Dad is over the first major hurdle; getting off of life support. We've told him about his injuries, and he seems to understand his predicament. With that, he also doesn't like the state he's in. This is where it's going to get rough for all of us.
Before the accident, although a brilliant engineer, dad spoke monosyllabicly. He said only what was precisely needed to convey his message. He's now speaking like the inner geek he's kept hidden. Instead of "What?" we get, "I do not know what it is that you mean by that particular statement." I love it.
This week they intend to get him up and walking with a little help. He's looking forward to the docs removing the tracheostomy gear, so he can breath like a human again, instead of Darth Vader. I enjoy the way he sounds and intend on recording his voice with that one way valve on his neck.
Now we're preparing for the tough part, and that is re-introducing ourselves to this new man, and then slowly re-introducing him to himself. There are certainly hints of dad rattling around in his noggin, and we hope for the best possible outcome in his recovery.
What I haven't yet shared with you, is the fact that due to the contusion, or hemotoma, or hemorage, or other big medical word for "bruise", he has had a small portion of his frontal lobe removed. What he has lost with that, none of us know, nor will know for some time.
On the first evening we were summoned back into the depths of the hospital. It was a long way, and no one was keeping pace with the nurse who called for us. I put my arms around my mom and said "Hurry." I knew whatever it was, needed our immediate attention. Dr. Yeh walked out and bluntly said, "If we don't open Wayne's head immediately, he will die."
Lucy, my mother, took a deep breath and replied, "Just to clarify, if you do not do this surgery, he will die. He may also die from the surgery itself."
"What do I need to sign?"
My mom rules.
That evening was the worst. The surgeon wore his emotions on his face, and it obviously wasn't promising before or after the surgery. He was quivering when he told me about the gray matter that needed to be removed.
The next morning my mom and Esha ran into him at the cafeteria. Yeh was bouncing around and smiling... Wayne is doing remarkably well today yadda yadda yadda... That was the first good day of many we've had, and hopefully many more to go.