One Voice

Christmas Letter 2011

2012-01-08T13:03:00.000-08:00

As I reflect on the past year, my heart is full of gratitude. Our year was not one of traumatic events and for that I am grateful. I think the year 2010 provided enough drama for a lifetime!

Paul continues to work for Wells Fargo and can honestly say he enjoys his job. It keeps him quite busy and on the move as he travels extensively for work, mostly from coast to coast although he does do a fair amount of overseas travel. He appreciates being able to run in San Francisco frequently during his lunch hour and still bikes when he can find the time. He and Christopher learned to sail in the San Francisco Bay this past summer and they are now both Skippers! They love their time on the Bay and look forward to many weekends of sailing in the future.

Nicholas is 25 and moved back to the states from Mexico City in August. He is now reluctantly living in Los Angeles where he works for VisionFund International as a Regional Field Representative. He enjoys his job and is grateful to be working full time in the field of Micro Finance and doing what he believes in. He also travels quite a bit but his job takes him overseas. He spent a month in Ethiopia and was in Cambodia for a week in early December. We love being able to see and spend more time with him now that we're living so close to one another!

Emily turned 18 on December 20th and is heavily into the college application process while suffering through her senior year of high school. The closer she gets to deciding on a college, the more anxious she is to move on and into that wonderful new world. She and Nick spent five weeks in Antigua, Guatemala this past summer where Emily and her friend Bailee studied Spanish every day at the same school Nick attended several years ago. It was a wonderful experience for all three of them and they were quite reluctant to have to return home.

Emily and Christopher spent a week on an Indian Reservation in Arizona with the church youth group during Thanksgiving break this year and thoroughly enjoyed the work they did while there. To say it was a life-changing experience for both of them would be an understatement. In a video that was put together from the trip, Emily said that she now knows that she wants to work with people living in poverty.

Speaking of Christopher, he is 15 years old and a freshman in high school. We received the wonderful news that his brain is fully healed from his injury! There is minimal damage to the left temporal lobe, which manifests itself in something called Aphasia. He makes occasional paraphrasic errors such as calling his calves 'cows' or calling t-shirts "TV's'. His brain will continue to develop until he is 24 years old, and during that time, it will hopefully compensate for these issues. He is doing great in school and was able to play soccer for the final month of the season. His personality is back in full swing and for that we are grateful. Christopher's recovery from his fall from that tree is truly a miracle and we are so very thankful to God for answering the many, many prayers that were said for him and for the wonderful doctors and nursing staff at Children's Hospital.

The year 2011 was quite a challenge for me as I continued to struggle with depression, but the light at the end of the tunnel is now showing itself. For those of you who are familiar with depression, it is a very dark and lonely place to be. It turns out my depression was a combination of the result of post-traumatic stress syndrome (Christopher's accident) and sleep deprivation (1-4 hours/night at most), which began on the first night of his hospitalization and continued for the next seventeen months. These two things combined manifested themselves in what was diagnosed in September of this year as Major Severe Depression with Sleep Deprivation. I was told that it would have been a miracle for me to escape depression after having experienced the traumatic events of 2010, including my own brush with death in December. I am now on medication that helps me sleep and alleviates the depression, and the fact that I am sleeping seems to be helping with my mood, thank the Lord. It's been a long and arduous road, but I have had the wonderful support of family and a handful of friends. They have lived through this deep, dark road of depression and were there when I needed strength, encouragement and support. I know God placed these people in my life for a reason and I will be forever grateful to Him and to them for being there for me.

This year Christmas feels different to me but it comes as no surprise. Between the traumatic events that took place in 2010 and the personal struggles I was facing with my depression and the darkness I was living in, I found myself on a quest; a quest to make my faith my own; to fully understand and embrace what I believed and why. Today my faith is in a God who is so much bigger than me. It all began when He came to earth as a baby and His purpose was to show us His love and to save us. This God is forgiving... He loved me even when I didn't believe I was worthy of his love. He is a God who waited patiently for me as I asked my questions; as I struggled to comprehend who He really is and how He can possibly know each and every one of us, down to the number of hairs on our heads. He is a God who placed people into my life over the past two years... I call them 'my angels here on earth' and I believe they were handpicked by God to show me His love; to teach me His ways and to set the record straight in my very confused and frustrated mind. But through my struggle to know this God, I discovered that He was always there, that He never let me down and that His love for me is eternal. I am so thankful for all that God has blessed my family and me with and also for our health in 2011. I look forward with optimism toward 2012 and may we all look back on this year, count our blessings and remember the reason we celebrate Christmas.

With love, Laura

Traffic School

2011-11-13T15:35:00.000-08:00

So a couple weeks ago on my way to pick up my son from youth group at 9:00 pm, I didn't come to a complete stop at a 4-way stop in my residential area. I slowed down and almost stopped. There was no one in sight. Except, of course the police officer who was hiding down the street. Long story short... he cited me. ME!!! Laura, who has never gotten a ticket or been cited for anything in the entire 34 years I've been driving. But he must have been in a bad mood that night so he gave me a ticket. That ticket came to $244.00. OR --- I can attend traffic school, pay $18.95 to take the 6-8 hour online course and THEN pay a fee of $296.00 to clear the citation. That, of course is what I've chosen to do because I must keep my record blemish-free! So... Fast and Stress Free online traffic school, here I come.

I Can Only Imagine

2011-10-14T18:12:00.000-07:00

For those of you who know me well, you know that I rarely speak of my faith on my blog. I never set out to do (or not) that; it’s simply the way things have played out. But today is different for I feel compelled to write. And the words that are flowing from my fingertips speak of my faith in a God who is so much bigger than me. This God is forgiving… He loved me even when I didn’t believe I was worthy of His love. He is a God who waited patiently for me as I asked my questions; as I struggled to comprehend who He really is and how He can possibly know each and every one of us, down to the number of hairs on our heads. He is a God who placed people into my life... I call them my angels here on earth and I believe they were hand-picked by God to show me His love; to teach me His ways; to set the record straight in my very confused and frustrated mind. But through my struggle to know this God, I discovered that He was always there, that He never let me down, and that His love for me is eternal.

Today an acquaintance of mine passed away. To put it more accurately, Frank passed into the arms of His waiting God. He is no longer in pain and he is finally at peace. Though I only spoke directly with Frank a handful of times, I always knew of him as a prayer warrior. He and his wife, Coralie dedicated their lives to praying for others and I will never forget speaking with Frank shortly after Christopher returned home from the hospital after his accident; hearing him tell me of the hours he spent on his knees in prayer for my child. For that I will always be grateful.

Though I am sad to know that Coralie is now left here on earth to carry on without her beloved partner, I can’t help but think of the joy that Frank is experiencing at this very moment. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that he is in heaven with God and I can only imagine what that must be like. There is a song by the group Mercy Me that has been playing in my mind all day long and I have always loved the lyric. It expresses so well what always comes to mind when I ponder the day I meet my God in heaven…

I can only imagine what it will be like

When I walk by your side

I can only imagine what my eyes will see

When your face is before me

I can only imagine

Surrounded by your glory

What will my heart feel?

Will I dance for you Jesus,

Or in awe of you be still?

Will I stand in your presence,

Or to my knees will I fall?

Will I sing Hallelujah,

Will I be able to speak at all?

I can only imagine

I can only imagine when that day comes

And I find myself standing in the Son

I can only imagine when all I will do

Is forever, forever worship you

I can only imagine

I can only imagine when all I will do

is forever, forever worship you

I can only imagine

Here's a link to the song if you'd like to give it a listen...
http://youtu.be/9La_4svq8JI

As much as I am grateful for what God has blessed me with here on this earth, I look forward to the day I will see my God face to face. But for now, I will continue to do my best to honor Him and be a faithful servant. Here’s to you, Frank… you will be dearly missed here on earth but I can only imagine the party that is taking place in heaven.

Letter to Chris from Dr. Newman

2011-09-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

Today Christopher received an e-mail from his PICU doctor while he was a patient at Children’s Hospital, Oakland 17 months ago after falling from a tree and sustaining a severe traumatic brain injury. The letter is so beautiful that I want to share it with all of you…

“Dear Chris, I am so proud of your achievements over the past year. Now I hear from your parents that you have passed or rather aced the sailing course and are a fully-fledged, certified SKIPPER. WAY TO GO MAN!!!!!. When I think of the defenseless young boy in the bed, coming out of your coma (as your Dad assured me you would), going on to Rehab and regaining your strength and thoughts almost faster than I could have dared to hope, I am proud to have had the chance to take care of you. We only provided the time for you to gain strength back and you and your family have done all of the hard work. KOL HAKAVOD, which means, "all of the honour" is due to you and your family. I pray that you will all go from strength to strength and that you will have many such successes. Please do keep me informed of ALL of your achievements, no matter how large or small. I look forward to seeing you and your family soon.
Your oh so PROUD Doc., Viv Newman PICU OAKLAND -- I hope that you might remember me a little.”

Knowing Dr. Newman and having the privilege of calling her friend is one of the blessings that came out of this unexpected traumatic experience and we will be forever grateful to her and the entire staff at Children’s Hospital, Oakland. My next (and very soon to come) blog post will be the most recent update on Christopher's miraculous recovery!

2011-09-16T16:39:00.000-07:00

I’m writing! I’m writing! I’m writing! I can actually stay focused long enough to write! Oh, happy day!

Skipper Chris!

2011-09-10T19:01:00.000-07:00

16 1/2 months ago he was in a coma fighting for his life, but today he passed his sailing test in the San Francisco Bay! Congratulations to my miracle boy, Skipper Chris!

soccer tryouts + christopher = frustration

2011-04-30T17:23:00.000-07:00

Christopher’s neurosurgeon thinks he might be able to play soccer next season but since his brain is not yet healed, any physical contact is considered risky and is therefore prohibited. So there he stands on the sidelines, watching enviously while his peers engage in 1 v 1’s, vying for a spot on the team.

A year ago on this day, he had come out of his coma and was high on narcotics. He was sweet and funny, saying things like, “Hey Emily, there are two of you and you have, like 8,000 eyes!” and “Nick, your socks are fantastic and your shoes are sick!”

As much as my heart breaks for Christopher, I can’t help but be grateful to see him standing there, desperately wishing to be in the middle of the action. He has come so far, and this could have ended so differently. He will play soccer again; perhaps not this year, but that day will come. For now, I will count my blessings and give thanks for the life of my miracle boy.

Life Is Wonderful - April 21, 2011-Full version

2011-04-30T17:16:00.000-07:00

Life Is Wonderful - April 21, 2011

2011-04-21T08:11:00.000-07:00

Life Is Wonderful

2011-04-21T01:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 17, 2011, 10:30 pm

This post has been composing itself in my mind for weeks. There have been several instances where I’ve tried to put my words down, but I just sit here, staring at my computer screen, unsure of where to begin. So here I am tonight, once again attempting to write.

Monday, April 18, 2011, 12:30 am

It’s taken me two hours to get the last three sentences down. I’ve been both looking forward to and dreading this week for, well… weeks. The closer we get to the anniversary of Christopher’s accident, the more intense everything becomes. Remember those visions I used to have where I saw him falling from that tree… over and over and over again, like a tape caught in an endless cycle of play/rewind/play/rewind/play? They’re back in full-force. Remember my sleepless nights? Sleep is once again eluding me. And the pain I felt in my heart as I sat in the ICU, watching the monitor, stroking the arms and legs of my comatose boy, talking those numbers back to the place they needed to be? That pain has returned and it is as real and intense as it was a year ago.

So why am I surprised? Why did I fool myself into thinking that once we reached the one-year marker, things would settle down, my nightmares would disappear, the worries would dissipate and I’d be overjoyed by the fact that Christopher is alive and thriving? Don’t get me wrong; I AM thankful for the progress he’s made! I DO look at him every day and marvel at the fact that he’s such a typical 14-year old boy… texting endlessly, listening to loud, annoying music; hanging out with friends every chance he can get, and preparing for his upcoming soccer tryouts.

But what I have discovered is that the anniversary of a traumatic event… actually, the anniversary of any event, good or bad is a time for reflection, and you know me… reflecting is one of the things I do best! I now believe that we are far better off NOT knowing the future. Sure, life comes at us fast and we don’t know what’s around the next corner, but as time marches on, I am coming to the realization that I should always expect the unexpected and that it would be wise to never say ‘never.

Christopher in the ICU at 1:30 am on April 22, 2010

The first year after Christopher’s accident was all about survival and this second year will be about anniversaries… the anniversary of the week before the accident. The anniversary of the day he fell; the phone call he made to me 30 minutes before, telling me that he and his friends were going to find ‘some really awesome trees to climb’ in the neighborhood. The knock on my door at 6:30 pm, a neighbor telling me that I needed to come with her, that there had been an accident and they’d called 911. The shock I felt at seeing my boy, lifeless on the ground; another kind neighbor kneeling at his head, telling me that Christopher was unresponsive and the paramedics were on their way… seeing Emily fall into a heap on the street, struggling to comprehend the scene before her… her little brother at death’s door… watching the paramedics cut Christopher’s clothes off, explain to me his precarious condition, stabilize and quickly whisk him off to the waiting helicopter… seeing Paul’s face as we walked into the hospital at the same time, not knowing if our child was still alive, not knowing what the next 24 hours… 8 days… 4 weeks… or 12 months would hold for us… the anniversary of the diagnosis: severe traumatic brain injury. Just writing about it now brings the emotion flooding back and it is so real that it feels as though it is happening all over again.

Thursday, April 21, 2011, 1:00 am

1:00 am… my favorite time to write… in the wee hours of the morning. As I was saying, this next year will be filled with anniversaries, but along with the painful memories there will be the most wonderful ones of all. My boy survived against the odds and today he is thriving. He is truly a walking, talking miracle and I have every reason in the world to be thankful and to celebrate.

