#miracle
2 minute read
learn, re-learn, repeat
We were on the 5th floor stroke unit for 5 days. Those days were filled with occupational, speech and physical therapy, naps, and for me, finally, spending nights at home. John's dad and brother stayed in his room on a full-size rolling bed and I was able to go home late at night and return in the morning. The hospital is only 15 minutes from our house so although I was hesitant to leave I very much needed the calm of our home, my husband's support (and cooking!) and an actual bed. On one of the first afternoons I drove home from the hospital, I was in a daze at the wheel (probably not the smartest move) trying to process everything, which was still so difficult. I was sitting at a red light and looked out my window to see an incredible rainbow bright in the dark-ish spring sky. It felt like a colorful hug from above and it was the first time I sensed a tinge of solid hope that things might turn out ok. There was nothing logical to indicate that things could possibly turn out ok, but I knew it was a sign that I wasn't alone, and neither was John.
John's eyes started focusing more and he started tracking movement and conversations. It was like he was somewhere between slow motion and neutral. But not in reverse anymore, so we were ecstatic. We got into a bit of a rhythm between therapy sessions, tests, meals and naps. One of the most critical tests happened on the second day on the 5th floor - a barium swallow test to see if food would go down to John's stomach or to his lungs - so far he was only allowed to have applesauce and thickened water or nectar which was a goopy substance that didn't satisfy thirst and was, according to John, "stupid sweet" so he wouldn't drink it. Such a simple thing as thirst, and a very sore throat seemed like welcome problems at this point so we just waited for the swallow test to take us to the next phase in the recovery process.
Speech therapy included writing in a notebook - John's first few attempts at writing were approximately a second-grade level but gradually improved to where he could write down what he wanted to order for his meals and then, after re-learning how to dial a phone (something he probably hadn't done on a land-line in 10 years!) and give the kitchen his name and room number, he could read what he'd written, which seemed incredible and hopeful - reading and writing!
But even the smallest thing like putting on socks was almost impossible and completely exhausted him to where he would get up the strength to sit up, put on the ugly grey hospital socks using a long gripper/claw tool that looked like something from the "as seen on TV" store, then sleep for 30 minutes before Samuel or one of the other physical therapists came to get him upright and practice with the walker.
He re-learned how to tell time on an analog clock, how to add and subtract simple numbers and finally, began to remember where he was after waking up. This was a positive sign but we noticed that as he realized where he was and why he was there, he seemed to be very sad and only talked if he was asked a direct question. One of his nurses said it was normal for a person to feel depression when they've had a traumatic brain injury, so we tried to keep as "normal" of a routine as we could in that completely un-normal environment, and hoped that the swallow test would tell us that he could graduate from applesauce to some real (hospital) food - a major move forward.