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 awesome 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 13th. 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 10th. 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 22nd, 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 7th 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 7th 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 8th 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 23rd. 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…