Christopher in front of 'the tree' on April 20, 2011

I’ve been reading about wisdom lately and have learned much from Job’s example in the bible. His words, ‘we take the good days from God – why not also the bad days?’ really struck a chord with me. As Christopher’s doctor predicted, I found myself struggling with the aftermath of his accident once we got home from the hospital last May. I alluded to it in my Christmas letter when I said that what I initially called ‘the blues,’ I eventually came to accept as depression. I believe that my biggest challenge on a daily basis is to accept those bad days that Job spoke of and thankfully, I am making progress.

What I am learning is that without the bad, I don’t fully appreciate the good. The risk is that I will fail to see the blessings God places before me and my days will become mundane, quotidian. I know that I do not wish to live a trivial life. I hope to be an example to my children of what it means to live life filled with love and joy; to view it as a journey; to dream big. But most of all, I want them to learn to take the ups and the downs, the good with the bad. I cannot have one without the other and it all works together to make my life beautiful. Yes, life truly IS WONDERFUL!

Life As I Once Knew It...

2011-03-06T21:05:00.000-08:00

life as i once knew it... there is no such thing. my life will never be as it was. that is not a good thing, nor is it bad. it just is. because of all that has transpired over the past year, i am a different person and i am forever changed.

Christmas Letter 2010

2010-12-25T15:22:00.000-08:00

Where to begin my Christmas letter for the year 2010? I actually started composing it three weeks ago and this is what I wrote:

“I’m turning 50 on Christmas Eve and believe it or not, I can’t wait! What a year for me to reach this milestone! 2010 has been the mother of all years for me. Do you remember shortly after I returned from Bosnia last year and I wrote on my blog that ‘what used to be so important now seems trivial at best’? Well, today all I can say is THAT’S AN UNDERSTATEMENT! I had absolutely no idea what that really meant the day I wrote it. Oh, I felt it all right. I was still reeling from the stories I’d heard from those brave Bosnian women I had met and who were now my inspiration. What I didn’t know then, was that on April 21, 2010, less than seven months later, the meaning of those words, my words, would come screaming back at me in a way I never imagined possible. So today, thirteen months after first speaking them, I want to reiterate that ‘what used to be so important NOW seems trivial at best.’

Nothing, absolutely nothing can prepare you for the experience of seeing your child at death’s door. All I will say is that it’s a good thing I wasn’t still ‘living my safe little life in my tiny little world’ the day Christopher fell out of that tree. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have been able to handle and cope with all that lay ahead of me had I still been living in that tiny little world. However, I truly believe that experiencing all that I did in the months preceding his accident prepared me for the journey I suddenly found myself on late that night, when he was diagnosed with a severe traumatic brain injury.”

As I read those words today, Tuesday, December 21st, they are once again begging to be written here on this page, only now, their meaning has even more significance. Eighteen days ago, I made a late-night trip to the emergency room that led to a diagnosis of multiple massive pulmonary emboli, landing me in the hospital for eight days, five of which were spent in the intensive care unit. Yes, today, WHAT USED TO BE SO IMPORTANT NOW SEEMS TRIVIAL AT BEST!

Christopher in the ICU on April 22, 2010

Standing by Christopher’s bedside while he was in a coma, watching those numbers on the monitor day after day, night after night will forever be embedded in my mind. The thought of losing him was heart wrenching. I spent the weeks and months after Christopher’s miraculous recovery and release from the hospital in a daze.

Has anyone ever told you that often, after living through a traumatic event, everything falls apart? That YOU fall apart? I was appropriately warned of it, but I didn’t believe it could actually happen to ME. I was fine. I had handled the month Christopher was in the hospital like a champ. I was strong, resilient and optimistic. I was the rock everyone had come to know and I had every reason to be on top of the world. After all, my miracle boy was alive! But alas, it all came crashing down as the reality of what had transpired settled in and I found myself struggling with what I initially called ‘the blues’ but eventually accepted as depression. I recently read a book and this sentence jumped out at me, “The fogginess lasted a long time… I didn’t live the time after the accident so much as I watched it unfold.” That perfectly describes what life was like for me during those months after we came home from the hospital.

Christopher – June 2010 – Yosemite Nat’l Park

I was a bystander… life happened all around me, but I had a difficult time engaging. As weeks passed, I accomplished only what was essential. Of course, I beat myself up on a daily basis for my behavior, but I was unable to change it.

Ironically, it was on the morning of Friday, December 3^rd, the day of my trip to the ER and pulmonary emboli diagnosis that I said to Paul in a text message, “I’m gradually getting stuff done. I feel like I’m coming back… a little more energy… a little more positive.” It was also that morning that I found myself finally breaking down a wall that I had built between God and I. My heart was softened and I felt a sense of peace.

Emily – Sept. 2010-Sacramento

Who would have thought that that night I would have my very own brush with death? The timing of my pulmonary emboli and subsequent hospitalization is perplexing to me. I truly felt that I had struggled enough this year. I was looking forward to putting everything behind me and moving into the Christmas season feeling refreshed, strong, and once again light-hearted. But evidently, that was not the plan. I have learned so much during this difficult year, and one thing that is crystal clear to me is that I have very little control over my destiny.

Nick – July 2010 – Mexico City

I am not being dramatic when I say the Ackerman’s came closer than imaginable to celebrating Christmas this year as a family of three. I don’t understand why Christopher and I both escaped death. Perhaps it is not for me to understand, but I am so very thankful for the prayers of hundreds of people and for God’s hand on our lives. We have been blessed beyond comprehension and for that I am grateful. I will never be able to adequately thank all of my wonderful friends and family for the love and support you have shown us this year. Your phone calls, text messages, e-mails, cards, gifts and letters, meals, flowers and visits are what have carried us through these challenging times. One particularly difficult morning during my stay in the hospital, I received an e-mail from my friend Gloria who seems to have an almost eerie knack for appearing in my life when I most need to be encouraged. Here are the beautiful words she wrote to me:

Paul – 10/10/10 – Chicago Marathon

“The Lord is with you, around you, behind and before you, knowing all of the most intimate of anxieties and fears you hold… I pray that His peace, His grace will lighten your heart as you let time and medicine heal you. Be well slowly, gradually and patiently, hidden in the shadow of His wing…”

October 2010

My daily encouragement and challenge is to listen to Gloria’s words and embrace them. I will continue to count my blessings every day and treasure all that I hold dear in my life. I pray that your Christmas is filled with joy and peace and that you remember the reason we celebrate; that Christ came to earth to give us the gift of life abundant… peace and contentment that cannot be explained… this new life is abundance, and this is true life.

Merry Christmas!

With love, Laura

“These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.” John 16.33

Very often, the first warning is the last one...

2010-12-08T21:01:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, December 8, 2010, 8:30 pm

So when you’re the patient, your time is not your own, you find it more difficult to advocate for yourself (you feel whiny, needy, etc…), and rather than being the visitor or the supportive family member, you’re actually the person who is sick. And being sick means that you don’t feel like doing much of anything. I’ve been in the hospital now for one hundred twenty hours. That’s five days now... to the hour. The first twelve hours were spent in the ER and the rest of my time has been here in the ICU. It has nearly killed me to not write. Oh, the hours I’ve spent lying here in my bed, composing in my mind. But as much as I was dying to get my thoughts written down, I just didn’t have the energy needed for the effort necessary to put my prolific fingers into action. I would have had to reach over and pull my laptop out of my backpack. That was perhaps my biggest obstacle! It’s amazing how much we rely on the oxygen level in our blood to be hovering around 98 – 100%. But when that level plummets down to the upper 80’s/lower 90’s, everything becomes a chore. So I allowed myself to do just what the doctor ordered… stay in bed and rest.

For the first 24 hours in the ICU, I was on complete bed rest, but after that period of time, I was allowed to walk 5 feet to use the restroom. Just getting there was quite an ordeal with all the wires that are hooked up to my body and then attached to a monitor on the wall. They are constantly measuring my Heart Rate (HR), Respiratory Rate (RR), Blood Pressure (BP) and Oxygen Saturation Level (SAT), numbers on a monitor… While lying in bed, my heart rate would settle in as low as 68, my respiratory rate would be about 15 and my oxygen level was around 97%, but during the 4 minutes it would take to walk that 5 feet to the restroom and back, those numbers typically moved to an HR as high as 133, an RR of 35 and SATS of 87%. I would climb back in bed and lay there, huffing and puffing, my heart beating so fast I thought it was going to jump right out of my chest. My body’s response to that insignificant level of exertion was the biggest indicator of the fact that it had not yet begun breaking down the 3 massive (yes, that’s now what they’re calling them) blood clots in my pulmonary artery. The clot they’ve been most concerned with is one they call a saddle clot. It is lying in the center of the pulmonary artery where it branches off into each lung. If another small clot was thrown and landed there, it could have caused a full obstruction.

As soon as the blood clots were detected on Friday night during a CT Scan, they began giving me injections of Lovenox, which is an anticoagulant (blood thinner) that prevents the formation of new clots. The assumption that there were more clots in one of my legs was confirmed when an echo cardiograph (ultrasound of my heart) showed several behind my left knee. After several days, the Lovenox forms a web-like coating around any blood clots in the veins of the body. This web attaches itself to the wall of the vein, prohibiting movement of the clot. The body then either breaks down and dissolves the clot naturally or re-routs the blood to another vein close by, but the risk of the clot breaking free and being thrown disappears. Now the clots in the pulmonary artery are not subject to the same effect from Lovenox as clots in veins because the blood in this artery is oxygenated, therefore, immune to the ‘web-effect’. These clots will just dissolve over time.

They began giving me Coumadin, which is another anticoagulant by mouth on Saturday night. It will be several weeks before I am what they call “therapeutic” on it, meaning that the level of Coumadin in my body is appropriately preventing the formation of blood clots while at the same time, not thinning my blood so much that it won’t clot when necessary. My doctor has put me on Coumadin for the rest of my life. I have been given an INR (international normalized ratio) that was arrived at based on a blood test that showed how quickly blood clots in my body. The challenge is to keep that INR level consistent. Too little and I run the risk of forming blood clots, too much and I could bleed to death. The thing that makes it complicated is that there are many factors that can affect INR, such as foods, alcohol, other medications, illnesses, or changes in activity and travel. Foods rich in vitamin K pose a particular risk because vitamin K acts the opposite of Coumadin in that it helps blood to clot. It’s not that I can’t eat them. I just need to be consistent in the amount I consume on a daily basis. Some examples of these foods are leafy green vegetables; anything green such as lettuces, spinach, broccoli, asparagus, etc… Cranberry products increase the effects of Coumadin and can lead to bleeding problems.

I do believe that’s enough medical speak for now. My brain is exhausted, much like the way it felt back in April when Christopher was hospitalized and we had a crash course in Severe Traumatic Brain Injuries and the intricate workings of that amazing organ. As I told a friend of mine this week, any confusion I experience in keeping my facts straight I can now chalk up to oxygen deprivation, and I will continue to use that excuse to my full advantage in the future! I think I’m done learning about the complex workings of the human body, for this year at least.

There’s more to tell but I’m blitzed. I am being moved to another unit tonight where I will continue to be monitored around the clock, but I am now out of the severe danger zone. I walked around the ICU yesterday and again this afternoon (on oxygen) for about 5 minutes, which is something I could never have done without stopping to catch my breath several times only a few days ago. I am so thankful for the steady improvement I have experienced, and I must say that the nurses and doctors here at Kaiser’s ICU have been absolutely wonderful! From the fun and laughter shared with Shelagh to the unbelievable kindness and care, including some great conversations with Gerald, I have truly been pampered. My inspiration came in the form of Wendy, a nurse who was assigned to me on Monday morning (and who was my nurse for 3 additional shifts during my stay). It turns out that she had almost the exact same experience as me several months ago with massive blood clots in her pulmonary artery, including a saddle clot. Wendy provided a plethora of information and spent a lot of time educating me. She is now back at work full time and well on her way to a full recovery. Every time she walked into the room I thought to myself, ‘that’s going to be me… just be patient.”

I can’t bring this to a close without saying several things. First of all, thank you for all of your e-mails, facebook posts and text messages. They encourage me, lift my spirits and mean more than you will ever know. I haven’t responded to a single e-mail and it is killing me to not be able to write to each and every one of you like I did when Christopher was in the hospital. But I’m trying to be gentle with myself, understanding that the circumstances are different this time. Thank you to those of you who have expressed an interest in coming to see me, but I am going to continue to limit visitors to my family, as having them is very taxing. Finally, I want to thank all who have stopped by the house, bringing meals, plants and so much more. It is such a comfort to me knowing that my family is being cared for so lovingly.

I can’t believe that I have once again found myself in a position of relying on family and friends for so much, but some things are not for us to understand. I thank God every day that He chose to spare my life last week, as I have been reminded multiple times that with pulmonary embolisms, “very often, the first warning is the last one…” I’m not really sure what it is that I am meant to learn this year, but one thing I do know is that my time is not up. While I don’t know what the future holds, I will be open to whatever God brings my way and I look forward with great anticipation to writing all about it! I love you all…

Watching numbers on a monitor… again?

2010-12-05T12:37:00.000-08:00

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Who would have thought that only seven months after Christopher's accident and hospitalization we would once again find ourselves watching numbers on a monitor? But this time, the numbers are telling the story of what is going on in MY body. On Friday night, after telling Paul that I needed to be taken to the emergency room because, as I said, "something just doesn't feel right," I was diagnosed with multiple pulmonary emboli. I have three large blood clots and several smaller ones in my pulmonary artery. These clots were the cause of my shortness of breath, labored breathing and rapid heartbeat.

So here I lay in a hospital bed in the ICU. I spent 12 hours in the emergency room and was then transferred to the ICU where I've been for 24 hours and will stay for at least another 24. I will likely be in the hospital for several days after that. It’s just so odd to be the patient; the one lying in the bed while my family sits around me, passing the hours. Better me than one of my children, though.

