So Many Things

David continues to improve little by slowly.  Yesterday they moved his feeding tube from his mouth to his nose, so his mouth is now completely unencumbered by wires and tubes.  They also removed his neck collar and his lung drainage tube.  Piece by piece his body is regaining and regulating its own functions.  The physical therapist came and was very optimistic about his potential to return to full functionality.  There is talk of moving him out of the ICU in the near future.

I visited with my midwife today, the same one that attended the home births of our two babies.  The plan for baby #3 to be born at home is very much in question now.  During the labors and births of the first two David was my rock and my confidence.  He was the reason I was able to fully trust in and surrender to the process.  He held that space for me and I knew I could fully enter “labor land" because he was there to watch over me, to be with me.  I feel safe when I’m with him.  And now. . . . what his condition will be when the baby comes is still such an unknown.  And I just don’t know if I can do it without him there.  I will probably have to plan for several contingencies and decide what to do when the time comes.  It’s just so hard not to know.

Yesterday the kids came to visit again, by my daughter’s request.  When David saw her. . . he smiled!!  For the first time!  And I cried, but I tried not to cry too much, because happy tears are hard to explain to a 4-year-old.  When I helped him reach his hand up towards her he tickled her arm with his finger.  The love and longing on his face was really unmistakable.  When he saw J he raised his eyebrows at him and rubbed his little hand with his fingers.

It was nice for us to just hang out in the room with him for a little while and give the kids time to look him over really well and ask some questions about him.  I don’t have the answers to all of their questions.  And I don’t know if/when/how to tell them that there may be some things about their Daddy that will never be the same.  And I worry about them.  I worry that they are having trouble processing what’s been going on, that I am compounding the issue by being absent for such long stretches of time, that their emotional needs are not being filled.

I feel the mantle of responsibility that David and I used to share resting squarely on my shoulders and mine alone.  All the decisions that must be made about all aspects of our family’s life and David’s medical care.  But along with the heaviness of it all I feel reassurance that I can be guided, that my decisions can be wise as I allow myself to be open to and rely on the inspiration that can be available to me if I seek it out.  And I feel very keenly the support and love and willingness to help that have been extended to me by family, friends, strangers, making it all bearable.  This would certainly be beyond me without all of that spiritual and physical assistance.

And, while I rejoice and wonder at the truly miraculous progress David has made, I also have had periods of panic and depression equal to or greater than those I had when he was still comatose.  The elation of seeing him awake, moving, alive gives way sometimes to new depths of fear and worry.  Visions of all the different what-ifs of our future together come pouring in through the cracks and threaten to crush me with their hopelessness.  In these bleak moments (or hours) I find it almost impossible to willfully cast out the fear, to turn away from all the potential negative outcomes and have faith in something good ahead.  And so I cry.  And I pray.  And when it’s over I refocus on all the good that is already here.  All the blessings we have already received and all the promise of what may still lie in store for us.  And I am trying to choose to believe in that, instead of despair.