Tuesday Afternoon

Monday was a good day. I had flown back into town Sunday night in time to go and be with Dad for a while. We watched the Red Sox sweep the Yankees, which I didn’t like, and then we watched the highlights of the NASCAR race from Sunday. Caleb, Dad’s NASCAR-loving grandson, has influenced his grandfather and father to pay attention to the sport, especially Jeff Gordon and Jimmie Johnson. They didn’t fair as well as we would have like, but the Carl Edwards crash was dangerously entertaining. Dad seemed to enjoy the company and the highlights. I certainly appreciated seeing him again.

I had flown home for the weekend. Erik and Erin had driven down. They helped Mom and Dad settle into their new facilities. We are very pleased and very thankful with both so far. It is such a blessing not only to know my brother as brother, but also to know him as a best friend. And his sweet wife – we both over-married. Jen and I are thankful to be walking through all of this with them, and with all of you.

Monday morning began with “Westbank” traffic. I google-mapped my way to West Jefferson Hospital in Marrero. When I found Mom, she was asleep. Just so you know, she still is doing that more than anything – sleeping, resting, much like when she was in a coma. The difference, thankfully, now is that every now and then when you try to wake her, she actually wakes up. Sometimes for a minute or so. Sometimes for a little longer. I was with her for about 2 hours and 15 minutes yesterday morning. Sum total during that time we interacted approximately 20 minutes.

By “interacted” I mean she opened her eyes and looked into mine. Her expression, while still very much not her usual look, demonstrated that she recognized me, even with my new beard. I asked her if she liked it. She actually nodded. Between periodically slipping back off to sleep and intermittently returning to the conversation, Mom “conversed” (you might say) without saying a word. I tried to ask questions that only required a blink or a nod or a movement of the toes. She did move her toes on her right foot when I asked her to move her feet. Not her left foot. When I asked her to move her hands, she didn’t. Can’t do that yet. Hopefully soon. Hopefully she will again.

What killed me as her son and yet cause me to rejoice objectively all at the same time was when she was listening to Abby on the phone. Our two-year-old and Mom have spent a lot of time together. I called Jen while I was in the room with Mom just to give her an update. I asked Mom if she wanted to “talk” to Jen (that’s code for listen since she is not speaking yet). She nodded her head. Jen spoke to her over the speaker phone. Mom seemed to appreciate it, listening intently. Then I asked Mom if she wanted to “talk” to Abby. She nodded again. Abby got on the phone.

“Hey Ammaw…hey Ammaw!!! Is she derr? You derr Ammaw? I wuv you. Come over, ok!”

I told Jen I would call her back. Upon hearing Abby, Mom began to convulse, as though sobbing uncontrollably. She teared up. I supposed she was crying and gently stroked the left side of her shaved head and tried to calm her down. I told her I was sorry for making her sad. After she calmed, I asked her if that was okay that she “talked” to Abby. She nodded. I quit crying, too, and rejoiced inside that Mom had reacted emotionally like she did. She is still in there, even though her body is not responding yet like we hope it will.

Mom had a very busy day. Not only did she respond to some of the visitors who came and interacted with and sang over and prayed for her, but she also went through a series of procedures. The doctors at her new facility wanted to recheck everything. Mom had another CT on her head. Both arms were x-rayed. A new central IV line was placed. She had respiratory treatment several times during the day. They ordered her a special bed. Her staples were removed from the large incision on the right side of her head. They took blood and urine for cultures and brought “infection control” into the picture to monitor her. The therapists came and worked with her some with range-of-motion exercises. And she got a little morphine. She has had very little pain medicine this whole time since the accident. She has only been sedated for procedures. For her to need pain meds and to be sedated for them to place the central line was actually a positive sign of progression.

We are thankful. Test results on all that stuff should be communicated with us today, tomorrow, and Thursday. I will let you know.

Dad had a really good day. He woke up to breakfast in bed (he’s getting spoiled with that). He fed himself, although with his right hand since his left arm is still healing (he’s left-handed). He put on his “superhero” T-shirt that Erin got him over the weekend (he and mom both are superheroes to us). And the therapists came and got him for therapy.

