I just got home from the hospital now – we were there a bit longer because the doc wanted to chat to me. It is not great news. He is still on the ventilator, and they say it may take a bit more time before they can take the pipe out. He is awake, and it is very frustrating for him to be able to talk, and he gets quite anxious and frustrated trying to communicate with us. I have sent him all the love and wishes from everyone, and I know he appreciates it. I can see it in his eyes and face that he is beyond frustrated, and that I am not helping by being able to know what he wants. It is really difficult for everyone.
I was hoping he would be able to be without the pipe so at least he could talk, but we will have to wait a bit longer for that.
He has worked hard already with the physio, and is making strides in strength of his very limited arm movement, but at this stage, they say there is very little hope for his fingers to come back, and it will be a huge win if he can move his wrists. It is almost certain he won’t ever be able to walk.
The doc says we will have to do a tracheostomy to help him breathe because his diaphragm is half paralysed – but there are pros and cons to everything. It was quite a devastating conversation, and the doc will chat with him tomorrow to make further assessments and so we can begin to plan the way forward. If he has the procedure, he will not be able to talk. I have done some preliminary research and some people have been successful at learning how to speak, but it also has psychological implications as well as work-related ramifications, if he can get back to work ever, and I just don’t know what to do. The doc says he will chat to Colin about it tomorrow, but this is so far beyond anything I feel able to cope with, and not being able to be there when they chat about it – I just can’t. I don’t want to do this, and I want him back. I want him to not have had this accident, and more importantly, I don’t want to accept this change. I don’t like, and it is not fair. Life is not fair, but this seems particularly unkind.
I am angry. I am angry that the man who hit him didn’t have registration plates on his car and left the scene before giving his name and details. I am angry that it would appear that the witness didn’t give her name and number to anyone. I am angry that the dash cam was stolen and is not available for evidence. I am angry that from information we have, the man rammed Colin from behind quite deliberatively, and then just left. I am angry that Colin has to stay in the hospital unable to say what he needs. I am angry that the hospital is not close. I am angry that the rush hour traffic makes it very difficult and stressful to get to the hospital. I am angry that the visiting hours are restricted to half an hour, and hour, and an hour, three times a day. I am angry that I always feel like an impostor visiting Colin because I can’t help him. I am angry that I have had to be unsettled like this. I am angry that my life is going to change profoundly. I am angry that I feel guilty for being angry. I am angry for feeling bad that I want the man who did this to pay. I am angry because I don’t know how to do this, and how to support everyone in this house – never mind those others affected. But most importantly, I am furious that I feel incompetent and less than. I feel like I am not up to the job of being able to help the man I love more than anything in the whole world, and I am angry that I can’t read his mind to be able to help him. I am angry that it makes me feel like I am not good enough, and that I can’t magically just fix everything. I am angry for having to question myself and allow myself time and space to feel these emotions when it is not about me. I am angry that it is him instead of me, and that I am left to deal with it. I am angry because i feel bad for saying that. I am angry. And furious. And annoyed. And fuming. And indignant. And incensed that the world just carries on being mean and selfish people on the road. And that people park in selfish ways, and just don’t seem to care about others. Everyone except those who are supporting me. Of course.
This is just venting, and I realise that I am absolutely painting everyone with the same brush, but I am really scared.
I have never been here before and I don’t really know how to navigate this path yet.
I am so grateful for an enormous support structure, and feel like many people are holding my arms up.
Today I am grateful for brilliant hospital staff, Doctors, ICU Nurses, and the internet. I have been able to look up some info about a tracheostomy and it may not be the end of the world. It is just scary having a Doctor speak to you and tell you stuff that he wants to chat to your partner about tomorrow which will have huge ramifications (either way I suppose), and not be able to be there with your partner and talk about it calmly. I don’t know how he will be tomorrow when the Doc chats to him, and I wish I could be there.
It was Morgan’s birthday today. Happy birthday Morgan. Your Dad loves you so so much, and would have loved to be here today. Even more than we wish he could have been here with us.
I am also grateful for the new antibiotics that have brought his fever down from a boiling-to-the touch 39.9 to a much more manageable 37.8.
Once again, thank you everyone for rallying around us all – it is a privilege to be part of such a wonderful community.