You know, a couple of weeks ago I began writing my annual Christmas letter and in it, I said that this has been the mother of all years. At the time, I had no idea what was yet to come and that's probably a good thing. This is not how I envisioned spending the weeks leading up to Christmas, but I will not complain. No, instead I will count my blessings. Oh, how I have been blessed this year! Christopher survived his brain injury and is thriving, I have family and friends who have been absolutely amazing, showering me with love and support, and today, I am alive and looking forward to celebrating the holidays with family and friends. THIS Christmas is going to be the best one ever!

Christopher's Birthday-Celebrating 14 years with Christopher Slideshow.mov

2010-10-22T06:20:00.000-07:00

A Different Kind of Celebration...

2010-10-21T21:37:00.000-07:00

Thursday, October 21, 2010, 7:00 pm

We all have one every year. In my family they occur around major holidays. It wasn’t intentional. It’s just the way it happened. Nicholas’ is on St. Patrick’s Day, Emily’s is five days before Christmas, Paul’s is a few days before Halloween, mine is on Christmas Eve and Christopher’s is today. Ten days before Halloween… on the six-month anniversary of his accident on April 21^st. That’s right… today my walking, talking miracle is fourteen years old. And we’re celebrating like we never have before! Oh, we always celebrate birthdays. Emily hangs the “Happy Birthday” banner from the family room fireplace, we make a special dinner and dessert, friends and relatives call to send birthday wishes, and cards and gifts are opened.

But this year, this birthday is different. We’re not just celebrating Christopher’s birth fourteen years ago, nor are we simply celebrating that he’s another year older. No, this year we’re rejoicing in the fact that Christopher is actually here with us. He is alive and thriving. This boy who wasn’t supposed to live through the night on April 21^st is with us today, full of life, full of energy, full of love.

My heart is heavy today, but it’s a different kind of heavy than I was feeling six months ago. I will be forever grateful for the amazing medical care he received from paramedics, doctors and nurses. When I think of the thousands of people who prayed for him and for our family, I am overwhelmed. Yes, today my heart is heavy with gratitude, with love for my child and with unbelievable joy. I will hug him today, I’ll tell him how very much I love him and I will remind him, once again how thankful I am that he is here for us to celebrate. Happy Birthday, Christopher!

The Walk...

2010-10-14T12:07:00.000-07:00

Thursday, October 14, 2010, 10:00 am

Oh wow… I should have known. Certainly I could have anticipated it. But I didn’t. My mind was swirling with all that I need to do today, having returned last night from a week in Chicago. You know… pick up the mail, catch up on laundry, make a dentist appointment, return my doctor’s phone call, contact Christopher’s math tutor to explain why he and Paul were ‘no-shows’ yesterday (they had the time wrong), write 200 vocabulary words and definitions on flash cards for Emily, pick Christopher up at noon from school (half days), take him to soccer practice and so on.

I drove here, parked in the ramp, took the elevator down to the ground floor, took a hit of hand sanitizer, got my ‘visitor’ badge and started heading down the hall. And then BAM! I literally stopped dead in my tracks. My breath caught and without a thought, the tears welled up and were streaming down my cheeks; all the feelings, emotions and memories flooding back as though gates had been thrown open. I pulled out my phone and began photographing the walk. I’d never taken pictures of it. I know Paul won’t want to see them. He doesn’t like ‘going there’ but for me, returning to those days is a form of therapy. Yes, I’m here at Children’s Hospital, sitting in The Friendly Café. That walk from the lobby to the elevator is much too familiar. I wish I could say I didn’t know it, that I’d never made it before. Six months ago that would have been a true statement, but not today. It is now an integral part of my story. The month that Christopher was a patient here will forever be embedded in my mind.

So what does Laura do when confronted with her emotional reality? She pulls out her laptop, logs on and lets her fingers take over. I have only a few moments before my hero arrives. I’m having ‘cuppa’ with Dr. Newman, Christopher’s ICU doctor. We haven’t seen each other since Tuesday, May 18^th, the day he was discharged. We’ve exchanged e-mails and spoken on the phone about getting together but it has taken us almost 5 months to make it happen. I’ve gotten myself a cup of coffee and I am pulled together pretty well. But I know it will happen all over again when I see her walk in…the memories, the feelings, and the tears. Oh well… it will be worth it. Spending an hour with Vivienne Newman is a privilege and I will be honored to be in her presence. She is coming here directly from the airport, having just dropped her son off as he is leaving for Israel. Perhaps we will have a good cry together over our sons… two boys a decade apart in age, a world apart in life-experience. Our tears for different reasons, but tears of love as deep as love can be… the love mothers feel for their precious children.

Doing What We Must...

2010-10-06T00:23:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, October 5, 2010, 11:30 pm

Some days we do what we want to do. Other days we do what we must. My must came yesterday when I canceled my upcoming trip to Paris and Africa. It was one year and three weeks ago, as we traveled along a beautiful road in Bosnia that my friend Angela Mason said to me, “So Laura, darling…” (Angela is British, so I’m always ‘Laura, darling’ to her.) “Next year we’re going to Mali.” “Ummm… okay” I said to her. “But Angela, where is Mali?” She then proceeded to tell me about West Africa and the work that World Vision has done in that part of the world. We were going to see their water projects, specifically the drilling of a well and the dramatic difference that clean water can make for entire villages.

I loved returning home from my overseas adventure last September (my first and very eye-opening one) with another trip already in the works. We talked about it as the weeks and months moved along and began planning for it. I couldn’t wait to see another part of the world and was thrilled that we were going to meet in Paris. I decided to go several days early to do a little sight seeing and enjoy the little sidewalk cafes I’d heard so much about. We would spend a week in Mali and then return to Paris where I would unwind for several more days. It was going to be a wonderful two weeks. I would explore, write, learn and grow. Perfect!

Then Christopher fell out of that tree. April 21^st. Five months ago. Paris and Mali didn’t even enter my mind during the time he was in a coma and hospitalized. I was just thankful that he was alive and doing so well… thankful that my miracle child had survived! We came home from the hospital and did our best to adjust to our new normal… living with a brain-injured child. The weeks moved along and all of a sudden it was July and time to start thinking about my trip. Oh gosh… that trip! I’d pretty much forgotten about it, so now I needed to decide if I could still go. Christopher seemed to be doing well. He got up every morning, showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed and moved through his day beautifully. He mixed words up occasionally, left key words out of sentences and was a bit forgetful, but he was alive and thriving so I decided that it would be fine for me to go. I completed the necessary forms to receive my Visa, began the vaccination process and bought Rosetta Stone so that I could brush up on my French that was buried somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind.

My sudden 2-week trip to Oklahoma to be with my parents after my mother’s emergency surgery was the first red flag. When I returned home I noticed that Christopher was, well, a bit foggy. He seemed to be walking around in a daze. His word confusion had increased and everything came a little slower. On our way to a routine appointment to see his Doctor at the end of that first week home, I said to him, “I just want you to know that I’m going to mention to Dr. Mandac that I think you’re a bit more confused than you have been lately.” Christopher agreed, saying that he felt the same way and was experiencing more Cogno-moments, as he likes to call them. We discussed this sudden change during his appointment and one of the doctor’s first thoughts was that the disruption in Christopher’s routine caused by my 2-week absence was a likely explanation. “But” said Dr. Mandac, “it could also be the result of several other things. I’d like to do another CT scan to rule out the possibility of new bleeding in his brain and let’s do an EEG to see if there are spikes in the electrical charges/impulses in his brain which would not be uncommon after this severe of an injury.” So the tests were done and both came back negative… no additional bleeding and no unusual electrical activity.

As we continued to meet with doctors and his Neuropsychologist, the consensus was that my absence was the most likely cause for the change we were seeing. The injury that Christopher’s brain sustained lends itself to confusion and disorientation with any disruption to normal routine. Within a month of my return home, his fogginess cleared up and his speech and language returned to “normal.”

The second red flag came when school began. Christopher is excelling in all subjects except for math. After extensive neuropsychological testing, the results showed that his language and perceptual reasoning skills fall into the 98^th percentile or above. As all of his classes other than math are language-based, it is no surprise that he is thriving in those subjects. The parts of the testing that showed areas of deficiency however, were focus, concentration, attention span and speed of processing. Ah ha! That explains it! The same side of the brain that controls speed of processing is the one where mathematical reasoning is done. No wonder he is struggling. Convincing Christopher that this is just a temporary problem and one that was fully caused by his brain injury has been no easy task. He is very hard on himself and needs daily encouragement.

“Hmmm…” I began thinking to myself. “I wonder who will do that daily encouraging while I am out of the country… Who will have the patience that only a mother can muster on an hourly basis? Who will stay on top of him, gently reminding him of all that needs to be done before school, after school, before bed? Who will be only 5 minutes away if, God forbid, something happens at school and he hits his head or has a seizure? What if my 2-week absence, which will once again be a disruption in his routine, causes him to become ‘foggy’? How will that affect his schoolwork? How will all of this impact Emily? Is it really fair to leave him in her care before and after school for 2 full weeks? Will their sibling relationship survive that stress? Oh gosh… what am I doing? I can’t go to Africa… But I want to go so badly! I’ve been looking forward to it for 12 months! It’s going to be so exciting! I’m all ready to go… my French is coming back to me! It’s going to be such a wonderful break. But what about Christopher? What about my family?”

In the end, I realized that it’s just too soon after his accident, after the traumatic event that our family lived through for me to be so far away and for such a long period of time. I need to be here. Only 5 months ago Christopher was in a coma. Today he is alive, healthy and thriving. How could I possibly mess with that? As Angela said to me today, “there will be other trips… we will have many chances over the years to go places… you’ll see…” I’ll hold onto that thought for now. And I will continue to count my blessings every single day.

Christopher Today - 1

2010-08-23T02:47:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 11, 2010, 12:30pm
Sixteen weeks… that’s how long it’s been since Christopher texted me asking if his friends could come home with him after school. One-hundred twelve days… that’s how long it’s been since he called to tell me that he and his buddies were going to head out in search of some really great trees to climb in the neighborhood. Is it possible that it’s only been that long? Two-thousand, six-hundred, eighty-two hours… Is it possible that it’s really been that long? Some days it feels as raw and fresh as if we are still deep in the midst of his accident, coma, hospitalization and recovery. When I close my eyes at night, I still imagine his body falling from that tree. I see it over and over and over, like a tape being re-played endlessly… only it’s in slow motion. In my mind, I clearly see Christopher laying there on the ground, unresponsive, eyes partially open yet not moving, his breath coming in fits and starts, arms posturing abnormally. I still see Emily falling into a heap on the street, sobbing at the sight of her near-death little brother. I remember my heart breaking at the realization of the love this 16-year-old has for her brother… the same brother who had been annoying her only hours earlier.

I remember quickly deciding that my daughter needed a task to do, so I told her to start calling people. “Who should I call?” she asked. “You’ll know who,” I said… “just start calling….” I handed my phone to her and as she began looking up Paul’s number, the phone rang and she answered it. When she heard her dad’s voice the tears began flooding out, her voice so choked that she couldn’t even talk to him. She simply placed the phone in my hand so that I could tell him what had happened… what was happening. How would I tell the father of this little boy lying lifeless on the street, the father who loves this child more than life itself, who would trade places in an instant, that he might never see his son alive again? I did what any mother would do. I told him the truth but I broke it to him gently. I told him that there had been an accident and that Christopher had fallen out of a tree.

That was the easy part. Telling him that his son was lifeless and unresponsive, that the paramedics had been working to stabilize him for 10 minutes and they were getting ready to take him to the waiting helicopter that would transport him to Children’s Hospital was much more difficult. Hearing the pain and torment in his voice broke my heart. He was in his office in San Francisco at the time. Thank God he was not halfway around the world, which is so common these days. He said that he would meet us at the hospital. He was reluctant to hang up the phone because he desperately wanted me to tell him something good…. something hopeful, but I could not lie. The outlook was bleak.

I remember how I felt as the paramedics closed the doors and drove off with my child in their ambulance. I felt so helpless. Was this really be happening? Wasn’t that someone else’s child lying there? It couldn’t possibly be mine. Things like this don’t happen to people like me… I’m not sure who they happen to, but certainly not me nor my family. Then I looked at Alex and Logan and felt that I needed to comfort them… Christopher’s friends who were there when he had fallen and who had watched the paramedics work to save their buddy. These friends who didn’t know if they would ever see him alive again. I felt a huge responsibility to take care of Emily. She needed her mother to comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be all right… that her little brother was going to survive and that life would once again be as it she knew it. So that’s exactly what I did. I said the words to her, but I didn’t believe them. The way Christopher looked as they drove off was not the way a person looks when everything is going to be all right. But what else could I say? I had to be positive. I had to give her hope. I had to have hope. Sometimes if you say the words, you actually believe them, but not that day. Things looked pretty grim. Even I didn’t believe my own words.

I’m not sure why it is that every time I sit down to write about Christopher I end up traveling back in time. My mind takes over. My emotions have a life of their own. No matter how intentional I am about staying focused on my task at hand, which today is to give an update on how my walking, talking miracle is doing, my fingers travel their own journey. And, as usual, I have chosen to let them do the walking.

It has been eight weeks since I last wrote about Christopher here on my blog. Oh wow! Eight whole weeks! I’m such a slug! It’s not that I haven’t wanted to write. Sixteen weeks ago we were watching and waiting. Watching those damn numbers on the monitor move up and down… more often than not in the wrong direction. Watching the numbers that measured the amount of blood pressure in his body against the amount of blood pressure in his brain. Remember? The BP (Blood Pressure), IP (Intracranial Pressure), CPP (Cerebral Profusion Pressure) and HR (Heart Rate)…. Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever forget those terms… sixteen weeks ago we were standing by his bedside, holding his hand, rubbing his arms and legs, talking him through the ever-changing numbers. We watched the miracle of our comatose boy listen to and feel our presence, and then waited for him to respond by moving his numbers to the place where we could all breathe a sigh of relief… if only for a short time.

