings, our best hope) we begin again to put all of this in perspective and find gratitude in the countless blessings we have received. Those are good moments. And then, seemingly in an instant - as if pushed - we often find ourselves sliding down the other side back towards the dark places of sorrow, despair, and self-pity. It's lonely down there and the path ahead feels even darker and scarier. I shouldn't be surprised at this point, but I am continually amazed at how much easier it is to let your mind wander in wrong direction than it is to move towards faith, and hope, and trust in a loving God. In our dark moments both individually and as a family, many of you have come to our rescue. Your words of encouragement, your stories of triumph, your heartfelt embraces, your listening ears are often the catalyst for being able to take another first step back in the right direction, back up the hill, back towards an eternal perspective we long to achieve each day.
And so go the ups and downs of this gut-wrenching, fascinating journey we are on. I suspect that the coming weeks will continue as they have for the last six - with the highest of highs and lowest lows. I pray each day that we learn the lessons that lay hidden for us to uncover along our way. Many of you have experienced the valleys of tragedy (and in some cases the peaks of triumph) long before us. We have gained a newfound respect, admiration, and love for you. We rely on your experience and wisdom having been through this type of ordeal before. On a very personal level, we are each learning the subtle, yet powerful difference between sympathy and empathy. For as much as I dislike the experience we are having (I don’t want it now, and don’t want it later), I am eternally grateful that my Mom is teaching us to be more equipped human beings with a greater capacity to understand a small portion of the suffering that can occur in this life. Life can be hard – there is no doubt about it - but we can can get through it. Thank you all for sharing of yourselves to help us through this difficult time. We could not do it without you.
Love,
Brandon
Here some pics of Mom and Kenzy...
