A Little Reminder

Well, I'm back from my trip! Sometimes, I think that life shows us little signs, little reminders of just how amazing it can be.

When I arrived back at Charlotte-Douglass International, I was sort of down in the dumps. It was Sunday, and the parting words from the flight crew was a perfectly cheerful "Happy Mother's Day." Quite honestly, I felt a little jealous of those other people walking around the airport with their mothers or calling them to wish them well that day.

When all of this started, I sort of predicted my own timeline. In my prediction, Mom would be back with us, almost back to normal by the time Mother's Day rolled around. That obviously didn't quite work out, and as I was walking out of the airport, reality was coming crashing back in.

After lugging all my stuff back out to the remotest of the remote parking, I saw one of those strangely beautiful things that we often overlook.

This little plant was growing in the pavement right in front of the nose of my car. Perfectly ordinary, yet miraculous, all wrapped up in the same little leafy plant. There was pavement and parking lot as far as the eye could see, and yet here was this little piece of life. It had found some miniscule opening, and it had shoved through. It fought against the tough asphalt, pushing its leaves up into the sun and growing ever skyward.

It has been a tough two weeks and change, for everyone involved. Right now, we are sitting in what we've taken to calling our 'holding pattern.' Mom has recovered well from the procedures on her brain, and has had many of the invasive tubes and devices removed. She is still on the ventilator, although she is getting stronger. Her blood pressure and heart rate are strong, although they are still not quite consistent enough for the surgeons to feel confident about doing her back surgery.

Many people have asked us if she is awake yet. This is kind of a hard question to answer, and I often find myself stumped as to how to answer. She is awake - as in, not sleeping - for a good portion of the day now, but perhaps the better question now is how aware she is. She seems to latch on to things visually - when her nurses are close by, or Dad and I are standing next to her, she seems to watch us. But she is not yet following commands, such as squeezing our hands or blinking her eyes. This is one of the major stepping stones for patients with traumatic brain injuries, and we haven't quite reached it yet.

We think she is doing what we are calling 'reconnecting.' After being unconscious for a good bit of time and being in a pretty good haze of painkillers and sedation, we think her brain is figuring things back out. As we have mentioned, her doctors assure us that she is recovering well. While we want her to instantly wake up and start talking to us, the brain simply does not work that way. It's a slow and steady push toward recovery.

Like the little plant in the middle of the parking lot, she is going to push through to the sunlight again. Life will find a way through.