Читать книгу HOPE BEYOND TRAUMA - Cynthia Smith - Страница 6

Awakenings

Everything comes gradually and at its appointed hour.

–Ovid

In the week following the accident, my whole world shrank to the size of the hospital bed where my daughter was lying unconscious. I spent every day at the hospital looking for a sign, searching for a reason to hope, waiting for Tanya to awaken from her coma.

Many students, parents, teachers and administration from the high school came by or called to check on Tanya’s progress. The visitor who most impressed me was Bob, the driver of the pickup truck.

I could not believe he wanted to see us. If I were in his shoes, I would have been frightened out of my wits and would not have had the courage to face the parents of the girl for whom I felt responsible for being in critical condition.

Nonetheless, here he was introducing himself to me. Bob was 18 or 19 years old, of short stature with dark hair. As I looked at Bob, I saw a man who was really standing ten feet tall before me, a man with tremendous courage. He was genuinely concerned about Tanya’s condition, very humble and apologetic.

We talked for a short period of time, then I escorted him into the trauma unit to see Tanya. As he was ready to leave, I gave him a big hug. I watched him walk down the hallway, in awe of his presence. Moments ago we were complete strangers; now I knew our lives would be tied together forever.

I never blamed Bob for the accident, remembering full well my own driving mistakes as a teenager. It could have easily been me in the driver’s seat in a serious accident. I could have easily been Bob.

To this day, I don’t know what really happened; it still doesn’t matter to me.

Tanya awakened about a week after the accident, which was quite an exciting development. Soon she smiled on command! This was great progress, as it meant she could process information and act on it.

However, she still did not recognize us. She was in a post-traumatic coma state, meaning that she was awake but not aware. So we continued introducing ourselves each day, just as you would when you met someone new. To Tanya, we were newcomers each morning. She had no idea who we were or why we were visiting her. When the introductions were over, she seemed to enjoy our visits. With every goodbye our hopes were momentarily lifted, only to be dashed again the following day with each new hello.

After two weeks in the trauma unit, Tanya was transferred to the pediatric ward. We saw this as an encouraging sign. We thought it was a definite sign that Tanya was getting better.

Tanya had developed a low grade fever in the trauma unit that the medical staff could not understand. Finally they had an answer. A doctor walked into her room to explain that Tanya had developed a “yeast infection in her blood,” stated in a tone way too matter-of-fact for my already exhausted spirit.

“The condition is life-threatening. She is now on Amphotericin, a very potent anti-fungal drug with severe and potentially lethal side effects.” My brain again only registered bits of the conversation.

Concerned about the danger associated with the medication, I looked at the doctor in search of further explanation. “What would happen if you took her off this medication?” I inquired.

“Without this treatment,” he continued, “she’ll die,” and he quickly left the room. He had spoke bluntly and without showing any concern for how this information would affect me.

In an instant, my heart sank like a boulder to the very depths of the ocean. I was taken by surprise and left breathless. Since Tanya had been transferred to the pediatric ward, I thought she was “out of the woods.” Now, with this new life threatening condition, I came to realize we could still lose her!

I was stunned and resentful of the way the doctor had spoken to me; but no matter how upset I was at him, the reality was now starting to sink in. Still in a state of shock, I made my way out of the hospital, somehow found my car and cried all the way home.

After one week in the pediatric ward, Tanya was transferred to Rio Vista Rehabilitation Hospital in El Paso and enrolled in a new program, working with patients still in a coma state. At Rio Vista, Tanya would be under the care of a private nurse for a couple of days. I was relieved.

Richard and I walked through the new rehabilitation hospital. We saw patients in physical therapy, learning how to walk, and in all stages of recovery. It was surreal to be in such an environment. Only three weeks earlier, Tanya was a very healthy and active teenager, finishing up her freshman year in high school. It seemed so strange, and I felt Tanya did not belong here. She should have still been in school, doing normal teenager activities laughing with her friends and arguing with us! It was a bitter moment when I finally woke up to the reality of our new life.

We were welcomed by a team of professionals: a social worker, nurse and doctor. We met briefly in Tanya’s room, then were escorted to a small conference area. The doctor was very frank and told us that Tanya was still very sick and totally oblivious to our being there. Only time would tell what her real prognosis would be. She recommended that Richard and I take a vacation and return to see Tanya in a couple of weeks.

A vacation? A VACATION??? Why on earth would we take a vacation now? I quickly dismissed the vacation suggestion as the craziest idea ever, and Richard agreed. We were outraged that in such a tragic moment, they would talk to us about taking a vacation! At the time a vacation was totally incomprehensible, but as time went by, we realized that the idea was not as crazy as we initially had thought.

Tanya was still in a state that was described as “post-traumatic amnesia,” meaning that she was awake but not aware. She was no longer in a sleeping coma; however, the road to recovery was still quite long and uncertain. At least we were thankful that Tanya was in the rehabilitation center! The trauma unit already felt like a distant memory. The worst was over and Tanya was definitely on her way back, or so we desperately wanted to believe.

It did not take long to realize that Tanya was not really back … her memory had been wiped out. She looked like our girl, but she was not really our girl. In the weeks that followed, we introduced ourselves over and over again, almost a surreal scene like the one Bill Murray re-enacts in Groundhog Day. Every day would be the same routine, the unreal repetition of the previous day.

We were caught in a nightmare, in a time warp!

Every day I would introduce myself to Tanya. I would tell her that I’m her mom, that she lives in El Paso with her dad and her brothers Tim and Terry. I would tell her of her dog named Darlyn and her cat named Oreo.

Every day I would start all over, like a child mindlessly reciting a Christmas poem in front of a distracted audience. And every day I was met by the same indifference, as she did not have a clue who I was or why I would come and visit her.

It was exhausting and it was maddening. My sole focus was to help Tanya regain some sort of normality. I could not think of anything else and all my energies were devoted to that goal.

As a caregiver … I learned to

 Treasure each moment, rejoice in what is, never take life for granted. It may look extraordinary one day.

 Take time to grieve my loss of the past and the loss of my future dreams and ambitions. Let go of what was and what could have been.

 I have learned not to dwell too long on the “shoulds,” since they only rob me of my energy and fuel my bitterness. They also take away whatever good there is in today.