Fifteen weeks ago last Sunday, during all three services, our church, a congregation of people who don’t typically kneel while praying, got down on their knees in unison, and prayed fervently for Christopher… for my boy. Thousands of people around the world were praying for him… many praying for a child they had never even met. I have friends in the Afghan community… women who got up in the middle of the night to pray diligently for Christopher. I don’t know that I have ever been as moved in my life as I was by the sheer number of people who cared for Christopher… who cared for me… who cared for my family during that time. It is something I will never, ever forget. I am still overwhelmed by the thought of it.

So here I go again… my mind spinning wildly… my heart swirling with feelings and emotions… my fingers doing their own walking here on my keyboard. What to do? I don’t even know where to start. Perhaps that is the problem. There is so much to say… so many memories and recollections of those painful hours, days and weeks… so many wonderful milestones that Christopher has passed. He has made progress that I would describe as remarkable. Yes, it is truly remarkable! I found myself here on my blog last week and read what I had written on June 13^th. I could hardly believe my words!

Eight weeks ago, Christopher and I were attached at the hip. We were together all the time. If I left the house, Christopher came with me. Dr. appointments were weekly occurrences. He was allowed to have friends over, but only certain friends… only the calm ones. And only on days when he had enough energy to be with people outside of his family. He was never allowed to go to a friend’s house, for that would mean that I would not be there to supervise. Sleepovers? Nada… Speech therapy was a daily occurrence… even if it was a simple game of Password or Banagrams. He was tired much of the time, frequently napping in the afternoon, and his ‘foggy days’ occurred more often than not. When I told him that he was not able to accompany Emily and I on an out-of-town trip to visit friends that had been planned for months, his response was simply, “Okay…” THAT’S how I knew that Christopher still had a long way to go in his recovery. The Christopher Ackerman that I know doesn’t go down without a fight. Fully aware that the personality area of his brain had been injured in the accident, I was coming to realize that the easy-going and blasé attitude that he was exhibiting was the result of his brain injury. And as much as I enjoyed the ease with which this new Christopher was to deal, I also knew that it was not MY Christopher.

Today the picture is quite different. We are no longer attached at the hip. As a matter of fact, I am in Oklahoma with my parents while my mother is recovering from surgery. When I realized that I needed to travel out of state to be with them, the question as to whether or not I could leave Christopher for two weeks didn’t even enter my mind. I knew he would be okay. Wow! That’s remarkable! But even more than the fact that I feel comfortable enough to travel halfway across the country and leave him at home under the watchful eye and care of Emily and Paul, is that my boy is doing so well that he flew to Miami with our friend Roby last Friday night. He spent three days there, enjoying the beach, fine car dealerships and wonderful fresh seafood in beach side café’s. And then… on Monday night, Christopher flew home… all the way from Miami to San Francisco… ALONE… unaccompanied… Now THAT’S REMARKABLE!

Shortly after returning home from the hospital, Christopher was invited to stand up in our church and answer questions about his accident, hospitalization and recovery. He was taken aback by the gasps and applause that broke out as he walked up the front and he was so grateful to have the opportunity to say ‘thank you’ to everyone for praying for him.

My parents came out to California for a visit during the last week in June and we drove down to Santa Barbara to visit some friends. It was wonderful for them to spend time with Christopher, to be able to talk with him, laugh with him, and to see for themselves, with their own eyes how great he is doing!

Dr. appointments are becoming much less frequent. Several weeks ago we met with Christopher’s Neurosurgeon’s assistant who spoke with him about his foggy days. She asked him about his speech and his cognitive abilities, and whether or not he struggles to find words and put thoughts together. He told her that he still has the foggy days and she said that he should continue to expect that to happen. They tend to come in clusters, lasting for several days at a time. When he is having a foggy day, he frequently says the opposite of what he means to say, such as ‘up’ rather than ‘down’ and ‘dad’ rather than ‘mom’. He occasionally leaves out words when telling something. For example, he will say, “The jacket cost one-hundred” and leave out the word “dollars.” She then conducted a series of physical tests on him. She watched him walk forward and backward, had his eyes track a light, tested the strength of all of his limbs, including his fingers, she checked his balance, asking him to stand on one leg, then the other. When she was finished, she pronounced him “physically perfect.”

Then she asked if we would like to see the results of the most recent CT scan compared with the one taken the morning after his accident. THAT was fascinating! In this photo, the image on the left is from the CT Scan taken on April 22, the morning after his accident and the image on the right was taken on June 10^th. I’m not sure why, but the images are always reversed when we view them… the right side of each photo is actually the left side of his brain, where the injury occurred. In the image from April 22^nd, you can see the swelling along the bottom right corner, the bright white area, which is where the fractures were sustained. The dark areas in the middle of the photos are the intracranial ventricles. The swelling was so great right after his injury that the ventricles became quite small. The bright white spot in the center of the April 22nd photo is the drainage tube that was inserted during surgery.

There is still blood along the side of Christopher’s brain (you can see it in the image to the left… it is the dark line between the brain and the skull on the right side of the photo, which, remember, is actually the left side of his brain). That blood is slowly being reabsorbed and when it is completely gone, that will be the point at which his brain will be considered healed. Another interesting thing that was pointed out to us is the ‘smile’ that you can see right in the center of the image. They call it the ‘happy face’. During the days and weeks after Christopher’s injury, there was no happy face to be seen, as the swelling was so severe. But today… smiles all around!

The best news of all though was that his brain WILL heal entirely. He will have a full and complete recovery at some point within the next twelve months. I was unaware of the fact that his brain had the potential to heal completely. I thought that he would carry this injury around for the rest of his life… just waiting for the next accident. I don’t think she could have told me anything that would have made me as happy as that! UNTIL the injury is completely healed though, he needs to be very, very cautious. The smallest bump to Christopher’s head could cause another serious brain injury. Even something as slight as two heads knocking together or slipping, falling and bumping his head on the floor could be potentially fatal. Therefore, he is to stay away from all activities that carry a high risk of head injury such as playing soccer, biking, skiing and horseback riding. If he takes extreme caution for the next 8 – 12 months, he will be giving himself the gift of a bright future with all the potential he had before his accident.

Monday, August 23, 2010, 2:00am
It has now been 1½ weeks since I’ve successfully worked on this blog post, and I am determined to complete my “Christopher Update” for all of you who have so diligently asked about and prayed for him. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I sit down pretty much every day with the intention of writing… with the hope of completing and posting this update here on my blog. But as I mentioned previously, whenever I begin to write about how he is doing, I seem to get sidetracked with memories, thoughts and feelings. It is the way of my mind these days and I am constantly fighting it. I just can’t seem to shake it. The thoughts won’t stop. The feelings are overwhelming. They continually swirl around in my head and my heart, rapidly moving from one thing to the next, often inter-connected, yet ever-changing, flowing freely and with abandon.

I have become increasingly frustrated that my writing these days is not as neat and tidy as that to which I am accustomed, and it was suggested to me by the counselor I am seeing that as an exercise, instead of ‘composing’, I write down my thoughts as a list. So one day, that is what I did. For one hour, I simply made a list, ‘stream of consciousness’, if you will. Was that ever interesting! I ended up with six… yes SIX pages, single-spaced. It was pretty wild to go back and read what I had written, to see where my mind had started and then where it traveled to, finally ending up in pretty much the same place as I had begun. I stopped writing when I realized that my thoughts were starting all over again, back at the beginning, recognizing that this was the reason for my lack of focus and direction these days.

I just keep going ‘round and ‘round, never really getting anywhere. Some days I am able to focus on my tasks at hand long enough to actually accomplish something, but most of the time, well, I just shuffle through my days, doing my best to keep our lives relatively organized and moving forward. I still struggle with sleep in the middle of the night. Last night I was awake from 2:45 – 6:00 am. I just lay there, watching the minutes tick by on my clock. Here I am now, 2:00 am, wide awake. Not even a yawn in sight. I still hold out hope that this will not last forever, that it is just a moment in time, simply the place where I exist for today, having recently lived through a traumatic event. I try to not let it get me down, but some days, well, it can be discouraging. Hmmm…

So back to Christopher… In June we spent several days at his school visiting each of his classrooms. I have found that seeing him, ‘laying eyes on him’ is very important for people. It is one thing to read about Christopher’s amazing recovery and to see photos of him, but to speak with him and see the sparkle in his eyes, to witness this miracle child, actually walking and talking somehow closes the loop for people. I remember one Sunday shortly after we returned home from the hospital, we were at church and our friend Dan had had the opportunity to talk with him. As he stood back to let others give their hugs and say hello to Christopher, he kept shaking his head and saying, “It’s just so great to SEE him… I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to actually SEE him!” I decided that it was important for his classmates at school to do the same… to see him before the school year ended, to actually lay eyes on him. It turned out that that process was not only great for the students and teachers at his school, but was also wonderful for Christopher. In each of his classrooms, he stood up front and answered questions. Oh, the questions they had for him! The very first one was, “Did they have bacon in the hospital?” What? Huh? Oh yes… they are 7^th graders. There were, however, many wonderful questions. It was interesting that they wanted to learn so much about his accident, hospitalization and recovery, but what was even more amazing was the extent to which Christopher actually understood and was able to articulate all that had happened. What a wonderful cognitive exercise that was for him!

His physician recommended that Christopher meet with a Psychologist, which he was NOT pleased about. He kept referring to it as his mental illness appointment! He met with Dr. Owen on two occasions and spent one hour with her alone and the other hour she included me. She asked him about things that have changed since the accident. Some of the changes that he has noticed are that he takes things a bit more seriously, he is more selective about how he spends his time and he appreciates his life in a way he has never known. She felt that these were all good changes and suggested that he has grown as a result of the experience. She talked with him about guilt and determined that he has a healthy view of all that happened. He feels bad that his family had to go through the pain and worry, but he recognizes that we don’t resent him at all, nor do we throw the ‘you’d better just be thankful that you’re alive’ card at him. (It’s still okay for him to use ‘the death card’… ‘Hey… I almost died!’ on US!)

All of Christopher’s teachers passed him at the end of 7^th grade with the exception of his Spanish teacher who felt that it would be beneficial for him to complete the coursework, including the final exam. We hired a Spanish tutor who has been working with him for the past month. We originally felt that it would be helpful to work forward into the 8^th grade Spanish curriculum, but Angel, his tutor feels that he is doing so well that working ahead would cause him to be horribly bored once school starts. This is very good news!

Christopher will start back to school, entering the eighth grade today, Monday, August 23^rd. He will attend full days, will not need assistance of any kind and will be able to continue along the same academic path he was on before his accident. What we don’t know yet is how Christopher’s foggy days will affect his learning. Hopefully it will be minimal as they become less and less frequent. His psychologist, Dr. Owen spent a fair amount of time discussing with him options for dealing with teachers, classmates and friends on those days as they might frustrate and be embarrassing to him. His principal, Shawn McElroy has been wonderful and very accommodating. I guess I’m not terribly concerned about his year from an academic standpoint. I know that he will work hard and I am confident that if any issues arise, we will be able to deal with them. My biggest concern is for his safety while he is at school. After discussing this with Mr. McElroy, we decided that it would be best for the staff and student body to be aware of this, so I wrote a short explanation of his situation that will be read in each of the classrooms at the school during first period. This is what they will read,

"Christopher Ackerman sustained a severe traumatic brain injury on April 21st when he fell from a tree. Although he has had a miraculous recovery and is back at school today, his brain is not yet fully healed. Until that time, it is essential for him to do everything possible to protect his brain. This means that he cannot engage in any sports that carry a high risk of falling or hitting his head such as biking, playing soccer or football, skateboarding, skiing, participating in PE, etc.

The risk is so acute that another brain injury at this point could be potentially fatal. We can help keep him safe here at school by being cautious when around him. This means no horsing around, including tripping, pushing, and rough-housing. Even 'knocking heads' with him carries a high risk to his already-injured brain. This won't last forever because his brain WILL heal fully within the next nine to twelve months.”

He has been released from Speech Therapy and we only occasionally work with him at home because he is doing so well. During his final session with his therapist, she was attempting to assess his ability to read and then recall information. She gave him a one-page document detailing the building of the Golden Gate Bridge, asking him to read half of it out loud, and then summarize it, telling her as much as he could remember. Well, you can imagine her surprise when he began reciting all that he had just read, practically word-for-word. The details that he remembered were amazing, such as that the bridge was built by Joseph B. Strauss with concrete, steel, sweat and dreams… the main span is 4200 feet long and the cables upon which it swings are three feet thick… there are two towers that are each 746 feet high and which hold the entire 9000 foot bridge… each tower weighs more than 88 million pounds… the bridge can sway as much as 27 feet on a windy day and it was called ‘the bridge that couldn’t be built’… although the bridge is called ‘golden’ it is really painted a shade of red called “International Orange”, of which 9000 gallons and 300 brushes are used each year just for maintenance…and finally that the bridge served as a welcome symbol to the returning service men after World War II. I am not kidding… he sat there and spewed forth all of this information that he had just read, as though he had studied it for hours. This is one of the gifts Christopher was born with, the ability to read something once and recall it word-for-word, and I am so pleased for him that he doesn’t seem to have lost it! It certainly makes studying for tests easier!

Later this week we will drive down to Santa Clara for an appointment with his Rehabilitation doctor and then the first week in September he begins his Neuropsychological testing. This will take place over the course of 5 or more meetings, first with Paul, the Psychologist, and me then several three-hour sessions with Christopher and finally several sessions with all of us together. This will be an in-depth testing, evaluation and assessment process in which he will obtain a detailed history from us. There will be neurological, cognitive and IQ testing; and evaluation of his reasoning, short-term memory, attention span, concentration, special processing, emotional and social adjustment. We will then be able to use the information gathered to determine if there are any areas in which Christopher is struggling or needs to work on. It is not uncommon for something to show up during the Neuropsychological testing that had been missed by doctors. We will then see his Neurosurgeon again toward the end of September.

