A New Page in Dean's Story

Where've I been all week?
It's Saturday night, the second weekend of December,
and I am gratefully sitting in my room
on my bed,
half-listening to "Pride and Prejudice"--my "comfort" movie
on days like these...
days for sitting while layers of the previous week
wilt away and fall off my shoulders onto
my cream-colored matelasse
dripping down my bedskirt to the floor.

It has been a Week.
A long, long week.

On Tuesday,
another page in my special-needs son, Dean's
very special life,
turned and revealed new tendernesses to yet consider
during his time spent here with us mere mortals.

I got a call early,
just as I sat at the table for breakfast,
from Dean's caregiver, T.--
it was an alarming call,
as T. explained to me that Dean suffered a seizure
at breakfast
and was on his way to the emergency room via ambulance.

I quickly took my own breakfast,
and not wanting it to waste,
left it in the fridge and headed out the door to the ER.
But a thought came to me that I should grab
Dean's favorite possession--
his red furry Santa hat,
as I knew it would cheer him up.

We sat in the Er for several hours--
the docs ran a catscan which showed a previously-unknown lesion
on Dean's brain...
they are thinking he's suffered a stroke.
So,
they give him a dose of Dilantin to quell seizures,
and after 8 hours in the ER,
we were set to leave with a referral to a
Neurologist.
Our Bishop and another brother from our ward
came and gave him a priesthood blessing
and we thought were ready to go.
But things changed quickly
when Dean suffered a grand mal seizure in the ER.
That was the only time he said,
"I'm scared." to me.
I held his hand and loved on him,
wiping his sweaty brow with a cool cloth,
and removed his Santa hat till his color came back.

New plan:
Go to the bigger hospital in town,
that has a Stroke/Pulmonary floor and specialists.

Dean was delighted to sit and wear his Santa cap,
and the surgical gloves given to him,
courtesy of the ER nurses.
He was even more pleased
when the EMT's who were transporting him
to the other hospital,
ran the siren and lights on the ambulance before they
pulled out of the parking lot.

Dean declared that he loved all the nurses,
and asked if he could work at the hospital!
He thanked each and every one of the docs and nurses
that attended there and left with a smile.

That was Tuesday night.
I followed him over to the hospital in town
and stayed until he was ready for sleep.

Now, on Wednesday I had a settlement conference in Denver
that had been scheduled for months,
and if I did not attend it,
would have to be delayed further until April.

So, Wednesday was a crazy long day.
I just wanna say Insurance adjustors are...
are...are...aw, if you've dealt with them,
then you already know.
And I'd rather not pepper this blog with ugliness.
Suffice to say,
my attorney is awesome
and we won our case pretty much
so that is all behind us.

As soon as the settlement was over,
we drove home,
changed clothes
and headed back over to the hospital
just in time to say good night to Dean.
I went to bed exhausted.

I wish I could say I got some much-needed rest,
but nope.
Of all the crazy things to happen,
I got an amazing toothache at 3:45am.
So bad, that I couldn't rest.
I hadn't had a toothache since 1995!
Since I couldn't sleep,
I went down to the kitchen and cleaned it,
found the breakfast from the morning before
still in the fridge and tossed it out,
threw in some laundry,
swept the floors and puttered around the main floor
while the rest of the house slept.

About 5:45am, Mr W came down to check on me--
rarely do I rise and start cleaning at four in the morning,
so he knew something was up.
I called our dentist's office and left a message--
they called back at 6:30am and said I could get in at 7am.
Hoping they would get me in,
I was already showered and dressed,
so I could get right over.

Turns out, because of the clenched jaw I'd had most of the week,
one filling was cracked,
and another filling has some decay building up under it,
thus, two teeth are the culprits of pain.
So, with an antibiotic rx and a pain rx,
I was ready to get on with my day--
which included a trip to the chiropractor,
an orthopedic appointment with Mr W,
and another trip to the hospital to see Dean.

Dean's docs scheduled a medicated MRI for him on Thursday,
which he had to be sedated for--
he'd had an EEG on Wednesday.
While the procedure went well,
he did have another seizure while being put under,
so
the docs decided to do a spinal tap.
Only they couldn't do it on Thursday or Friday.

So Dean sat in the hospital all day long on Friday
with nothing to do.
By the time I got there early Friday,
he was restless and anxious and ready to go home.
He was quite angry with me
for not taking him home.
SO I had to sit in the waiting room,
to keep him from trying to get out of bed and leaving that place.

That. was hard.

I just wanted to sit with him and love on him.
He wanted to leave--
he was sick of IV's, and tests, and not sleeping well.
Friday was a long day,
and when they told him he had another day to stay
they decided to sedate him to help his day go by quickly--
he'd already torn out one IV,
tossed his heart monitor across the room,
and the prospect of one more day was daunting,
so they gave him a mild sedative.

This morning,
his spinal tap was scheduled at 8:30am,
so we had to be there by 7am.
The first words out of his mouth when we came into his room:
"I'm going home today!"
He had no idea he was going to be put to sleep again,
and a needle was going into his back--
all we told him was that he had to have one more test,
then he could go home.

SO he was eager to get that over with,
greeted the anesthesiologist, the techs, the Xray/whatever Dr. that administered
the lumbar puncture,
and finally,
6 hours later,
we signed the discharge papers and were on our way home
with a worn-out boy.

Now that I've related the who/what/when and how's,
let me say I have been keenly aware of the many prayers offered up
for our Dean.
My boy.
I know that Heavenly Father loves Dean.
I know that Dean's days are known and numbered,
and while I do not know those numbers,
I am keenly aware that this new page will be
the beginning of a latter chapter for him.
This is hard.
We learned that epileptic seizures are part of the norm
for people born with brain injuries, such as cerebral palsy,
like Dean
to develop at they age.
I didn't know that before now.
It is a new reality.

We got through this week with the help of many friends...
those who drove kids to school and to the hospital to see Dean.
Friends who brought in wonderful warm dinners and desserts,
who offered shoulders and hugs and a few tears too.

Our missionary in New York had a very long week as well,
her heart was concerned for her family,
she actually got to call home so I could give her a quick hug through the phone,
and let her know everything was going to be fine no matter what.

I am grateful to be home in my own bed.
To know that Dean is home in his own bed.
We left a hospital full of people who are not sleeping in their own beds
tonight,
and saw more than one grieving family there,
who I doubt will sleep at all anywhere tonight.
The tendency to feel sorry for myself
is squelched when I see the reality of life's randomness--
things could've gone so much worse than they did,
you know?
So thankful are we that they didn't.
Not yet anyway.
A reminder that in this season of giving,
Time is a grand gift, indeed.