Sunday evening I found myself alone with you playing music but it wasn't your normal death metal rock, I found a Christian station that played more Christian Rock and laid the speaker by your ear. Your regular nurse came in to check on you and all your machines. She ask what you were listening too, I laughed and told her it was Christian, that I even thought of putting on hick-a-billy country just to aggravate you enough to wakeup and tell me to turn that dam stuff off and shutup from my continuous talking. She laughed because she was the one who told me to talk to you all the time because you could hear me. She got serious and told me not to listen to bad reports about you just yet. That something tramactic happened to you and you have a brain injury from lack of oxegyn, it's called hypoxia, and usually when this happens the brain swells. This swelling can also give false reports when an EKG is done, swelled up tissue around nerves not firing correctly. She said to give it 3 days time for your brain to heal from swelling and at this time we'll see how things are going but for now let the stress go and embrace you because she has witnessed so many unexplained miracles in ICU that she would never take away someone's hope. I hugged her so fiercely at that moment and cried. She had tears in her eyes too. She knew how badly I needed hope.
Tuesday, September 21st I step out of your room to grab something to drink and to see the sunshine. It's technically the 3rd day since it was close to midnight when you were brought into the hospital so technically I don't count it. I don't stay gone long, I never do, I get back to your room and Rick and several friends and family were bouncing off the walls excited. Rick pinched your fingernail hard like we've witnessed the doctors do to test your brain reaction. Brain dead people don't feel pain, they don't react. When Rick pinched your finger you frowned and flinched. This was big, this was massive. You were also practically breathing on your own. The machine only had to finish your breath every 5 or 6 breaths. You were getting stronger. My hope meter was skyrocking, I felt I could breathe.
I was so encouraged by your progress that we decided to go home and sleep in our bed. I needed to see Aaron and Ariel, I needed to hug my other children and draw on their strength. I was terrified being 25 miles away but your night nurse promised me if you even hickup wrong she was to call me and I'd be there. I knew she would too because you had an amazing crew of nurses that changed shifts with others to ensure they were your nurses. I made sure they knew you were not just a number to them, they knew your heart and soul because I told them everything about you, I showed them videos, texts, Facebook posts, pictures, told them funny stories about your life. I humanized you to all of them including your doctor's. I know that's selfish of me because their jobs are so hard and they need to be somewhat detached or else every death would devastate them but this was you, this was my child and he is bigger than life. They loved you.
We got home and Ariel had a huge bump on the side of her forehead. She was left with Sarah while Aaron was at school and football practice. Apparently she wasn't watching her and Ari fell off a table she climbed up on and hit her head on a door frame but no one even noticed it until 2 days later. Sarah thought she was crying because kids cry. Ari never cries, Aaron never cried either. If my children cry they are hurt. From the size of the bump I wanted her checked out to make sure there wasn't a concussion. I've dealt enough with brain injuries and I needed to know my children were in safe hands. I told my mother that she was not to leave Ari with Sarah any more. I can't worry about this, I need to know she and Aaron are safe.
We talked to Aaron about his needs. He was 16 and a starter on the football team. It was homecoming week which is pretty important and busy. Since his wreck and having an injury that came close to preventing him from ever playing again, Aaron didn't miss a day of practice. He worked hard to get back to 100% and was leading the team in tackles and touchdowns. His dream was to get a scholarship to college for football then go into the NFL. Rick and I pretty much devoted our life to him achieving this goal so it was important to all of us, including you that Aaron stay in school, practice instead of camping at the hospital. I worry about him so much, he's so quiet and private like you. He loves you and knows you were going to follow him all the way to the NFL as his biggest fan. You said Aaron was your hero. Those are big shoes to fill. He says he's fine, practice is going good. He talks to Rick daily to give him run downstairs to keep focused.
It feels like a normal day at home, we shower, eat, play with kids, talk about how you are improving and that we are hopeful any day you will wake up. I even took pictures of Deagan and Izik laying on you hugging you just so I could show you when you wake up just how serious this all was. I never wanted you to forget. It felt so good to be laying in my bed that I fell to sleep quickly.
Around 2:30 am the phone rings. I'm drug out if sleep like a bolt of lightning struck me grabbing the phone. I know it's about you because it's the middle of the night and something feels off. Blood us rushing to my ears and that high pitch noise is back. I don't think I can breathe. It's dizzying.
Your nurse says first you are alive. She must have heard the panic in my voice when I said hello. She said that you have had a few complications and that she had promised me if anything changes shed call. Well something changed, she's calling. Your heart rate was skyrocking and no mater what they inject you with it's not going down. She's concerned this might be it and that I need to get back there. I tell her I'm on my way. I don't even remember dressing or anything. I'm just in the car again racing time.
Please don't die before I get there, please please please!!!
We arrive to your room and your nurse is injecting something into your IV. She tells me that she can't get your heart to regulate and that it's beating so fast she doesn't know how you are holding on. I can hear the machine and it's beeping fast. My head is screaming, I think your leaving me and I'm not ready, I'm holding my breath and the screams are getting so loud. I feel froze in place and I can't talk. I can't think, I'm looking at your beautiful face, your long curly hair and I'm remembering the day you were born. Your hair was so curly, your nose so tiny. You were perfect. You only weighed 7.6 and was 21" long. Your eyes kept going crossed trying to focus in on me when I talked to you, it was as if you reconized my voice. You had listened to me talk to you for 9 months before you took your first breath, you should know my voice above all voices. We are connected. You are my son. You carry my blood, my dna and the scar in your belly button where our life's connected as you were shaped and formed into the perfect little human that was placed in my arms on March 19, 1983. Suddenly I'm back in the ICU room where I had been frozen in place listening to the sound of the rapid heartbeat reaching 235, mine normally beats around 60. I move quickly, grab your hand and place it on your chest, wrap my other hand behind your neck and place my forehead against yours. "I'm here baby, it's OK, I love you, hang on, please just hang on"
The room grows so quiet as we listen to the steady rhythm of your heart rate coming though the machine as if there was never a worry in the world. Your nurse exhaled loudly and said "Well I guess he just needed his mama". I was smiling and wondered if that was it. I promised you that very moment I would not leave you again.
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