Jan is back home!

Dear Jan, you are coming home!

It happened so swiftly, I found you looking out the window, searching the street to find me. You were dressed and ready to go. The nurses had provided a paper bag where you had neatly placed the rest of your belongings. With your blanket rolled carefully under your left arm, you were the living image of a camper ready to go camping. When you heard my voice, you turned with a big smile and quickly stood up by yourself, you pointed to the bag and told me that everything was already packed. When I told you that I would double check the drawers, you rolled your eyes and said: Oh, brother!…we already did that. I went to ask the nurse if we needed any other paperwork before leaving the hospital, but Jan was really ready –all you needed was in your bag, I felt sheepish. We thanked the nurses for the excellent care you received during the two months you were there, and then, we marched towards the elevators, I was carrying the bag in one hand and the radio on the other; you were walking alone with your blanket under your left arm and a big smile on your face.

The rest happened very quickly and unceremoniously; one moment we were talking in front of the elevators, the next we were driving down the parkway. Just like that, two months of our lives were left behind in that hospital. Graduation day, came without any fanfare, well, in fact, Jan was extricated from that place by a set of complex rules that try to send everyone home as soon as possible. You still have to work on the aphasia and apraxia for an unknown length of time. You still have to keep getting physiotherapy to strengthen the atrophied muscles on the right side of your body. You still have to train your brain to pay attention to the right side of your body – because you don't see it, visually it “does not exist” for you. You still have to keep up your determination to get well in spite of the frustration of not being able to communicate all of your thoughts. You have to want and believe that you will get your functions back.

So, today was not a graduation, but more of a rite of passage: you were in the hospital for 111 days. In that time, you went from a deep coma and from walking the thin line between life and death, to walking up and progressively recuperating functions and abilities to the point where you are now. This has been a strange stage in our lives. Jan and I are not the same. But we don’t know yet who we exactly have become. We know that we are more appreciative of life, of small things, we see time in a different way, we trust more, we open our hands with more ease, we are ready to love more readily. This has been a time of stretching and testing our minds, hearts, beliefs and concepts. Jan, you left the hospital with a smile. You were looking forward to going home. You took my hand and rested your head on my shoulder. It felt just like the old days –of last Fall.

The drive home was scorching. The heat wave had broken another record. By the time we arrived home, you were exhausted and hungry. We went to get your medications and to buy some food because you have to eat exactly at 6pm –dinner time.

Jan, you are back home! This afternoon we initiated another stage of our lives. Please remember us in your prayer, we will need all the support we can get.

Fede

Tuesday Notes

When I called you this morning, I was surprised by the clarity of your conversation. You were really joyful and full of expectation, I heard the exuberance of someone who is getting ready for a graduation prom. You graduation from this hospital is tomorrow.

Then, I found you resting when I arrived in the afternoon. I went for my appointment with the social worker while you stayed in your room. You have two new neighbours, two oriental grandmas. I asked you what did you feel when you saw several of your previous roommates leaving and you stayed behind. You said that you had a feeling of dissapoinment of not healing fast enough so you could also leave. However, you realize the challenge that aphasia represents; you now well the frustration of not being able to communicate and the resulting loneliness and depression that can develop within these walls of limited expression. On the other hand, you also recognize the many friends that faithfully have continued coming to visit you. They have been very important in this struggle, and they will continue to be so.

We had dinner together by your bedside. You tasted my food, I tasted yours. It was a warm feeling of familiarity in a strange place. I have come to see this as a normal occurrence. It's been 110 days, almost four months since the last time you and I had dinner together at home. You felt nostalgic for those days and the sense of normalcy that has become a distant memory. While we ate, the other visitors and their relatives in the hospital also shared their meals. It was like being in a park sharing space with other people, all respecting the little privacy each can have and sharing the same feeling of gratitude mixed with the sadness that illness brings into our lives.

You helped me move to the car your plants and the extra clothes you had in your drawers. Everyone who saw you was ready to tell you farewell with a smile, then you corrected them by telling them that your last day is tomorrow. You were carrying your cloth bag and walking by yourself, while I was carrying several plants. You have progressed in your walking so much! I asked you what were you expecting the future, you said you wanted the functions of your R hand back as well as sight in the R eye. You are aware that your determination to "find" these functions in your brain are crucial, as well as you faith in the many words you have received that "all that is your will be restored"

I was very moved when I showed you the guest book where many people wrote messages for you. Tears were welling in your eyes when you read some of the messages. This is the first time you register in your memory these words, you had heard them before, but could not remember or understand them. You felt embraced and loved by the many who wrote some words in this book. For an instant, we felt back in the communities to which we belong.

You said you were ready to go home -and anxious because of the change-, a smaller paradox compared to what you have faced in the past few months. After the hygiene routine you got into bed and with a kiss, I left. There was an overwhelming sense of love and peace that neither of us can explain...

Fede

Back to Rehab

Because of paper work and hospital rules you were stuck at SB. When I arrived for a short visit on Saturday evening, I was surprised to hear that somehow the nurses had decided to get you ready for a day pass. So, I got a wheelchair for you and, in your hospital gown we left the hospital through the back door.

You had a relaxing Sunday. Your speech seems a bit garbled. I wonder if the medication to control seizures is affecting your speech. We will have to discuss this with the doctor. We spent most of the day in the backyard. Louise came with her family. You enjoyed the visit of little Christopher and a lively conversation with Sarah. Later, Steve and Sue came by. We went for some ice cream and then to a nearby park. It was a lovely day, and you enjoyed every bit of it.

We went back to SB Hospital in the evening. You were tired and with some pain in your abdomen. Your stapled-together head seems to be healing fast. It will be a matter of time before your scars heal completely and your hair grows back.

You said you felt fragile, and looked so. Even though you will soon be at home, there is still more healing to happen and I can see you are doing your part. The rest is beyond us.

I feel blessed by the happy time we had.

Fede

The story of Job

I saw you this morning sitting on our bed with a look on your face that screamed: Why I am here and not at the rehab class? The main nurse came to tell us that you will be back at the rehab hospital Monday at 10am, but of course, this wrecks your schedule, and you let the nurse know in no uncertain terms that this was not acceptable! For goodness sake, what has the world come to? How can they not see that you will miss your physiotherapy? Oh, brother....! And that Irish look was all over your face...

Well, not everything was this frustrating. You have had a good breakfast less the bread less than an hour before, but you went to the cafeteria with me anyway. We talked about my week at work, about the plans, about the lessons and about how much your story sound like Job's. Your face lit up with every connection we made between you experience and Job's, and every time you agreed that this was real "walking on water"; that living according to the kingdom's rules does not guarantee an easy path, that the only thing we receive to face the challenge is the certainty that He will be with us regardless of how terrible the storm looks. You are an awesome living example of someone being tossed into the storm, who keeps finding right underneath the wind and the waves an incredible peace in the certainty that you are carved in the palm of His hand.

You were quite interested on talking about coming home probably next week -that is if your healing is good-. We talked about the practicalities of everyday life. You were thrilled that I will spend more time with you. I saw you happy that I am also learning to trust His grace, and took the risk of getting out of the boat, if I really want to walk on water as well. Where will we live and what the living arrangement will be, we don't know, but you and I feel very calm and sure that everything will come into place as it should be.

We saw Dr. Schwartz going up in the elevator, you waved at him and he waved back with a smile. Too bad we didn't catch him to ask a few questions.

We went back to your room. You were happy until you saw again the nurse... Your face changed in a second. When the nurse saw you, she just walked in a different direction. Awh man! You are becoming Jan the terrible!

We wandered how your story will end...

Fede