Im sorry I havnt been able to personally respond to all your emails and comments yet. Hopefully I will have some time soon.
Since I last wrote he has battled pnemonia and won, had some serious problems breathing-wise due to an occluded chest tube, gotten mad enough to pull out the pic line embedded in his veins, and battled some unknown infection and won.
Thursday, he was my little Face again. He was making 2 year old jokes that were only comprehensible to him but made everyone laugh with his obvious delight at his own hilarity. He was talking and ordering me around with his little pointer finger. Juice. Ice. Bottle. Elmo. The little prince.
Friday morning he went in for a routine maintenance procedure to replace his pic line and switch out his faulty chest tube for one that worked. During his surgery, he suffered a massive stroke on the left side of his brain which has left his right side mostly immobile. It has taken his words. It has taken his ability to suck, the very first thing we learn how to do.
He is disoriented. He screams in frustration that his body no longer responds, that he cannot comunicate, that he cannot drink. In a way it is a relief because I see my sweet Face in there, fighting to break free of his weak body.
It is unworthy of him. He deserves the body of an athlete, an Adonis, instead of this weak helpless shell. He has begun using his left side (weak from previous strokes) to grasp, to hold, to protest.
When he panics, I soothe him. I am teaching him how to smite people since I have sadly neglected his cursing education thus far.
They say he is in the first stages and that he may regain some function in the next few days. I have promised him that if he drinks for me I will give him as much of my ice cream as he wants. I have promised that if he keeps fighting I will let him open and close the door, any door, as long as he wants without getting impatient.
Bargaining, one of the stages of grief.
My heart has broken so many times that it is a wonder to me that it keeps on beating. Sometimes it is a burden to me. I grieve, I grieve.
Yet I cant get too far down without some consideration of the awe that is Face. He doesnt know how to quit. His left side, slow and still these past three weeks, moves. Jerky, but moving. He fights and fights and has never shown a moment of weakness.
They tell me he has half a heart but he has more heart than anyone I have ever known.
I am privledged to have his back.