In true Christopher style… he is not letting me down and is now proving to me that his determination and, well… persistence are re-appearing and making a full-comeback. While in Florida with Roby several weekends ago, I came oh, so close to ignoring his never-ending text messages filled with plan after plan… idea after idea… negotiation after negotiation in an attempt to convince me to loan him money to buy the awesome headphones he had found at the most amazing price he had ever seen that would surely never be found again! Frustrating as it was, I couldn’t help but smile inside, muttering to myself, “Go, Christopher…”

Yes, he is coming back, and is continually amazing us with his miraculous recovery. On Friday night I took him, along with Emily and her friends to see John Mayer. As we were sitting there waiting for the concert to begin, I looked at him and was once again struck by the thought that everything could have turned out so differently. He might not have survived that first night, as the paramedics had predicted. His brain might have swelled beyond control, and his fight to live could have been lost during the eight days that he was in a coma in the PICU, as his nurses and doctors have reminded us so many times. He could have woken up from his coma, unable to speak, swallow, dress himself or walk as we had been warned. He might just now be coming home from the hospital, having spent three or more months in in-patient Rehabilitation. He could have a completely different personality from the Christopher we know and love, as we were told to possibly expect because of the injury to the personality area of his brain.

But instead, there he sat right next to me, my miracle child who did live through that first night, who did fight to survive his eight-day coma and never-ending fluctuating monitor numbers, who did say, within 30 minutes of having his respirator removed, “I’m cold…”, who was eating, dressing himself and walking within days of waking up from his coma, whose persistence did pay off when he left the hospital after only twenty-seven days. There was my child, who was looking forward to starting eighth grade in a few days, who is enjoying participating in light training with his soccer team several days a week, who spent his last few days of summer with friends, going to movies without his mother and having sleepovers.

But mostly, there sat Christopher… right next to me… my walking, talking miracle… telling me about the movie he had seen earlier that day, the new apps he had bought for his iPad, telling of his excitement to receive those headphones that he has worked so hard to earn money for. I put my arm around him and embarrassed him a little as I gave him a hug, tears in my eyes, and told him how very much I loved him. I reminded him that we had come “this close” to losing him only a few short months ago. He smiled and told me that he loved me too… words that were music to my ears… words that the Christopher that I know and love is alive today to say. Yes, miracles DO happen…

I Thought I Was So Strong...

2010-08-08T18:43:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 29, 2010, 9:30am

I thought I was so strong. I thought I was so tough. I thought I could handle anything. It’s me… Laura Ackerman… the rock! But I guess I’m really just a wimp. At least that’s how I feel. This is such an unfamiliar feeling for me. I’m not used to worrying, I’m not used to wondering, I’m not used to feeling scared. I hate this. I hate feeling all of this. It makes me feel so weak, so fragile, like I’m such a loser. When I told my husband how I was feeling, his response was not, “Oh, you’re not a wimp” or “You’re not a loser.” No, his response was “Welcome to the real world.”

The real world. So this is what it feels like? Oh wow… I really was walking around with my head in the sand. I don’t like the real world. It’s hard. It’s painful. It sucks! But here I am, living fully in it. I have no choice.

Last week I learned that after reviewing the images of my most recent mammogram, something was found that looks “suspicious.” I hated that phone call. It came from out of the blue. I had not expected it. After all, things like this don’t happen to me. Especially after all that I just went through with Christopher’s accident and subsequent brain injury. I had my ‘bad thing’ happen. There’s no way that another bad thing could come my way. Or could it?

What’s up with this? Haven’t I been through enough? Is someone trying to get my attention? Is it God? Didn’t He get my attention when Christopher fell from that tree? I’m listening now… well, at least I thought I was, but maybe I’m not listening enough. Or perhaps this has nothing to do with me listening to God. Perhaps this is just what happens in the real world. Women have mammograms. Radiologists find suspicious things. Sometimes it’s nothing.

But sometimes, it’s cancer. Oh, gosh… I hate that word. I can hardly even say it. My mom had it… cancer. I think that’s why I’m so worried. It was four years ago that she was diagnosed with breast cancer, but after surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, she is alive and healthy. Perhaps that will be my story, as well. We’ll see. I’m sitting here, waiting to go in for my second mammogram and then an ultrasound. As I just said… we’ll see…

11:30am

I’m fine… there’s no cancer… no need to worry… that’s it. I’m fine! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing as the Radiologist showed me what she saw that had caused suspicion and then explained that after further testing, she now believes that it is nothing to worry about. I think I am more surprised to hear that everything is okay than if she had told me that I had cancer. I’m not sure why that is. After all, it’s me… Laura Ackerman… the eternal optimist. But these days, I guess that as I find myself living life in ‘the real world’, I am coming to terms with the fact that no one is immune. No one is immune to their child falling out of a tree and sustaining a brain injury… no one is immune to having cancer… no one is immune to suffering. Not even me. So forward I will go. Thankful for all that I have been blessed with and reluctantly grateful for the challenges that have been thrown my way during the past year. At this point I actually find myself saying, “Hmmm… I wonder what’s next? Bring it on!”

Around Alamo: Christopher, the miracle boy

2010-06-29T00:09:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 28, 2010
On Sunday, June 27^th we had the honor of having an article published in our local newspaper about Christopher’s accident and the journey that we as a family have found ourselves on during the past two months. It is a beautifully written article about the quick response of caring neighbors, the amazing work of our local paramedics, the physicians and nurses at Children’s Hospital and the wonderful support of our community during such a difficult time.

The author of the article, Caterina Mellinger and her editor Kelly Gust were successful in having this photo of Christopher and his ICU physician, Dr. Vivienne Newman published in the paper, which was a wonderful surprise! I continue, on a daily basis to be humbled and so very thankful for the incredible medical care Christopher received and for the prayers of our local community and thousands of people around the world. I believe, without a doubt that Christopher is alive and thriving today because of everyone responsible for his care and those who prayed for him. Here is the link to the article:

http://www.contracostatimes.com/ci_15373288?IADID=Search-www.contracostatimes.com-www.contracostatimes.com&nclick_check=1

Thanks to Caterina, Kelly and Jennifer Kessler for your work in getting this article written and published!

Christopher-I Don't Know Why.mov

2010-06-13T23:55:00.000-07:00

Christopher's Homecoming 10

2010-06-13T23:52:00.000-07:00

Christopher’s Homecoming 10

Sunday, June 13, 2010

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Eleven days, to be exact. My how time flies… when you’re having fun? When, for 18 days, you did not sleep from midnight to five am… just lying awake… watching the minutes tick by on the alarm clock? When life as you knew it only 7 weeks ago is a distant memory because your time is no longer your own? When your days are still filled with Dr. appointments, CT Scans and home-led cognitive therapy? When you can’t help but worry about your 13-year-old child stumbling over something as common as a curb, falling and hitting his head? When the simple act of being away from him for a couple of hours is stressful, wondering if the family members or friends who are ‘watching him’ in your absence are being vigilant enough? Today, worry; stew and fret are my new buddies.

I somehow feel as though I’ve stepped back in time. Back about twelve years, that is. Back to when Christopher was a toddler. My thoughts are always three steps ahead of the ones he is taking. My mind is filled with ‘what ifs’. What if he slips and falls? What if we get in an accident and he hits his head on the windshield? What if his friends get a little over-zealous when hugging him ‘hello’ and they knock headsor they knock him over? What if Chief jumps up on him and he falls down? My heart skipped a beat when he told me that he and Emily had raced up the stairs at her school on Tuesday afternoon when they went to pick up some books and I thought,“what if he would have tripped, fallen and hit his head?” It has been such a long time since I have had thoughts such as these.

Actually, I never really did have thoughts about such things. Oh, I knew they could happen, but my nature is not to worry. Remember, it was only seven weeks and four days ago that Christopher called to tell me that he and his buddies were going to be out in the neighborhood looking for some ‘awesome trees to climb’. It didn’t even enter my mind to worry about that. Boys climb trees. MY BOY climbs trees. My concern that day was that they be home by 6:30 pm so that I could get them to youth group on time. I wasn’t even worried when a neighbor stood pounding on my front door that evening at 6:30, asking if I was Christopher Ackerman’s mother, frantically beckoning to me through the side window. And when she told me that there had been an accident, that it was really serious and they’d called 911, still I didn’t worry. Remember my thoughts? “Oh great… he’s broken and arm or a leg and there’s bone protruding through his skin… this means surgery… a cast… physical therapy… there goes soccer season… he must be so bummed!” Little did I know how quickly life as I knew it was about to change.

But today, I am not complaining about the changes we are living with. Things are improving daily. I’m finally sleeping again at night. Oh, how wonderful that feels! We have settled into our new routine. Our new normal actually feels, well… quite normal. I have not only adjusted to, but have embraced having my boy home with me every day... all day long. He and I are figuring out how to be together 24/7 while still giving each other a little space. Well, I should say that Christopher has accepted the fact that every day, his mother needs a little space. We stay in touch via text messaging. Yes, you read that right… text messaging while in the same house. I need to be alone for about an hour every day and he needs to stay connected, so he texts me when he has something to say. Yesterday, I was in the office and he was in the family room. He gave me a running commentary on the USA vs. England World Cup Soccer game. He did a fine job keeping me apprised of all the action!

I feel as though I’ve won the lottery in so many ways. First of all, Christopher is alive! I bet I think that thought about twenty-four times a day. I am not exaggerating… I really do think to myself, “He is alive and that is a miracle. He came so close to death. I almost lost him. I have so much to be thankful for.” Not only is he alive, but also, he is still Christopher. Remember on night five of his coma when Dr. Gayle told me exactly what I had asked for… the truth? (Blog titled “Christopher’s Brain Injury 7). She explained to me that the speech and personality areas of his brain had been injured. That was by far the darkest night of my life. I’ll never forget my thoughts during those hours. “I taught him to talk once, I’ll teach him to talk again. But his personality? NO… not his personality!” And then when I got in my car the next day and the Amy Grant song, I Don’t Know Why was playing on the stereo… that lyric will be forever embedded in my brain, because it so perfectly described the journey we had suddenly found ourselves on…

“This is one of those moments, when all that really matters is crystal clear.

We are woven together by whatever threads of life that have brought us here.

We are stripped of all our layers, getting to the core.

Tell me something real and nothing more.

I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I don’t know where.

Maybe all I know is now.

So I’m here between the bookends of everything that was and what will be.

There’s a wealth of information but not so many answers it seems to me.

So I’ll face the unfamiliar and nothing is clear.

Only blinding faith can carry me from here.

Hold my hand and hold this moment. Time sure feels precious, don’t it.

Life is always changing, this I know.

I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I don’t know where.

Maybe all I know is now.”

To this day, I can’t listen to that song without crying… without feeling as though I’ve been stabbed in the heart… the ache in my chest so strong that in my mind, I sink to my knees. It happened last Thursday when Christopher and I were in the car, leaving the hospital after his CT Scan. I was overwhelmed with emotion and I apologized to him for crying. He just sat there and looked at me, his sweet face smiling, his heart breaking as he said, “I’m so sorry I made you go through all of this.” “Oh, Christopher,” I said, “You have nothing to be sorry for! I’m just so thankful that you’re sitting here next to me… and that you are still MY Christopher.”

As I write this, the tears are flowing again, the pain so very real, the memory so vivid. I don’t know if it will ever go away. In some ways I hope it never does. It is a daily reminder of where we were. How precarious life is. But most of all, of where we are today. It is my reminder that I need to be thankful for every single day… every moment of every day. Life can change in an instant, and while Christopher’s life has changed, which in turn has changed mine, he is still here, living, breathing, walking, talking, laughing and fully CHRISTOPHER ANDREW ACKERMAN.

I tell him that I feel as though these days, weeks and months, spending every waking moment together is what I now refer to as my ‘Lucky Strike Extra.’ It’s that extra bit of time that we were not planning to have. Mothers and 13-year-old sons just don’t do this. It isn’t normal to be attached at the hip, driving in the car from appointment to appointment. To listen to music together on the radio or on his iPod for hours every day, talking about bands, lyrics and the beauty of song. About how music possesses the ability, the magic to transport us back in time. To play games such as Banagrams and Password every day, both of us being rather competitive when we play because we are such ‘word fanatics.’ We argue about whether the word one of us created is real or not. We Google the definition of a word given in Password, always challenging each other, at times getting into a heated debate over the validity of a definition.

We’ve had wonderful conversations about the complexities of the brain, the body and the amazing doctors and nurses who cared for him. He spent last week reading my blog. I started reading it to him the week after he came out of his coma but he wasn’t yet ready to hear what I’d written. He didn’t believe all that I was saying and it was a rather scary ‘story’. So I simply told him that it was there if he ever wanted to read it. I’m not sure what compelled him to begin reading it last week, but he was ready… I guess the time was right. He could only handle several posts per day, though. He would read for a while, then come to me and talk about all that he had absorbed. He was quite moved by my story, which he is now coming to realize is his story.

I believe that he is feeling guilty on some level about all that happened. At one point, he expressed concern about the cost of his medical care. He was relieved to understand how our health care coverage works and to know that Paul will not have to work longer hours, nor do we have to sell our house to pay the bills (I guess the $30,000 helicopter bill caught his attention!) He feels badly that we were so worried about him. He has apologized numerous times for being ‘so mean’ to me during the time he was going through withdrawal. I shrugged that off, telling him that I would never hold it against him since he was a bit crazy during that time. But I believe that I need to sit down with him and have a heart-to-heart conversation. One in which I reassure him that I will NEVER resent him because of all that I went through during his hospitalization. I was telling my friend Mike about this and he suggested that it would be a great opportunity to talk with Christopher about grace. I love that. What a beautiful way to teach my son about a mother’s love and about grace. Grace, what a lovely thing…

Yes, things are definitely better these days. I’ve won a lottery of sorts. I’m thoroughly enjoying my Lucky Strike Extra. I still don’t know why this happened… I don’t know how I got through it… I don’t know where this will end up… All I DO know is now, today, this hour, this minute, and that is how I will continue to move forward. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute… humbled, thankful, and looking forward to teaching my child about grace.

