Thursday Night

I feel much better. I would much rather be fending off people than the alternative of having no one show up. There's no doubt how much this big guy is loved.

He was sweating alot tonight. His temp was 102.1 when I left. He is covered with antibiotics, but the infection-wherever and whatever it is- is in it's early stages. His nurse pointed out it could also be his brain not being able to maintain his temp appropriately as well.

We sat down with Dr. Serious again today. I swear this man has like no bedside manner. He's very serious all the time. It's hard enough with the tension in the room during these meetings. Someone makes an effort at some light humor and this Doc just stares at you. Like you suddenly randomly spoke French. Then he proceeds to tell you that you are not funny. But, he's a very smart man! Apparently rocket scientists are very serious people. But, he gives it straight. And right now, he says that what he said on Tuesday still stands. The CT scan from today is still a big fat mess. We knew that. Anyone have a rocket science degree in the house? Ok, my bad....moving on....

Dad's cranial pressures were at 16 tonight and even dipped down to 14 as I talked to him. The procedure to relieve pressure is in fact giving relief.

It doesn't change what damage has been done. And I guess that is the real question that will come out in the wash. What exactly are we looking at? We don't know yet. We may not get anything. It still hangs by such a fragile string. At any time, any single thing can go off balance and literally blow the whole process to pieces.

We know the odds. We know the battlefield before us. We stand with shaking knees watching the process unfold and hope and pray we are making the right decisions. Or as the head nurse told me tonight, there are no right decisions. There's just the best decisions we can make. No matter what we do there is frustration and guilt. For all intents and purposes, Allan never should/would/could have made it this far. So we just wait and we give it to the Creator that made this man. We put it in His hands. And we once again learn patience.

No one dares to hope. No one dares to give up. It's like we are stuck at this balance in between worlds. A gaping hole filled with love for this person just bleeds open from all of us. It's just sad and it hurts.

At best, there's a long haul ahead of us with grim results. Despite our asking in several different ways and to several different people...there is no slim chance....there is no possible way that this will end with the same man it started with.

I sat with dad a long time after Chris and Vicki left. If you've ever been in my shoes or close to in my shoes, you will understand what I say when I say that you learn really fast to fend off hope. Hope is a scary thing when your in my shoes. It can be heart breaking, over and over on a daily basis. So you stick with reality. You keep it simple and straight. I wish this case were simple and straight. It just is what it is.

I sat with dad. Everyone had left. The nurses changed shift. I held his hand and stroked his arm. I kissed his fingers, and found one stapled together. I guess it's minor in comparison but he damn near tore off the pinky on his right hand. His whole right arm is wrapped up awaiting surgery at some point. His left arm they say he won't be able to feel.

So I kissed his shoulder where there was a spot lacking wires and tape. I rubbed his little pot belly that was sticking out. I put my hand on his chest and felt his heart pounding away. We talked about his grandkids. We talked about so many people who have emailed me. We talked about families that I never knew. We talked about helmets and Harleys. We talked about his little dog who weighs two pounds and owns half my kitchen. We talked about love. My tears finally stopped pouring and I was able to just talk to him, and so I did.

I talked to the charge nurse when she came in to check on us. I talked to the Chaplin who showed up and prayed with us.

Dad's growing a little stubbly beard and it's kinda cute. I stroked his big ol chin ever so gently. And as I did he pulled his chin up and in...like he was going to make a face, and he coughed. I thought maybe I was too much so I went back to the hand that they say he can't feel...it's the only one somewhat free from injury. He coughed a couple more times with the whole chin scrunching thing. I know it's just a reflex and there is so much gunk in his lungs.

It still didn't make it any easier to fend off the dreaded hope.
I stayed a while longer and just loved him for who ever he is right now.
I put him back in the hands of God and sent my little self home.

Putting one foot in front of the other...
Randi Fay