November 19, 2013
And now we are left to wait. Dr. Duong (your neurosurgeon) came in on the morning of the 18th and performed a spinal tab. Results showed no pressure build up or fluid buildup. He doesn’t know what happened. Your neurologist Dr. Copeland came in; he is without words as to the cause. Many doctors keep coming in and out and tests are beginning to be taken.
We wait, me for you to wake up, the others I do not know. I put your stuff toy next to you and put “I Love Lucy” on the TV. I have heard it said that the hearing is the last to go, so I keep talking to you. I tell you not to leave me, “to please come back” I hold out hope that you will. When your favorite shows are not on TV, I place headphones on your ears playing Bob Marley and Oldies but Goodies your other favorites.
I keep telling Monica how warm your hands feel, and I keep holding and rubbing them. We sit together all day and night on the 18 and the 19 and as word gets out, family and friends start showing up. Each time I go to stretch or take a break, I return and see someone new! I am usually gone less than an hour and I wonder how I didn’t pass them in the hall. I will only leave when Daddy George is there to watch you, but your aunts are there and I give Monica time alone and well as family members who show.
And we wait; and wait, and still you do not stir. You do not make a noise. You do not flutter an eyelash. You do not move. You just lay there sleeping, quiet. Do you know we are there? Are you waiting for someone to come? I keep thinking the minute you hear Uncle Paul’s voice (he is flying in from North Carolina) you will awake. We had spent our last vacation in September with him and had such a great time. Uncle Paul comes… you do not awake. Maybe it is your father Steven. He is coming in as soon as he can from West Virginia. You must have missed him, is he who you are waiting for. Your dad arrives… you do not awake.
We are told 48 hours is the number. If anything is to change, it will happen within 48 hours. 24 hours have passed without change. You are taken to get another CT scan. I walk alongside your bed and the nurse has to use a pump to keep oxygen flowing in you. Every other time you needed a Scan or Ultra Sound procedure, I, or daddy George, had to be by your side to comfort you and explain what was happening so you would stay still and quiet, most times the Dr. would need to give you medicine to put you to sleep; you would be scared and wouldn’t stay still. I offer and attempt to follow you in (out of habit) and this time, for the first time, I am told to just wait outside. I can understand, the nurse needs to be in my place to pump the oxygen, and I am unnecessary.
I have been at hospitals many times, I know to step away and not cause disruptions. We are allowed to stay with you 24/7 even during shift changes. You happen to be in the hospital during a very bad flu virus season, so security is tight. When others are asked to leave their family’s room, your nurse Camri pulls the curtain around us, until everyone has left the ICU/CCU area, and then comes and pulls the curtain back open. I am grateful, every moment is precious; my sympathy for the other families does not extend to me changing the situation for myself.
And I continue to wait. It must be Jim, you two were so close. He truly loved you and you loved him. Jim arrives and you do not awake. Jim prays for a miracle and we both look toward you, and… you do not awake. I smile at him and tell him … “if only a miracle would happen”… I am starting to understand you may not be coming back.
Tomorrow morning will be 48 hours. It will require 2 doctors signing off on that decision. Your sister and I will be with you all night, talking softly together, watching you. I am ready to act, just in case you open your eyes and want to pull that tube from your mouth. I continue to hold your hands, I enjoy the feel of them so soft, so warm. I will sleep holding them. Monica tells me later your hands did not feel warm to her, they felt cold and clammy. She said, the moment she saw you after we called her, she knew you were gone. I was blind to it all, I don't know if I didn't want to believe, or maybe you were with me, giving me the prolonged comfort of a little more time, before I had to say goodbye. All my love, Mother
And now we are left to wait. Dr. Duong (your neurosurgeon) came in on the morning of the 18th and performed a spinal tab. Results showed no pressure build up or fluid buildup. He doesn’t know what happened. Your neurologist Dr. Copeland came in; he is without words as to the cause. Many doctors keep coming in and out and tests are beginning to be taken.
We wait, me for you to wake up, the others I do not know. I put your stuff toy next to you and put “I Love Lucy” on the TV. I have heard it said that the hearing is the last to go, so I keep talking to you. I tell you not to leave me, “to please come back” I hold out hope that you will. When your favorite shows are not on TV, I place headphones on your ears playing Bob Marley and Oldies but Goodies your other favorites.
I keep telling Monica how warm your hands feel, and I keep holding and rubbing them. We sit together all day and night on the 18 and the 19 and as word gets out, family and friends start showing up. Each time I go to stretch or take a break, I return and see someone new! I am usually gone less than an hour and I wonder how I didn’t pass them in the hall. I will only leave when Daddy George is there to watch you, but your aunts are there and I give Monica time alone and well as family members who show.
And we wait; and wait, and still you do not stir. You do not make a noise. You do not flutter an eyelash. You do not move. You just lay there sleeping, quiet. Do you know we are there? Are you waiting for someone to come? I keep thinking the minute you hear Uncle Paul’s voice (he is flying in from North Carolina) you will awake. We had spent our last vacation in September with him and had such a great time. Uncle Paul comes… you do not awake. Maybe it is your father Steven. He is coming in as soon as he can from West Virginia. You must have missed him, is he who you are waiting for. Your dad arrives… you do not awake.
We are told 48 hours is the number. If anything is to change, it will happen within 48 hours. 24 hours have passed without change. You are taken to get another CT scan. I walk alongside your bed and the nurse has to use a pump to keep oxygen flowing in you. Every other time you needed a Scan or Ultra Sound procedure, I, or daddy George, had to be by your side to comfort you and explain what was happening so you would stay still and quiet, most times the Dr. would need to give you medicine to put you to sleep; you would be scared and wouldn’t stay still. I offer and attempt to follow you in (out of habit) and this time, for the first time, I am told to just wait outside. I can understand, the nurse needs to be in my place to pump the oxygen, and I am unnecessary.
I have been at hospitals many times, I know to step away and not cause disruptions. We are allowed to stay with you 24/7 even during shift changes. You happen to be in the hospital during a very bad flu virus season, so security is tight. When others are asked to leave their family’s room, your nurse Camri pulls the curtain around us, until everyone has left the ICU/CCU area, and then comes and pulls the curtain back open. I am grateful, every moment is precious; my sympathy for the other families does not extend to me changing the situation for myself.
And I continue to wait. It must be Jim, you two were so close. He truly loved you and you loved him. Jim arrives and you do not awake. Jim prays for a miracle and we both look toward you, and… you do not awake. I smile at him and tell him … “if only a miracle would happen”… I am starting to understand you may not be coming back.
Tomorrow morning will be 48 hours. It will require 2 doctors signing off on that decision. Your sister and I will be with you all night, talking softly together, watching you. I am ready to act, just in case you open your eyes and want to pull that tube from your mouth. I continue to hold your hands, I enjoy the feel of them so soft, so warm. I will sleep holding them. Monica tells me later your hands did not feel warm to her, they felt cold and clammy. She said, the moment she saw you after we called her, she knew you were gone. I was blind to it all, I don't know if I didn't want to believe, or maybe you were with me, giving me the prolonged comfort of a little more time, before I had to say goodbye. All my love, Mother
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