With love, Laura

P.S. I have decided to re-post the slideshow I made several weeks back using Amy Grant’s song, I Don’t Know Why. It is a beautiful reminder of where we were, how far we’ve come in such a short time, and of all that really matters. Hope you enjoy it… again!

Christopher's Homecoming 9

2010-06-02T21:31:00.000-07:00

Christopher’s Homecoming 9

Wednesday, June 2, 2010, 7:30 pm

It was only six shorts weeks ago tonight… that would be 42 days… or 1009 hours, to be exact, that my child fell out of a tree and sustained a severe traumatic brain injury. We just had a visit from a very special group of men and women. The first-responders who were on the scene of Christopher’s accident came to our home to visit him and what wonderful people they are. Chris was surprised to see the ambulance he was transported to the helicopter in, as well as the fire truck that was there that night. They were all amazed to see him walking, talking and laughing, but most of all… LIVING!

It was fascinating to hear their story of that night. They responded to the 911 call within ten minutes, and we know that they were called immediately after Christopher fell by at least two people, Dr. Keith and Alex. What surprised and concerned them upon arriving was his condition, given the short distance from which he fell from the tree. Typically, they said, after a relatively short fall like that, the patient is either awake or beginning to awaken within 10 minutes.

But Christopher was completely unresponsive. His pupils were dilated and there was no eye movement, nor was he blinking. He was breathing abnormally, which Megan described as “fits and starts”. Also, his arms were showing signs of abnormal posturing, which is “an involuntary flexion or extension of the arms and legs, indicating severe brain injury… With Decerebrate posturing, the arms and/or legs are extended and rotated internally… The presence of posturing indicates a severe medical emergency requiring immediate medical attention and is strongly associated with poor outcome.” This is just how one of the paramedics described Christopher. Jim showed me what Chris was doing… he held his arms, extended but slightly bent at the elbows and rotated internally. He said they were moving involuntarily. The presence of abnormal posturing was a really bad sign, one that gave them little hope that he would survive this injury. They reiterated that they didn’t think he was going to make it.

It was interesting to learn of how they all worked together that night as a team. They were grateful that Dr. Keith, our neighbor and a trained EMT was on the scene and was able to assist them, because they needed all the help they could get! One of them was in constant contact with the CALSTAR helicopter pilot who was circling the area trying to find a close and safe location to land. He said that once he found a large cul-de-sac that would work, he lowered the helicopter, then moved it over about 10 feet horizontally before placing it on the ground. When he took off, he simply reversed this maneuver.

They were so humble… I gave them hugs and thanked them for saving Christopher’s life. They quickly told me that it wasn’t them who saved his life. I said that there were many people who were part of that story but that they were certainly the beginning, and without their work on him, he wouldn’t be here today. Still, they insisted on giving the doctors and nurses at Children’s Hospital credit. These are beautiful men and women…

They were all in awe of Christopher’s recovery and I told them that when we were at Children’s Hospital on Friday visiting his nurses from the ICU, we were reminded again of “just how close” he came to death. Two of Chris' nurses, Lily and Carol held their fingers about ¼ inch apart… showing us how precarious his situation had been. They told us, once more time that it is a miracle that Christopher is alive today.

Standing there in a circle around Chris this evening with all of the paramedics, 6 in total, we were singing the praises of Children’s Hospital… of the wonderful doctors and nurses who have dedicated their lives to saving children. Jim said that when they refer to Children’s Hospital, they frequently call it “the place where miracles happen.” There weren’t many dry eyes in that circle as we shook our heads in agreement… looking at Christopher and once again reminded of the miracle we have to be thankful for.

Love, Laura

P.S. As a side note, Jim told me that after being with me at the scene of the accident, he refers to me as “the Schwartzkopf of mothers”. I think that’s a compliment, so thanks, Jim!

Christopher's Homecoming 8

2010-05-29T22:45:00.000-07:00

Christopher’s Homecoming 8

Saturday, May 29, 2010, 5:00 pm

One day earlier this week I had a bad day. Well, if I were to be completely honest, I would say that many days this week have been bad days. As I sat there on this particular bad day, I was beating myself up…“What is my problem? I have every reason to be having a good day… actually a wonderful, glorious, magnificent day! It was only four weeks ago that my child was in a coma, fighting for his life. THOSE were bad days.” But no matter how desperately I tried to shake off my slump, I simply couldn’t do it.

As I lay in bed that night, I was answering several e-mails and one in particular really stood out. It was from my friend, Gloria, and she had attached a copy of something she had written four weeks earlier. She had spent Sunday evening April 25^th with me in the PICU while Christopher was in a coma, fighting for his life. She told me that as she was cleaning out her files she came across this writing and thought she should send it to me because it reminded her of how far I have come. THAT it did. With her permission, I share it with you…

“I have a friend, an optimistic-warrior mom who loves her children with a fierce, unconditional love. Four days ago her 13-year-old son, in a fluke accident, fell out of a tree sustaining a traumatic brain injury. He was air lifted to Children’s Hospital, Pediatric ICU where the medical staff has been busy attempting to stabilize body function and control the impact of his brain injury. My heart and the hearts of hundreds of others break for her and her family.

”Sitting with her by Christopher’s bedside, she calmly educates me about his medical condition. He is in a paralyzed state and deeply sedated so that he lacks ‘awareness’ and will not get agitated or upset. The numbers on the oft- beeping monitor are measuring everything of importance. And there is a dedicated nurse who is not diverting her eyes from the story these numbers are telling her of the internal war Christopher’s body is waging.

”We are sitting together watching two of these numbers specifically. With limited knowledge needed, we watch the only two numbers whose delicate relationship matters. They measure the amount of blood pressure in his body against the amount of blood pressure in his brain. Second-by-second these numbers shift and change.

”The perfect balance is needed. Not too high and not too low, so as to decrease or avoid brain injury and to sustain life. As we watch in silence together her husband texts her, “what are the numbers now?” But the numbers begin to change in the wrong direction. “I can’t give him these numbers… he’ll be back on the road to the hospital and he needs to sleep!”

”She jumps up in a heartbeat, holding Christopher’s hand and gently rubbing his leg while she makes the same simple statements of comfort over and over again; “I’m here Christopher - it’s mom... You are okay, you had an accident. The doctors are taking good care of you. Emily is fine and Dad and I are fine as well. You’re doing great Christopher - we’re all right here, everything is okay.” “I love you. There’s no need to worry, just relax - I’m here...”

”Not 45 seconds later his numbers begin to stabilize... it is amazing to observe. Speaking heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul, in his ‘unaware state’ Christopher heard his mothers voice and his body responded. Laura turns around and smiles with the confidence of her power as a mother... love that is unconditional, love that reaches where others cannot... She knows this is her role, her joy, her purpose and no matter how weary she may be, she will remain there, by his side. The nurse pulls up a chair so she can sit and stay at his bedside. “Just keep on doing what you’re doing Mom, he hears you!”

”There is a ‘knowing’ between us as mothers... Moms voice and touch - reaching where medicine and scientific wonder cannot. She smiles and laughs and texts her husband the wonder of it all... Who knew that the direction of two small numbers could have the power of instantly moving hearts from angst to relief in seconds. Paul is relieved but is texting the same question within minutes...

”It is several days later now. Life has won. The balance has shifted from loose/loose to win/win. Now, the new tenuous balance is one of healing and recovery with many unknowns at this time. Yesterday Christopher opened his eyes. His mom was doing what she had been doing these past seven days... standing by his bed side... a blink of recognition -- it is enough.”

As I read Gloria’s words, tears streamed down my face. I loved her recollection of that night in the PICU. This is what I wrote to her in response…

”Gloria, I am in bed... having endured a bad day. I don't have a good excuse/reason for my bad day. It simply was. I have taken an Ambien and consumed a glass of wine in search of the ever-elusive sleep. I'm not sure why I haven't been sleeping lately. One would think that once my boy and I were home, under the same familiar roof, sleeping in the comfort of our own beds that sleep would be my friend. Alas, it has not been friendly at all.

“I was going through my e-mail, in search of those to which I needed to respond and I came upon yours. I opened the attachment and soon found myself reading your beautiful words, tears streaming down my cheeks. I love your recollection of that night in the PICU. Interestingly, I remember you being there and the comfort of your presence, but I do not remember the text ‘conversation’ with Paul nor do I remember that particular interaction with Christopher and then his nurse. Thank you for documenting it so lovingly and for sharing it with me.”

Gloria’s words were indeed a gentle reminder of how very far we have come. Though sleep continued to elude me throughout the week and the bad days rolled in, one after another, I am learning, through the words and encouragement of so many friends that this is normal. I don’t particularly like normal. I want normal to just go away. One of my dear friends compared the trauma we have been through to the death of a loved one. He encouraged me to “sit back (and) give yourself some time.” Hmmm…. I am trying, John…

Gloria wrote back to me and this is what she said,

“I cannot imagine how exhausted your body, soul and mind must be. But I truly understand. Your 'not sleeping' is kind of par for the course you are on. Too many unknowns for you still and probably unpredictable behavior, which you find alarming. Bells and whistles don't calm down in your head/heart and body just because you get "home"...

“Try to treat yourself softly. My nickname is "bulldozer" for good reason -- it is hard for me to cut myself some slack (or anyone else! ha)-- but it's important to be soft with yourself. You're tired - rest. Dig in the garden, read a book, stare at the sky for hours. When I am at my worst, staring at the grass is about all I can do... So we'll just stare at grass together and try to breathe calmly.”

So this week I started reading a good book. This evening I am going to stare at the sky. I am trying to breathe calmly. I am going to sit back and give myself some time. THAT is difficult for me to do. I want everything to be better NOW! We are having our Friday Family Fun Night tonight. Yes, it is Saturday, but it is a beautiful day here and our home will soon be full of friends and family. Mae and Roby are joining us, as well as Mae’s sister, Sara, from the east coast. Christopher’s friend, Alex is already here and Emily’s friends, Mallory, Natasha and Julia will be here soon. Another family, Dave and Angela House and their three daughters are coming and are bringing dessert. Pizza, salads and wine are on the menu and I have a feeling that THIS is just what I need. Good times with good friends and family. And my boy, who, only five weeks ago was still in a coma, fighting for his life is home with us… He is walking, talking, laughing, sometimes struggling for the right words, and at times struggling to put his thoughts together properly, but that boy is alive, and for that, I am so very thankful… At some point I will become tired enough that sleep will once again come to me. For now, I just slog through my days and remember all that I have to be grateful for…

Love, Laura

Christopher's Homecoming 7

2010-05-26T19:32:00.000-07:00

Christopher’s Homecoming 7

Wednesday, May 26, 2010, 7:00 pm

To say that receiving meals from friends is a wonderful thing would be an understatement. The fact that I don’t have to plan, shop and prepare dinner every day is like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. And the added benefit is the short time that we are able to spend with each of you as you deliver your goodies! Yesterday we were privileged to enjoy the company of one of my MOPS moms, Sandy and her three darling children. (photo above)

When Sandy first arrived at the door, the kids were still in the car, begging to come in the house to meet our dogs. Once inside, though, the two little ones were quite frightened, especially of Chief, our 170-pound Great Dane! I did the same thing that I frequently do when children first see him and realize how HUGE he is… I put him in a ‘down’ so that he wasn’t towering over them quite so much. As we spent time together, catching up with Christopher and hearing all about his tree-climbing experience, they relaxed, realizing that Chief is indeed the most gentle, loving and calm dog they’ve ever been around. It wasn’t long before Shelby (photo) was carrying Bella (our 6-pound Shih-tzu/poodle mix who she was afraid of initially) around and petting Chief, thoroughly enjoying both of them and forgetting that she is afraid of dogs! Thanks for the meal, Sandy and kids... it was delicious!

This morning Christopher and I made the 60-mile trek down to Santa Clara, which is south of San Jose to see Dr. Mandac who is now his Pediatric Rehabilitation doctor. Spending an hour with this doctor was an absolute pleasure. He was so engaging, thorough and professional. He began the hour by asking Christopher the first thing he remembers after his accident on April 21^st. He said that he remembers being in the veil bed on the Rehab floor of Children’s Hospital (ahhh…remember the ‘inescapable veil bed’?) and feeling frustrated and angry that he was being forced back into the bed by one of the nurses (I believe it was Bryan). He didn’t think he needed to be there, wanted to just go home and hated being ‘handled’ that way. Oh, how I remember that day! It was Tuesday, May 4^th, 14 days after his accident, and he was in the midst of the really ugly part of withdrawal from narcotics. His confusion and disorientation from the brain injury were peaking. Thank goodnessthat didn’t last the 2 – 3 weeks we were warned of!

As we spoke, Dr. Mandac compared Christopher’s brain injury to an earthquake in a supermarket. The recovery will be much like learning to ‘re-shelve stock’. Chris will need to learn to process information similar to deciding which aisle a can of peaches belongs in, what shelf it should sit upon, which fruit it sits with, what brand it needs to be grouped with and which direction to turn the can so that the label can be properly read. All of that seems so simple to us… like falling off a log, but for Christopher, it could offer quite a challenge.

