Night 9

After Chy left and my husband came back in I lost it. I was exhausted after 9 days of little sleep, constant stress and fear, unbelievable emotional pain and a helplessness I could not get rid of.

I look at this beautiful man, I have loved for 16 years. We have had some tough times and always made it through. But this..this was bigger than anything I could imagine.
And all I could think of at that moment was he deserved a much better life.

I wept. I asked if he was sure he was up for this. I told him I would understand if he couldn’t handle the daunting changes coming my way. Colin wasn’t his son. He did not
owe us or have any obligation. I pointed out I was going to be poor the rest of my life, helping Colin learn to live and how to train his body again. It would mean alot of
time in town, away from home. I was afraid he would hate me and leave someday.

I wondered if I should quit my job should they want me to return to work in 6 days. Could the District really expect me to handle 40 teenagers AND teach them math?
Maybe I should retire. Maybe I could file for bankruptcy.

I crumbled. “I don;t know what to do.” I wept. “This is bigger than I can deal with”

He tried to calm me down and I did after a bit. Then he had to leave to go take care of our animals. He would come back down he said. He needed to tonight.

I said ok, walking him out to the elevator as it was banishment time again. Colin was exhausted and sleeping.

My husband left and I called my mom and my friend and wept and felt helpless and feared for the future. I emailed my sister and wept some more. I left a message with
a therapist we hand seen in the recent past and asked if she could help me find a “dr note.”

Then I went back into his room. They were doing more respiratory therapy and clearing more out of his lungs. The nurse had given him a bath and he seemed more rested.
Colin wanted more shoulder massages and I obliged, feeling guilty for neglecting his legs and feet.
I made sure to scratch his belly and tickle his knees, rub his arms and flex his fingers. And I felt the tension and tremors in his shoulders. I was on the verge of weeping every time I looked at him.
My husband called me and told me he had spoken with his Aunt, who has had to deal with similar situations. “We are going to get a Dr note tomorrow. I am trying to
help.” He choked back tears. “I love you, I want to help.”
“You are helping. I could not do it without you. I love you my husband.” I hung up and looked forward to when I could see him again. I missed him so badly.

I asked the gods, the laws of nature to please get my boy through this. Take my health and give it to him. I will get cancer, I will take his place. Taking his pain away will
take away mine. I can take my own physical pain and misfortune far easier than I can take my child’s. I asked for something positive for him. He had been given one
discouraging day after another since the accident.

I massaged him more and I got a message form our therapist. She would help us if she could. I felt better after seeing him resting. I felt his trembling shoulders relax under my hands. I saw a it of rest on his face.

My husband came up by 10:30. We waited to make sure he was going to rest after getting more meds and went to my in laws home.

I cleaned up the best I could (after bleeding through my jeans onto the chair) and laid down. I felt dazed, as if I was overloaded. My husband wanted to show me pictures of our animals he had taken but I was drowning in dis-pair  He brought us water, turned out the light and held me while I wept myself to exhaustion.

I wailed how afraid I was, how helpless, how I had never experienced so much pain and anguish  how I missed our life and lamented we would not be having what we wanted, yet again.

He didn’t let me go and I finally slept in his arms, gaining a few hours respite to prepare for the next day.

Day 6 -9
The days are starting to melt together. I had a routine I tried to stick to.

Up at 5:15, get dressed, eat a bowl of cereal, leave my in laws house and drive the 5 minutes to the hospital. Check in downstairs and ride the elevator to the 5th floor.

Request permission to enter the ICU by pushing the call button. Usually I am let in right away.
I come in, kiss him good morning and start the massages. Scratch his head, rub his neck, twitching and rigid. Scratch his belly, his thigh, his knee front and back, the top of his foot, his toes.
Pull his foot out of the plastic support that keeps his heels off the bed. Rotate his ankle both directions for as long as my nearly 52 year old arms can take. Move up the other side, end with scratching his head. I give him about a 40 minute break, then start again.Do that until I have to leave for 90 minutes, then come back and do it again.

It was a good routine. Until Tuesday.

Monday started out as usual. The same thing I had done for 3 days, despite Gestapo Kelly’s interference.
The neurosurgeon had come by, gave the green light fo physical therapy to begin, wrote some “DR. notes” for myself, Ian and Colin.

