Sunday, December 9, 2012 - A Matter of Hope

I was wrong to think I’d be so exhausted on Saturday night that I’d be able to sleep.  I managed a few hours full of disturbing dreams and then Ashley and I headed back down to Sunnybrook.  I had called the critical care unit (CRCU) before we left.  Marc was holding steady. 

The first thing that struck me when we walked into the waiting room was that there were other people there who were just like us.  They were in crisis, upset and waiting for access to their loved one behind that locked door.  I felt them all the minute I walked into the area and all the emotion, mine and theirs, came welling up and overflowed.   I had barely registered these people the day before.  I was aware of them, but I was so consumed with my own worry and grief that nothing they felt filtered in. 

I don’t know what I was expecting when I finally got to see Marc that morning.  I knew he was going to be kept sedated for several days so that he could heal but seeing him lying so still was disappointing.  All I could do was stand there and hold his hand and tell him how well he was healing and that the doctors were very happy with him.  I hoped my positive words might filter through the drugs and settle in his brain, giving his subconscious a feeling that all was as it should be and that he would get well.   

Critical care units have one nurse per patient and they sit at a table at the end of the patient’s bed.  They are in constant motion, either doing something to the patient or the machinery or recording every minutia of medical detail onto the patient’s chart. 

Marc’s nurse , Sandy, was concerned that Marc had jerked awake a few times, which was not a good thing at this stage and she was constantly adjusting the level of Propofol he was receiving.  She told me that he’d gone for another CT scan to make sure that all was well post surgery.  It was after 5:00 that evening before I was finally able to speak to a doctor about the results of the scan and all we were told was that it was normal.  It was a long wait for virtually no information. 

What I wanted to hear was that he was doing great and that we could expect a full recovery.  We quickly learned that in critical care they volunteer very little in the way of hope.  They give no time lines and what they do offer is very clinical and in the moment.  They tell you how the patient is responding and reacting and that is all.  Any hope you have has to come from within.  You dig deep and have faith that the critically ill person you love with all your heart is going to make a full recovery and that life will go on as it always has, only maybe a little shinier and brighter.  It’s a matter of hope and it’s all up to you.  

After a three hour drive through freezing rain, I went right on the computer that night and posted a status about Marc’s stroke and surgery and asked for everyone to send him all the positive energy, healing and prayers that they could.  I had tried to tell as many people as I could the night before and it was impossible to cover everyone we both know. 

One of my real estate co-workers had sent an email to me that morning that included not only his and his fiancés good wishes, but also a story about a woman who had suffered a stroke as severe as Marc’s and she had made a miraculously quick recovery after the congregation from her church started a prayer circle which then spread to other churches in their area.  I decided that was that.  I know positive energy is key to good health and healing.  I also have a lot of friends who do various forms of energy healing and we have friends and family of various faiths.  Surely with all the prayers, healing and good energy, we could make a huge difference to Marc’s survival and subsequent healing. 

I had the hope.  Now it was time to begin the healing.