He told us that one of the things we need to focus on during his recovery is the information he is taking in and remembering post injury. It is not so important what or even that he can remember and tell us anything before the accident. That information is there… he simply needs to retrieve it. It is the learning of new things, the ability to process and understand those things and then the successful retrieval of them that aids in his recovery AND tells us that his brain is indeed beginning to once again function properly. I LOVE being educated and learning how to challenge my boy to further his healing!

We discussed several concerns that Dr. Mandac has for Christopher, the main one being that he does not want him doing any activities with high risk for another head injury. This means no biking for six months. It has been eight hours since Chris heard that news and he is still struggling to accept it. Mountain biking with Paul is one of his favorite activities and they had already begun planning their weekly Saturday morning excursions when he had his accident. We knew that mountain biking was not in the cards for quite some time, as well as skiing, playing competitive soccer and, of course, tree-climbing, but we thought that he would be able to hop on his bike and ride to a friends’ house sooner than later. No such luck.

I loved how Dr. Mandac spoke to him, though. He told him that he tends to be extremely conservative in general, but with regard to a severe brain injury, he is evenmore conservative. “If you fall and hit your head again, Christopher”, he said, “then we will not have the luxury of sitting here and having the nice discussion that we are currently having.” In other words… another brain injury would result in a much worse outcome… one that none of us wishes to ever imagine. I have chosen to listen to and embrace Dr. Mandac’s conservative orders. The road to recovery from his injury is a very short one relative to the rest of Christopher’s life, which we all want him to live fully and completely.

We talked about his Dilantin, the anti-seizure medication that he takes twice a day. Chris’ medication comes in liquid form at this point, but Dr. Mandac much prefers the pill form. He explained that when dispensing the liquid Dilantin from the ‘barrel’ in the Pharmacy, the place from which the medicine is ‘scooped’, the top, middle or bottom, determines the actual level of concentration of Dilantin (bottom being the most concentrated). There is no way to know how much actual medication is in each bottle that we receive. Therefore, he had us stop in at the Lab on our way out this morning to have blood work done. Based on the results, he will be able to determine the level of Dilantin currently in Christopher’s system so that when he orders the new prescription in pill-form, which has a controlled and measured concentration, he can adjust it to his needs. It is very important for the level of Dilantin in his blood stream to remain steady rather than vacillating up and down, which will lower his risk of seizures.

Sleep is one of the most important things for Christopher to do to aid in his recovery. When the brain rests during sleep, it heals. He has been so tired every day after our mornings out and about at various doctor appointments that he has been spending the afternoons napping. Dr. Mandac was pleased to hear this and told us that, for now, he should not engage in any sleep-deprivation activities, including sleepovers (sorry, Alex)!

Neuropsychological testing is something that he was going to recommend and was glad to hear that Dr. Sun had already ordered it. He is going to look at the results after the test and discuss them with me. As I said in Monday’s post, this will be a two to three hour comprehensive test that will give us a clear understanding of his cognitive abilities and will allow us to know where he needs help. It will also provide a baseline of where he is now so that we can monitor the progress that he makes as time goes on.

The next thing that I need to do is to contact Christopher’s school to discuss what needs to be done for him to finish out his 7^th grade year. Something fun to look forward to doing tomorrow!

On our way home from Santa Clara, we stopped in to see my friend, Karen who is the Director of a preschool. (photo right) The last time she saw Chris was on the Saturday after his fall, when he was still in a coma. One thing that I am learning is how very therapeutic it is for those who have followed our journey to see Christopher… to lay eyes on him… to listen to him talk, see him walk, smile and laugh. As we entered the preschool, there were shouts of joy and laughter and he was hugged and kissed, tears flowing freely from women we have never met but who have been very muchwith us over the past five weeks.

While there, Christopher even got a hug from a very sweet four-year-old, Marissa who is the niece of a good friend. (photo left) It was endearing to hear stories being told about Chris and his accident. It turns out that Marissa’s mom, Cindy was at a social event where someone she didn’t know was talking about a 13-year-old boy who had sustained a traumatic brain injury. Cindy told her that she knew of a 13-year-old boy who had fallen out of a tree and was in a coma. As they were commenting on the coincidence and began comparing notes, they realized that they were both talking about the same boy.... my boy… and they had both heard about Christopher from friends… of friends… of friends… It is absolutely amazing how word of Chris’ accident moved so quickly and even more than that, how loving and concerned everyone was.

Thank you again for all of your prayers and your words of support and encouragement during this difficult time. It means more than you will ever know and I will never be able to thank each of you properly. Just know that they sustained me and continue to do so.

I love you all,

Laura

P.S. Several of you have asked me to include the link to the Caringbridge website in each of my updates, so here it is: caringbridge.org/visit/christopherackerman/mystory

Christopher's Homecoming 6

2010-05-24T15:12:00.000-07:00

Christopher’s Homecoming 6

Monday, May 24, 2010, 12:30 pm

I continue to be amazed. It was only 15 hours ago that I sent out an e-mail with a link for signing up to provide meals for the Ackerman family… that e-mail/blog post where I spoke of my reluctance to ask for help… something which I am unaccustomed to doing. But I did it and the response has been overwhelming. We now have meals coming to us for the next two weeks, and knowing that I don’t have to plan and execute them is a huge relief!

I’ve been thinking about a conversation I had with a friend seven weeks ago regarding our faith in mankind. We were both in the midst of some personal struggles and were discussing the fact that it was disheartening to think about how many people had let us down. We were feeling as though depending on others was an exercise in futility.

It was only sixteen days later that I suddenly found myself in the midst of the most significant crisis and personal struggle I have ever experienced… one in which I found myself forced to depend on mankind. The immediate and continued response by friends, family and those I have never even met has certainly changed my views. I have seen compassion, love, concern, and acts of kindness expressed in ways I never imagined possible. My friend has walked alongside me, though from a distance, like so many of you, throughout these past four weeks. I do believe that he and I are now due to revisit our conversation about the reliability of mankind…. What I now know for sure is that I am most humbled and my confidence and faith have certainly been restored. A huge thank you is in order…

3:00 pm

This morning Christopher had his first outpatient Speech Therapy (ST) session. I was invited to sit in and participate with him, which was quite interesting. Chris started things out with a very appropriate question for his therapist, Barbara, “Why is this called Speech Therapy when I am not having difficulty with my speech?” She explained to him that what he is in need of has more to do with cognition than speech, but that it all falls under the title of Speech Therapy. She then continued by asking him some questions, such as what he remembers about his accident (absolutely nothing!), where he feels he is struggling and what he is going to do to make-up the seven weeks of school he is missing.

She also gave him several tests to assess the extent of his injury. She handed him spiral-bound book with sixty drawings of various objects, ranging from the most simple (a helicopter) to the more complex (a ‘yoke’ and an ‘abacus’). He scored 52/60 and Barbara told him that as a 13-year-old, he had done quite well, the average score for adults being 55/60. Interestingly, he was able to perfectly define the words he missed even though he couldn’t actually come up with them. For example, as he looked at the ‘abacus’, he said, “Oh, that’s an Egyptian device for making mathematical calculations, but I just can’t seem to come up with the word…” GO CHRIS!!!

Another assessment was one she called ‘fluency naming’ in which she asked him to name as many animals as he could think of in a set period of time. He came up with 24 when the average is 18. She then read him a paragraph about ‘quicksand’ and had him paraphrase it for her. After completing her testing, Barbara told us that she sees little intrinsic value in spending time in her office, paraphrasing short stories and such. Instead, she gave us several cognitive exercises that we can do with Christopher on a daily basis and suggestions for helping him to stretch his recall and comprehension abilities. These include:

Games such as Password, Scattergories, Soduku and Chess
Reading and paraphrasing books (I will read the same book with him)
Taking notes on TV shows such as Mythbusters and then telling me about them
Keeping a list of vocabulary words he has difficulty coming up with
Hiring private tutors for Spanish and Math. These tutors will assess what he needs to ‘re-learn’, if anything, and then continue moving forward by finishing out what needs to be learned to complete 7^th grade and then moving on into 8^th grade work
Fluency-naming exercises

I am so pleased with her evaluation and recommendations and feel that this is a very appropriate means of restoring his cognitive abilities and one which will be interesting and engaging for Christopher. Perhaps 'therapy' won't be so painful after all... We are going to see Barbara again in 2 weeks for a follow-up visit.

I am spending this evening with the lovely ladies from my MOPS (Mothers Of PreSchooler's) group. I am looking forward to getting away (to somewhere other than Children's Hospital!) for several hours, after having enjoyed the dinner that my neighbor Darcy prepared and delivered to us! Thank you again to everyone who so willingly signed up to provide meals for us during the next several weeks. As I said earlier... I am most humbled...

Love, Laura

Christopher's Homecoming 5

2010-05-23T20:37:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 23, 2010, 7:30 pm

Well, I've done it. I've come to accept the fact that I'm tired. No, actually, I'm exhausted... mentally, emotionally and physically. Yesterday I was beating myself up because I was feeling so tired and defeated. I told Paul and Mae that I feel as though I am weak and incompetent. I am not accustomed to feeling this way. Laura Ackerman is strong... steady and stable... able to handle that which comes her way. Isn't that what I've done for the past month?

I believe that I have now entered the 'let down' stage. The fact that I have 'let down' is a good thing. We are home, together as a family and Christopher is doing so well! Many of the concerns that we and the doctors had only a week ago are irrelevant today. Chris does, however tire easily and, as Emily, Paul and I have discussed, he is a bit disoriented... almost as though he is walking around in a fog much of the time. You wouldn't notice it if you spent 30 minutes or even 3 hours with him. You really need to live with him to see it. That's okay, though. We believe that that will get better as the months go by.

Back to my fatigue. I sat here today, reviewing the upcoming week and the many appointments Christopher has with Doctors and therapists. In addition to that, I looked at all that needs to be done around the house to simply 'catch up' after having neglected things for a month. I found myself thinking about all of you who have wanted to do something... anything to help us out. I remembered somewhere in the recesses of my mind, saying several weeks ago that I would set up an account on a website where those of you who would like to bring a meal to us could go and sign up. My exhaustion and overwhelming fatigue led me straight to that website and I reluctantly set up an account. It felt very strange... entering the dates we would like a meal brought to us... specifying the foods we enjoy... but I believe that it is what I need at this point.

SO... I set up an account for Christopher on Caring Bridge, which now includes my blog posts from the past month. Here's the link to our Caring Bridge website:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/christopherackerman

On the main page where it says "My Story" you can click on the link to provide meals, (or you can simply click on the link below) which is:

http://www.foodtidings.com/SignUp.aspx?ScheduleGuid=c6d54a0f-e02c-4638-9e16-a2bac6aa859a

From there, I think it is intuitively obvious. Thanks so much (in advance) for helping us out! Again, I don't know what I would have done without all of your support and encouragement over the past month!

I love you all, Laura

Christopher's Homecoming 4

2010-05-21T21:14:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 21, 2010, 1:00 pm

Chilly, cloudy afternoon... fire in fireplace... dogs napping nearby... watching The Italian Job with my boy... smile on my face and heart filled with joy... yes, life is good...

8:15 pm

Christopher was due for a haircut about the time of his accident, so by this morning, he was desperate! Cindy, our friend for some eleven years has been our 'personal groomer' so we went to see her this morning. Tears filled her eyes as she hugged him, and we spoke about what a miracle it is that he is home from the hospital, walking and talking so soon. She and her family have been following our journey from the very beginning, so she feels as though she has been right there with us all the way! Chris felt like a new man as we walked out of the salon... Thanks, Cindy, we love you! (photo of Christopher and Cindy from this morning)

We reluctantly said goodbye to Nicholas this morning as he needed to get back home to Mexico City where he works in the Micro Finance division of World Vision. We will never be able to thank him enough for being willing to put his life on hold for three weeks to be here with us. Having our family together during this most stressful time was such a gift. As difficult as the days were, there was so much comfort in knowing that we were there for each other, together and united. Family... We love you, Nick, and are going to miss you... (photo taken this morning just before Nick left)

As we moved through our day today, I noted several things. First and foremost is the fact that we have no need for a person to be sitting next to Chris in the car, seeing that his seatbelt is secure and he is not attempting to exit the car. We are also not concerned about him walking out of the house at random. These were major concerns only 10 days ago, but because he is not acting impulsively and has very good control over his behavior, we are free to drive about, just the two of us, and we do not have to keep eyes on him 24/7. We are still going to have our home security system upgraded, but it is not a pressing issue any longer. THESE things have simplified my life immensely! Thank God for that!

Another thing that I have noticed is that Christopher is aware of and noticing the beauty all around him in a way he never has. As we drive, he comments continually about all of the beautiful flowers, trees and scenery, especially noting the beauty of Mt. Diablo. (photo) He is in awe of the brilliant colors, the reds, pinks and yellows of the flowers and is even noticing the various shades of green in the trees and shrubs. This is an interesting thing to me and one that I would like to investigate further. Why is it that he is seeing the world as though it is all new and amazing? How exciting

I'm going to keep things short and sweet tonight. Christopher has had a great day... feeling calm and peaceful, which in turn gives me a beautiful gift... the gift of a wonderful day! His buddy, Alex, who was with him at the time of the accident and was the first person to place the 911 call, came over this afternoon and is still here. It is wonderful to have him join our family on this Friday evening for dinner and a movie. We enjoyed lasagne made by our friend, Rosylyn (Yummm...thanks so much, Rosylyn!) and are watching Apollo 13, which is one of Paul and Christopher's favorite movies! Friday Family Fun Night has been moved to tomorrow, Saturday, due to extenuating circumstances. We can't wait to see Mae and Roby and spend the evening together!

Love, Laura

Christopher's Homecoming 3

2010-05-20T21:30:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 20, 2010, 3:30pm

The difference between yesterday and today is remarkable and something I really needed. I was feeling so very discouraged last night when I wrote my update, and going to bed feeling that way was tough, especially for someone like me. I love nothing more than beginning and ending my day on a positive note and it usually takes a lot to get me down. But yesterday... I was down!!! I was feeling weak and incompetent, unsure of how I was going to navigate this next part of our journey. After our day today, though, I am feeling much more optimistic. I know that there will be many ups and downs, but I will hang onto the 'up' days like today, knowing that eventually there will be more and more of them.

