Every day we went to the hospital, only missing a handful of days over 6 months. It was hard in the beginning….the not knowing if she would survive day to day. Everyday was met with anxiety of even arriving at the hospital as they do not actually call you if your loved one passes during the night, they wait for you to come to the hospital the next day or call you in the morning.
Once inside the ICU, every beep, every alarm was an imminent threat…a threat that her life continued to hang in the balance…..A threat that we might still lose her. Watching the ventilator breathe for her, watching the ICP monitor fluctuate with the pressure in her skull, watching her blood pressure rise and drop without warning….all were constant reminders of how precious and fragile life is.
You start to replay past conversations in your head, you remember all the frustrations, all the cross words and all of a sudden those frustrations become so irrelevant….Irrelevant to life and to love. In those beginning moments of watching and waiting over our mother we were both terrified. We hardly ever expressed it verbally to each other as siblings, but the worry on our faces didn’t need verbal recognition.
I remember a day early on, I collapsed at the elevator after my visit, hysterically crying because my feelings became too overwhelming and unbearable. I didn’t feel she was going to make it, it felt grim, she wasn’t waking up, she wasn’t making as much progress as I had hoped…I remember my brother being there to catch me and holding me up as I verbalized every fear I had between hysterical sobs…he held me and reassured me that she was indeed going to make it, but brain injuries take a long time. We definitely took turns being the strong one, but he was my rock more days than I was his.
As the days wore on and she continued to improve in the slightest ways, we watched the monitors slowly go away….she was finally stabilizing. I remember breathing a sigh of relief when we realized she was breathing on her own, and it was really the first time I had allowed myself to be hopeful, that I actually believed Matt could be right, that she was going to be alright. We talked to her every day, we reminisced about funny stories or funny things she’d say to us, we’d tease her like we always had and we’d tell her jokes, and tickle her feet. We would play classical music for her as we had heard that is helpful for coma patients.
Some days were definitely harder than others at the hospital but after 6 months, we are numb to the tax on our bodies and feelings. In just survival mode really, trying to keep a solid footing and supporting her.