They worked him hard, he said. For about an hour and a half. He was sore by the afternoon, but happy about it.

I got there to see him close to lunch, Decaf Tall in hand, after I had left Mom’s place. Some friends brought lunch, special for Dad. it was soooooooo good. Yummy country cooking. After lunch, we talked and visited for a while. He shifted back into bed for a nap. I headed to sip some coffee at Starbuck’s (just across the street from his place, which is pretty cool) and bring him back his afternoon latte.

When I returned, we slid him out of bed into his wheelchair, and I took him for a walk. Outside. He said the sun felt good. Clouds rolled in, and rain rhythmed on the tin roof of the awning under which he sat. He likes that a lot. And I so enjoyed seeing him relax and smile the way he did.

“That rain smells and sounds so good,” he said. It was refreshing, for the ground and for Dad.

He said he wanted La Madeleine for supper. Probably because it was in view across the street. But it has always been one of his and mom’s favorites. A “croque monsieur,”, which is a posh way to say ham sandwich. I called it in. I asked him if he wanted to sit there (wheels locked of course) while I went over and picked it up. I trusted him to be good.

He wasn’t.

It was no big deal in the end. I was only gone for like 5 minutes. But while I was acting as his French catering service, he was overcome with Napoleon-Like courage (although a bit taller even sitting down), unlocked his wheels (somehow), and began to wheel himself along the sidewalk with one hand. Thankfully it was level. I know where I get my sense of adventure from, I guess. He is such a determined, stubborn, impatient, gracious, fierce, tender man. I love him.

Two friends arrived and sat with him while he ate and conversed for a while afterward. I headed back over to be with Mom. No response this time. Still sedated from them putting in the central line. So I sat with her for a while and left to let her sleep.

Uncle Danny, who had so kindly given Erik and Erin Hornet’s playoff tickets on Saturday, was able to grab two for me. Dad heavily encouraged me to go. I thought it would be fun and a bit of an escape. I tried asked three friends here to go with me, but all three were busy with family plans. I got there about 7:30 just in time for pre-game announcements. I befriended the two guys sitting next to me. One of them actually had a friend who was starting a church in Orlando near where we did. Small world – crazy. Gonna check in on the guy he told me about when I get back to see if we can connect.

Anyway, right before the tip, someone grabbed me from behind. It was one of my youth ministers from high school growing up here! She and a friend were sitting right behind me and had an empty seat. That was a treat. Then, she introduced me to some people behind us whom she said had been praying for Mom and Dad since the accident. Their compassionate concern overwhelmed me.

I am amazed at all the people who are praying and caring. We can’t thank you enough.

Oh yeah – Hornets actually set a new NBA playoff record last night. I was so happy to be there! They got beat down by 58 points, tying the largest loss margin in playoff history. Great record to hold! Seriously, it was a blast. A great escape. Thanks Uncle Danny and Stan. I really appreciate it.

So, here’s hoping today goes well and all the tests come back showing progression. God has so shown Himself as near and active in all of this. Through all of your love and through awakening Mom and through healing Dad so rapidly.

Please keep praying. Dad is beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel with regard to his neck collar and not being able to walk. Mom has a very long road ahead. I pray that she will have complete ability to hold her grandchildren again. I pray that dang SUV didn’t steal that from her. I will be thankful, though, to simply see her do more than “talk” to Abby. I pray we will see Mom smile as she actually talks to Abby. I pray we will see Abby’s beautiful smile that mirrors Mom’s when she tells her face-to-face, “I wuv you, Ammaw.”

Can’t wait…

By the way – I think Erik is an amazing writer. I look forward to reading his next post. I love you, Bub.

OH YEAH – pretty amazing weekend home with my family. If you want to read a post and see a small video about my precious weekend with my family, http://jasoncdukes.wordpress.com/. Special visit to EPCOT. Awesome celebration of how “My God Is So Big” at worship gathering. Hope you enjoy it. Love y’all.

Be sure to go to Jason’s blog and watch the video and read the post.