Mike Day 15 Forward: Rainy Day Impressions

June 11, 2011

Family, Health, Mike

It’s early.  I’ve been up for an hour, since 5, awakened by the pups who were sure it was time to go out.  Somehow they hadn’t realized it was raining buckets…and they don’t like the rain.  Awake for nothing.  SIGH.  I lay here in the semi-dark hoping the light from the pc and the tapping on the keyboard won’t wake Mike.  Why?  Well, because it’s too early for me to begin the craziness that so often accompanies brain injury recovery.  And because he’ll be  When the craziness always reaches new heights. 

I watch him sleep in the light coming in from the window and I’m struck by the fact that asleep, he looks no different than the man he was on February 17 before the arrest.  No different than the man I married so many years ago.  In fact, 31 years ago on Tuesday, my calendar tells me.   Mike, however, thinks it’s six or twelve or eighteen.  When he can remember.  I know that when he wakes up, the reality will be far from the sleeping image I see before me.

Last night was pretty bad from a confusion perspective.  It caught me off guard.  For a couple days Mike was pretty much Mike in many ways.  Still injured, but still Mike.  After a long day of therapy yesterday, up early, then a visit with his sister in the afternoon, he was bushed last night.  Unfortunately that means confused and unable to sleep all too often.  In truth, yesterday was not the best day right from the start but the evening was the worst.  Every closet, cupboard and drawer has been searched.  For what we are not sure.  He got up out of bed to go to bed.  Upstairs.  But we don’t sleep upstairs.  Who knows where he was heading.  The dog, who loves to sleep right on top of Mike and always did, put himself in harm’s way during this particular night when I awoke to hear him snarling in a strange way.  Apparently he had gone to sleep right on top of Mike, who apparently didn’t like it…and was trying to get him off.  With his hands pulling on the dogs head/neck.  He couldn’t see, it was dark…and the dog doesn’t recognize the whisper that Mike’s voice is when he’s telling him “off”.  Then there was the trip to the bathroom…which wasn’t the bathroom at all.  It was the laundry tubs.  At least with a bigger target area there was no need to scrub that floor afterwards.  Sometimes he remembers I’ve told him I love him.  Sometimes not.  Most times he thinks I do and hopes I do.  The good news is that the clear times are greater than the really confused times.  I can only hope that this means the good times are increasing as his brain rewires and soon I can hope to see some steady and regular good times. 

Today we’re turning the bed so that he is forced to lay on his side if he wishes to watch TV.  I’m fretting over the amount of time on his back relative to pressure on the bedsore.  I want that thing healed up.  They discovered a couple colonies of MRSA in the wound on culture…and yes, he’s colonized from the vent acquired pneumonia and showing no signs of overt infection and is on an antibiotic.  But I know what’s possible.  I’ve seen how quickly sepsis can happen.  I want the wound closed.  I still feel vulnerable.  The heart that cannot be operated on is enough vulnerability.  We didn’t come this far for nothing….

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