Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Different Kind of Celebration...
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 21st. 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.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Walk...
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.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Doing What We Must...
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 21st. 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 98th 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.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Christopher Today - 1
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.
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.
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.
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…
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…
Sunday, August 8, 2010
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!”
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