While I was at his feet the “Intensive Care Team” of doctors were doing rounds. They all sat outside the room, talking about Colin. His respiratory issues. I heard enough to understand they were assessing how to proceed to ensure he could either breath on his ownor get a tracheostomy and stomach tube.

That was something they had been “discussing” for awhile, then he got pneumonia. In addition, the lung they had collapsed before surgery still had a chest tube in it.

Monday they spent doing respiratory therapy procedures and clearing out his left lung from the pneumonia. The Critical care doctor told me they were still concerned at how much assistance he still needed and were going to make sure everything was clear.

The physical therapist came in and did a quick assessment  said he would be back tomorrow for a full one and to get him sitting up.

By Monday night Colin was sleeping, albeit drugged up, and so I left by 10:00. Was not able to fall asleep until around 1130. And, of coarse, I start my period.

Tuesday I was in the ICU at 5:50. Massaging him as always, the doctor reiterated (as if I am mentally unable to retain the exact information) what he had said the night before, asked if I would sign the consent forms and was gone. He returned a few minutes later and had me leave while they removed the chest tube from the right lung. This is the one they collapse looking for an artery before surgery.

7 am I am asked to leave for report time. I come back at 8:30 and they are just finishing the x-ray. The day continues, I take a break to have lunch and return around 12:30.

The Physical therapist comes in about one and does his whole exam. As expected with a c5 injury, he has a good number above 5, then 0 on both sides.

The man then stands over Colin and tells him he is classified as “complete quadriplegic  and “will not be gaining any sensations back” They will only be working with “what works” and teaching us how to live with it.

We had not even once approached his injury in such a finalistic fashion. The look on his face brought a train through my heart. I was stunned and shocked at
what I had heard. I am sure it’s hospital procedure and there is some liability as well, but a conference with the family prior would not have taken that long.

A nurse cam in telling me it was reporting time. I wanted to scream “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! THIS ASSHOLE JUST TOLD ME SON THE WORST THING EVER AND
YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE?”

I put it off as long as I could, I went to him and told him “this is thinking form the last decade. We are not thinking like that. We do not believe it”

Then they made me leave for 90 minutes.

In the waiting room I call my mother, my best friend and text Loni. I am in a panic this guy has freaked him out and shut him down before we even started.

After a few minutes my phone rings. It’s my principle. Fortunately my work location has made it possible for me to function without worrying about work.

He tosses a wrench into what I thought was taken care of. “You need a Dr. note for you own health, not your son’s. It has to be worded like that.”

“I’m on it.” I say without thinking. “I’ll talk to the neurosurgeon tomorrow.”

He gives me the name of the HR representative he has been talking to and offers to talk with her himself. “No, I need to.” He agrees it is often helpful to talk to people personally.

I hang up and it takes a few seconds to realize. No neurosurgeon is going to write me a Dr note to excuse me from work due to my illness. I have no illness requiring neurosurgery. The only doctor I have is my gynecologist.

By then I am finally allowed into his room. I look at those big brown eyes staring at me, asking if it’s true. I reiterate, we do not believe that.
“Your brain needs to relearn. It’s going to take time. The nerves are being stimulated, but your brain does not know where they are from. It hasn’t information in that way before. No one knows exactly how things work. We are not going to give up.”

He seems to calm down. “We don’t want you to stay this way.” He agrees. “We are going to work hard to get you better.” My husband comes in. We can see he is exhausted.

Another nurse comes in. “there are some girls out there to see him.” My husband goes to check and one of his friends, Chy comes in and comforts him.
We talk about his recovery and she talks to him a bit about friends stuff.

While they are chatting, another nurse comes in and tells me there is someone on the phone calling about Colin;’s condition, asking me if I want to speak to them

I agree and ask who it is. “He didn’t say. Just that he was a friends and helped pull him out of the car.” My heart stopped. So he was pulled out, moved by a well meaning person. Moved with all of his cervical vertebrae fractured. Moved so the damage was possibly worse..

Colin heard as I quickly went to answer the phone. I so baldy wanted to ask this person what he was like, how he seemed when they found him. But he had hung up.

I went back in and acknowledge to Colin, yes, someone moved him. And I admitted it did his injury no good. However, it was done with good intentions and a belief they
were helping. There is no blame here, just acceptance that a series of events, from a small drainage inches from the side of the road, an embankment on the other side
perfect for launching, a tired young man driving with his friend to the store, within the speed limit, and people eager to help. All came together in a way that left my boy paralyzed.