Christopher and I started our day by stopping in at my MOPS meeting. For those of you who aren't familiar with MOPS (Mothers Of PreSchoolers), it is a group of mothers who meet several times a month. I have been a Mentor Mom for this group for the past five years. I am there to provide support and encouragement for these young moms who are raising their families and feeling as though their lives will never be the same again. What they don't realize is howthey inspire me and they were unbelievably supportive and inspiring during the past month. It was great to see them all after having been gone such a long time and they couldn't believe that Chris was there with me. I had the opportunity to talk with them a little about dealing with crises, sharing with them much of what I said in yesterday's update/blog on Christopher. (photo of Chris and I during our talk with my MOPS moms)

I told them that it is natural to wonderhow we would conduct ourselves in moments such as these, but that the strength and character we possess is often not evident until we find ourselves entrenched in difficult situations. I encouraged them to continue letting their little ones wander away from them, giving them the independence that they so need to grow into strong adults. Tree-climbing is still an activity that I full-heartedly support! All children need to do it! Accidents happen and the worst thing we can do for our kids is to keep them on a short leash, holding their hands through life and micro-managing them. I love something that I once heard Amy Grant, a singer and songwriter say... "You either prepare the road for the child or the child for the road." I have chosen to prepare my children for the road, and my hope is that as they move through life, they will be competent enough to handle, with grace, whatever comes their way.

We had an appointment this morning to see Christopher's Neurosurgeon, Dr. Peter Sun for his post-op visit. We sat down with him and he went over the CT Scan and the MRI with us, answering all of our questions and explaining a bit more about the injury to his brain. He pointed out that there is some bruising on the left side of his brain above his ear (image above is of the MRI, and it is reversed, so left is right and right is left)! The bright area on the side of the image near the swelling (which is toward the bottom) is the affected area that he was talking about. Dr. Sun asked me what I am seeing in Christopher that is indicative of injury, so I told him about the cookies/cupcakes/sweets interaction yesterday. I explained that he understands individual pieces of information but has difficulty putting them all together, seeing the bigger picture and making sense of it all.

It was interesting that after I told Dr. Sun about this, he turned to Christopher, who piped up and said, "Well, those cookies really ARE for ME... after all, the whole reason everyone brought them to us is because of ME!" I looked at Dr. Sun, who cocked his head at me, as if to say, "Well???" and said, "This really IS different from anything he would have ever said or done... he would have never been so possessive about anything, especially food!" He said that this is a classic example of the type of injury that he has sustained. This part of his brain controls recall and comprehension, so none of us should be surprised at what we are hearing from Chris. I was talking with my friend Yvette this afternoon and she reminded me that he and I had the exact same exchange 10 days ago in the hospital when she was there for a visit. I asked him if he would like to share his box of chocolate-covered berries with us and he pulled them close to his chest, saying that they were all for him! I had already forgotten about that! Recall and comprehension...

Dr. Sun recommended Neuro-Psych testing for Christopher. This would be a two to three hour comprehensive test that would give us a clear understanding of his cognitive abilities and would allow us to know where he needs help. It will also provide a baseline of where he is now so that we can monitor the progress that he makes as time goes on. He is very pleased with Christopher's rapid recovery and feels confident that there will be a great outcome. We should expect his progress to slow down as the weeks and months go by, which is normal.

The incisions on Chris' head are healing nicely and we were able to learn a little more about the surgery that Dr. Sun performed on Christopher that very first night at Children's Hospital. He made the incision (photo above) on the right side of Chris' head, drilled a hole through his skull and inserted an intraventricular catheter, which is a thin, flexible tube through the brain matter into the lateral ventricle, which contains liquid (cerebrospinal fluid, CSF). The catheter monitored second by second changes in the intracranial pressure (ICP)... remember the ICP... one of the many numbers we were watching back in those first eight days that he was in the coma? It also lowered the ICP by draining CSF out through the catheter.

This monitoring is done in cases of severe head injury when there is concern about brain swelling. In addition to draining CSF, Christopher's doctors and nurses treated the ICP by changing his ventilator settings and giving medications through IV's. The reason this monitoring was so crucial was that raised intracranial pressure meant that both nervous system (neural) and blood vessel (vascular) tissues were being compressed. Left untreated, it would have resulted in permanent neurologic damage. Dr. Sun told us today that the fact that the pressure in Christopher's brain never increased to the point that he needed surgery to open his skull was a really big deal, meaning that the injuries he sustained were limited to the initial bruising and bleeding in his brain. Just another reminder that we are so fortunate to have been at Children's Hospital during this critical time, where the care was the best we could have asked for. A full-recovery is a realistic expectation. My walking miracle...

Today as we were leaving Dr. Sun's office, he told me that he had heard about my blog and was wondering if I would be willing to let him link it to his website. I told him that I would be honored...

Tonight I expect that we will sleep well, having had a wonderful and peaceful day. I have so much to be thankful for...

Love, Laura

Christopher's Homecoming 2

2010-05-19T21:40:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, May 19, 2010, 4:45 pm
The good, the bad and the ugly... that's what the past 24 hours have been filled with. The good? Well, I am pleased to say that there have been many, many moments of good!. Christopher's homecoming was unbelievable. Driving into our neighborhood, the first thing we saw was a sign saying, "Welcome Home Chris!" About a block up the road was another poster saying, "Home~~~Christopher!" Then...THE TREE.. it had been decorated by friends, complete with a board saying, "Epic Fail, You Evil Tree!!" (compliments of Christopher's friend, Tanner). Chris thought that was so funny!

As we got closer to home, the posters continued, and then we turned up our street and saw the addition of balloons... lots and lots of balloons and more posters! Then we rounded the corner and caught sight of something that just blew us all away... more than 75 friends lining the street, clapping, cheering, yelling, "WELCOME HOME, CHRIS!!!" He just kept saying, "Oh, my gosh...Oh, my gosh...Oh, my gosh..." This was his first Ah-ha moment... I have been trying to tell him about all the people who have been praying for him, calling, e-mailing and texting me, but he was having a difficult time grasping the reality of it. Here is an example of how his mind works (or doesn't!) : He would tell one of his doctors that there are thousands of people praying for him. Then, in the next breath, he would tell that same doctor that he had called his friend to say that he was in the hospital, having been in a coma for eight days, and he would say, "...and he actually KNEW that I was in the hospital! (turning to me...) Mom, how did he know that I was in the hospital?" He understands individual pieces of information, but putting them all together and comprehending the whole is where he struggles.

Anyway, getting out of the car, Christopher proceeded to hug everyone, one by one, all the time shaking his head, laughing and saying, "I just can't believe this!" I don't know when I have ever been so moved, so grateful and so in awe of the beauty of friendship...seeing a community rally around a child and his family...showing their love and support in such a tangible way. I will never be able to thank each and every one of you who were there yesterday and who were a part of the organizing and decorating of our neighborhood, our house and the inside of our home, but please know how very much it meant to all of us! If I were to estimate, I would say that there are somewhere near 100 balloons and 40 posters in our home right now. Then there are the gift baskets... the one left on Christopher's bed (in his bedroom which had been decorated by his friend Connor and his family), the 'spa gift bag' left for Emily and I, the 'movie night' basket left by the Gothberg family, the many cards, gift cards and gifts. You are all amazing and we will never forget how you loved us during this time.

We enjoyed a bottle of Champagne (well, Paul, Nick and I did!) and celebrated Christopher's homecoming! Nick and Paul cooked Christopher's favorite dinner... steak and grilled vegetables and Emily made his favorite dessert... 'Very Berry Cobbler'! After dinner, we sat in the hot tub (something Chris has been talking about doing since coming out of his coma!) for about an hour and reminisced about the past month. Because of all the excitement from the day, Chris began to wilt pretty quickly, so he was in bed by around 8:30. As Paul and I went to bed last night, I said to him, "We're all together again... under the same roof, after 27 nights..." Oh, did that feel good!

This morning, Christopher climbed into bed with me and we just laid there and talked for awhile. He said that he'd slept very, very well last night and that he had forgotten how comfortable his bed really is! Chief kept coming over to him and sniffing him, almost as if he just couldn't believe that he was really there! I loved having my boy there beside me, just chatting away. It felt so very normal.

We had an appointment to see his Pediatrician, Dr. Levine this morning. As we sat there in the waiting room, I found myself looking around at everyone in there and thinking, "No one has a clue what this child (and his mother) have been through during the last four weeks... he looks and acts so normal... if they only knew..." As we spoke with his nurse, Sonja, we told her of our journey. She just stood there, tears in her eyes, saying, "You're a walking miracle... I just can't believe that you're here... talking... this is so unbelievable, I don't know if I should cry or shout!" Dr. Levine held much the same sentiment, telling us that he'd been filled in by Christopher's doctor at Children's Hospital and that his recovery was simply amazing! I later told Paul that, in some ways, I wish Chris could walk around with a big sign on his body, telling everyone the story of his journey!

7:30pm
The 'bad and the ugly' came all rolled into one this afternoon when Nick, Chris and I arrived home after having been gone for several hours. He was quite fatigued (very common after a brain injury and hospitalization) and feeling rather 'edgy'! Now then... we have received many wonderful treats from friends, and our kitchen is filled with plates of cookies, boxes of cupcakes, and bags and baskets of candies and goodies. Like...dozens and dozens of sweets... way more than we will or should ever consume! I asked Chris if I could have one of the oatmeal cookies and he took a look at the plate and said, "Hey... who ate so many of my cookies?" to which I replied, "I don't know, but I haven't had any... can I have one?" He said, in a rather angry tone, "But I haven't had any yet... and besides, they'remy cookies! All of these things are for me!" I said to him, "Well, actually, if you look at the cards on them, they say that they are forChris and the Ackerman Family, so really, they're for all of us." That didn't go over so well. He replied with, "Mom... I know they're for all of us, but they really are for me! I really don't know why you guys think this stuff is for all of you... they brought them for ME and you keep telling me that they are for YOU!" I stood there, looked at him and said, "Look, Christopher, I love you very much and I will continue to listen to you and be patient with you, but I'm not going to put up with this crap!" THAT went over really well! Needless to say, he stormed off and was still upset about it when we sat down for dinner at 6:30. Oh well...

That little episode was a perfect example of how Christopher's cognitive abilities are compromised as a result of his brain injury. He understands individual pieces of information but has difficulty putting them all together, seeing the bigger picture and making sense of it all. THIS is what we are all dealing with, and I'm not sure who's more frustrated by it... Paul, Nick, Emily and I or Christopher! Having spent a fair amount of time today doing battle with him, I am trying to accept that this is my 'new normal'. I'm already planning my periodic escapes in an attempt to maintain my sanity... for the sake of the entire family! I have fully committed to a 'Day in Napa' with several of my girlfriends on a Saturday in June and I'm counting the days... that would be seventeen...

9:00pm
As I have said many times, throughout the past four weeks I have received the most beautiful e-mails from hundreds of friends and family members. I have also received many, many e-mails from those I've never met, but who have heard about Christopher's journey through people we know. These e-mails have been so very touching and I received another one this morning from a gentleman who lives in our neighborhood. He began his letter with an apology... an apology for"sending a letter from someone you don't know." Jason continued by telling me that we had actually spoken briefly on the day of the accident. He said that he was still wearing his airline uniform and was on the line with 911 when I arrived on the scene, having just learned of Christopher's injury. I wish I could say that I remember that brief interchange, but alas... I believe that my mind was elsewhere (perhaps on my child who was lying on the ground, unresponsive and so close to death and my 16-year-old daughter who was sitting in a heap on the curb, tears flowing for her little brother...)

Jason continued his letter by saying that he wanted to thank me... to thank me... (yes, that made me cry this morning and here I am again, tears streaming down my face). He told me that his neighbor had forwarded one of my 'updates' to him several weeks ago and that he was "impressed with the courage and strength it took to write such a message under such difficult circumstances." He said that it brought him "some peace to combat (his) own thoughts, struggling to cope with seeing a young boy hurt from a fall." Who would have ever thought that my words would bring comfort to anyone. There I was, leaning on the words of so many friends and family, pouring out my heart to all of you, utterly clueless as to how my sharing of my life-changing experience was impacting others...very humbling... Jason then said something that really struck a chord with me. He told me that his father had always reminded he and his brother of something when they were growing up. This is my interpretation of what he said... Our lives are not defined by the number of tragic moments we encounter, but rather by how we handle those moments.

I love that sentiment! What a challenge it is for me as I move into this next phase of the journey... Christopher's Homecoming and beyond... Four weeks ago today, I had no idea how I would handle a moment, or journey like this. Deep inside, I knew that I could do it, and now we all know how I did. Interestingly enough, the last four weeks seem like falling off a log now. Perhaps four months from today I will be able to say the same thing! I have to assume that I will rise to the occasion and be there for Christopher in every way that he needs me. I know that I will be far from perfect and that I will make many mistakes along the way, but hopefully we will look back on this time and say that this was one of those moments that defined both of us... by the way we handled it...
Love, Laura

Christopher's Homecoming 1

2010-05-18T21:59:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 18, 2010, 10:00 pm

Christopher came home from the hospital today and I have decided that instead of writing an update, I would just show you what happened. I'll write all about it tomorrow, but just know that he is sleeping safe and sound in his very own bed, with his dog Chief exactly where he has so longed to be... at home...
The videos that I took are the two posts below this one...A Boy and His Dog and The Homecoming. Enjoy!
More tomorrow...

Love, Laura

A boy and his dog...

2010-05-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

Christopher's Homecoming - May 18, 2010

2010-05-18T19:37:00.000-07:00