Painfully Aware

I closed the previous post with the wonderful possibility of Brent leaving the ICU.

SATURDAY

At this point in the journey, he’d been at the hospital for 13 days.

13 days of uncertainty, pain, anxiety, and a host of other emotions.

Our daughter, 3 at the time, was amazing through all of this, but even the best have a breaking point.

So, with Brent improving, I began delaying our arrival times to the hospital so I had some time to pour into Sprite.

When we did finally arrive to the hospital, it was roughly lunchtime.

I caught our surgeon in passing where she relayed her delight in his progress.

This delight also included lessening his patient button for IV pain meds and approval to finally transfer out of the ICU.

Yay!

Another tangible step moving us toward normal.

However, Brent’s nurse was a little, well…spastic is what I wrote in the journal.

But, looking back I’d probably adjust that to energetic.

So, as soon as we received word transport was coming to move him, it was like a circus with everyone running around and gathering all the items.

One can collect a lot more than they realize in situations like that.

Anyway, our church Kids Director stopped by as this was happening, so I recruited her to help move us across the hospital.

When Brent arrived to his new room, PT came to get him moving again.

Unfortunately, Brent said one of the PT persons was a little too aggressive with him, and not allowing him a moment to work through the pain and kind of forced his legs over the side of the bed.

I kept watch during the following days to make sure the dude chilled out a bit.

Dude meaning the PT individual.

Following PT, Sprite requested hang time with her Papa Joe and Yaya (Brent’s parents).

But, as they were heading to the cafeteria, Sprite began to cry and cling to me.

This season was hard.

It was hard to feel the pull between spouse and child.

I really wanted to spend some time with Brent, just being with him, but our daughter needed some time too.

Following a few minutes of cuddles and reassuring words, she was ready to peruse the hospital with Yaya.

After I spent some time with Brent, I headed out to Walgreens for some busy activities for Sprite and a Starbucks coffee for me.

Apparently the barista was a little too intense for my taste, because I wrote in my journal, “the order guy was way too interested in my story.”

Listen, story time isn’t an option on the Starbucks menu.

So, pass.

Anyway, I made the super awesome mistake of purchasing a mermaid statute for Sprite to paint while in the waiting room.

This decision ended with some extra artistic accents in the waiting room, including her hair.

*shrug* whatever.

Upon my return, Brent had a steady flow of visitors, mainly family.

Sprite left shortly and attended a softball game with Yaya, where she met up with his cousin and aunt.

With this being around dinner time, I scurried home to await little miss’ arrival.

In my waiting I was able to get some cleaning done and spend a few minutes by myself.

Later, Sprite arrived, squealing, “mommy!”

I’m not gonna lie.

That felt good.

Soon after he left, Sprite and I headed to bed.

SUNDAY

It was Sunday.

Church day.

I was encouraged by Brent and our Kids Director to attend.

But, honestly, I had no desire to field questions.

I know the intentions were good, but I was overwhelmed already, and didn’t want to rehash all the things.

So, instead I grabbed breakfast with Yaya and Sprite and snagged Brent a couple of gifts at the store on our way to the hospital.

With it being the weekend, not much happened on the doctor front.

So, today ended up being increased visitors, many from family.

Some extra cuddle time from Sprite.

We also received a meal from a church member – I didn’t realize we had more meals coming.

So, it was a nice and welcome surprise.

On this evening at bedtime, Sprite reminded me that we didn’t pray for Brent.

Sprite prayed, “Thank you God for feeding me. Please help daddy get big better. Thank you, Amen.”

MONDAY

On this morning, Sprite and I just hung out at home a bit.

During this time, I received a text that the Dr on the floor said everything was looking good and they were moving him off IV pain medication and transitioning him to oral pain meds.

Yaya picked up Sprite and took her around town and I went to the hospital.

I arrived and Brent was in and out, watching TV and snoozing.

Him and I were the only ones in the room, and it was really nice to sit and talk with him some.

I wrote in my journal that I felt I was unraveling some from the drama.

But, that isn’t something I shared with Brent.

He needed to focus on healing and getting through one day at a time.

During this uninterrupted time, I gave him a wash down and helped him move to the chair.

After he sat down, he said, “I feel like I’m sitting on something hard on my right thigh.”

He was feeling the discomfort the pain drip kept at bay.

He was feeling the staples, the deep incisions, the tightness of closing, and a growing awareness of the road ahead.

PT also came this day and assessed him for a rehab transfer.

They had him complete some everyday movements.

This assessment gave complete approval for the rehab center.

As the day continued, his pain and irritation increased, and, honestly, I felt myself feeling a rising anxiety.

I didn’t write this in the journal, but as I’m rereading and writing, I’m washed over with the emotions of this exact moment.

I worried.

I didn’t know exactly what was ahead.

Would he always be in pain?

Would he ever really recover?

Would he need continued assistance at home?

What’s our next battle?

TUESDAY

I arrived this morning meeting Brent’s cousin and setting up Sprite for a fun time at the zoo.

As I did this, I received a text that the nurses removed two of his three drains and changed the dressing.

I’m sure you can imagine, any messing with his wound causes an increase in pain.

He was finally calm and sleeping when I opened the door to his room.

And that stupid door was ridiculously LOUD.

Of course that woke him up.

But, when he looked up and saw it was me, a smile spread across his face.

It melted me.

His dad was in the room, so when I came he meandered out for a bit.

I was able to sit with him and chat with Brent.

I missed it.

I missed just being near him, talking with him, and seeing little sparks of the person I know.

During this time, PT came and really made him get up and moving.

I assisted by standing down the hallway and giving him a kiss and encouragement when he reached me.

Following that, pre-approval came for rehab.

Finally.

I completely forgot, he also had a central line – these usually go into the neck, in the carotid artery, or just below your collar bone, giving quick access to IV meds.

Well, his was removed.

And, on top of that, his last drain was removed.

Then, to top it off, I stepped out of the room to grab something to drink, upon my return, Brent was up and moving without any assistance!

“What on earth are you doing?”

Later that evening, the surgeon came in one last time and gave her verbal discharge approval.

She said she was very pleased with your wound healing, “they’re healing wonderfully.”

I cried.

This road was long.

And, we weren’t done.

Following the surgeon, Brent had a host of visitors.

And, following the parade of visitors, transport came and transferred him to the in-hospital rehab clinic.

When we arrived, I looked around and became so upset.

The rehab room was plain, uninviting, and bland.

There was nothing about that room that would encourage anyone.

Unless you’re thinking is more, “the room looks horrible so you work harder to get away from it?”

I guess there’s merit in that thinking as well.

The beauty of this room came from Sprite.

She crawled up in the bed with Brent.

He was smiling.

She was smiling.

And you could feel the contentment from sitting next to her daddy.

It’s one of the more milestone moments of our journey.