Counting our Blessings 11/26/13

  Even though it doesn't look like we'll make it home to BrightWood for Thanksgiving this year, we have much to be thankful for.  You're alive and strong. Your lid is intact and in place where we desperately want it to stay.  And tonight you are back with us, resting quietly while Ziggy Marley sings for you and the ICU nurses.  

But you gave us all a huge scare this morning, Forrest.   It must have been terrifying for you, not knowing what was happening or why or if the seizures that took control of your body would  keep coming.  "Stay with me. Find my eyes. Hold on. You are strong. You're safe. We won't let anything happen to you." I try to reassure us both. Between the seizures you drift somewhere far away.  You can't  focus, find my eyes with yours. or squeeze my hand.  Then the monitors scream again as the next seizure overtakes you, your temperature soars to 104.4 and your heart rate hits 195. I feel the wild palpatations with my hand resting on your chest. How fast can the human heart race?  The room fills with doctors, residents, PAs and nurses. Many familiar faces from your prior visits.  We can see the concern on their faces as questions fly between them and orders are given. Ativan IV releases your muscles from the seizures' grasp. And you drift away again. You are transfered to ICU for closer observation where a well meaning nurse, unfamiliar with our Team Forrest culture, tries to gently escort me to a waiting room. Sorry this MaMa Bear is not leaving your side.  Fortunately for both of us, nurses who have shared long nights with your team appear to reassure her that we will help rather than hinder your care. For hours your Pops and I sit by your side watching the monitors, telling you stories, mostly of your escapades with Austin, your amazing recovery, and reading to you dozens of messages from your family and friends. You can't move your arms or legs. Or respond to us or your nurses.  You can't speak.  

That was the most frightening time.  We felt the terror of loosing you again. Thankfully,  CAT scans and blood tests ruled out the worst possibilities. Blood cultures are still pending, but the doctors believe now that your body's reaction to all of the surgical manipulation resultied in high fevers causing the string of seizures. As the Ativan wore off, you began to stir and all of a sudden you stretched , yawned and opened your eyes looking right into mine like "where have you been?"  You squeezed my hand and my heart soared. Your nurse stepped back into the bay and was startled to see you gazing back at her.  We were both thrilled to hear you whisper your name. You are our Come Back Kid.  Sweet Dreams, Champ. Tomorrow we will give thanks again. 

With love and gratitude for the many family members, friends, caring nurses and skilled doctors who collectively got us through this day.  God bless. 

Mum