It is late October on Long Island. The leaves on the trees are just starting to turn. The browns,reds,golds,greens of the trees create a stunning backdrop against the vibrant, cloudless blue sky as I look up from the sidewalk outside of South Shore hospital. The air is crisp and cool with a gentle south breeze coming off the bay. I love the smell of the salt air in autumn. It’s so fresh and clean.
Inside Deb’s room, I find her sitting in a chair wearing a white with green print flower pattern hospital gown.
Deb has been learning to climb up and down a short set of 6 wooden stairs with a platform at the top and rails all around.
I have been trained in how to support her as we walk side by side down the hall and back. We have graduated from the walker. Her balance is improving day by day. Her movements are so slow and the realization that she has no short term memory is
crippling my thoughts. “Deb, do you remember I was here with the kids yesterday?” I ask. “No” she replied. What did you have for breakfast? again I query. “I don’t know”, the answer. “Why are you here in the hospital, what happened to you?” I ask, continuing to test her. “I don’t know. What happened to me.” “You suffered four cardiac arrests about a little over a month ago.” I tell her. “I did? ..Why?” she questions. “No one really knows why it happened, but you were complaining to your girlfriends that you were having palpitations weeks before. Then you heart stopped and they restarted it three more times in the ambulance.” I explained. Her eyes got big with amazement as I told her this. “Oh God! she blurted. Many people had told her this over the course of time, but she just couldn’t remember. She could write; albeit sloppily at this point. She could read, but her brain is severely damaged….no question. Dr John was the physician charged with Deb’s physical therapy to bring her to the point where she could be released and come home. The time had come. On one of the medical discharge papers the prognosis for Deb was right there in black and white. Anoxic Enchephalopathy: Prognosis Very Poor. It was Halloween, October 31st, 2008. The weather was beautiful, 60F. We had a jack o lantern lit on the front porch stoop and candy awaiting the trick or treaters. Deb wanted to make dinner for me. I let her try… Chicken breasts with broccoli. It didn’t work. She couldn’t stay focused on the steps required. In my head, the voice said. “OH Jesus, my life has transformed. I’m in our home, my wife is still with us. LIFE IS A MOMENT BY MOMENT THING. ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN. MY CHILDREN SO SADDENED BY WHAT HAS REALLY OCCURRED. THIS ISN’T A MADE UP STORY. THIS IS YOUR LIFE. And so, I felt very different. A feeling of acceptance and the knowledge that this journey will require a much greater patience than I had ever shown in the last 55 years. I entered a brand new, but strange and frightening world. I remember Diane my sister-in-law saying to me. “Tom, you are a soldier, you will be taking Deb everywhere from now on like two peas in a pod. I still needed to cry, the sadness was almost overwhelming, almost. I came back to that Neil Young song I knew so well…..Harvest Moon… It captures the hope.
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