I Thought I Was So Strong...

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

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

Christopher's Homecoming 10

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

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

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