Tag Archives: brain injury

Coma

Coma: (n) a state of deep unconsciousness that lasts for a prolonged or indefinite period

Vigilant.

It is the most frustrating, mystifying and perhaps unachievable emotion available in the human heart–to continue to pursue a path of behavior and passion with no evidence that such devotion will ever guarantee success.

When my son was in a hit-and-run accident, he suffered a severe brain injury which placed him in a coma.

I was very young, and not just in years. I was young to the idea of inconveniencing myself.

Even though television portrays dutiful family members staying by the bedside of their loved one who is in a coma, the TV dramas only dwell in that lonely, still room for thirty seconds or so.

The silence is maddening.

Some nurses told me that people in a coma can hear, and others said there was absolutely no medical evidence that the patient has any awareness of the outside world at all. I stayed by his bedside.

Minutes were hours.

Hours, days.

And the days seemed like years.

I hated it. I felt like I was putting on a show for those around me by perching next to the unresponsive body of my young son, pretending to create a connection.

To my regret, I often slipped away early or arrived late.

A coma is when a human separates from us before drawing his or her last breath, letting us know how fragile life truly is.

My son finally did emerge from his coma, only to live in a vegetative state for about six years. The only thing he gained was an obvious function to feel more pain.

A horrible experience.

At times I have tried to glean some value from it, but ultimately, in my more cognitive perceptions, I declare it darkness.

 

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Bone

Bone: (n) pieces of hard, whitish tissue making up the skeleton

I just stared at it.Dictionary B

It was a source of amazement and confusion to me.

When my son was struck down by a hit-and-run driver, he suffered a compound fracture of his femur–the largest bone in the body.

It was ugly.

But as tragic as that may seem, it wasn’t nearly as devastating as the brain injury he suffered–a trauma that left him unable to communicate, living in a vegetative state.

Sometimes I would come into his room and stare at his leg. Because over the weeks of tragedy and travail, that bone healed.

It had no reason to.

It wasn’t attached anymore to a leg that was going to think of somewhere to go and then move quickly in that direction.

It wasn’t part of a body that was functioning with any sense of reason.

But it healed–not completely straight, but it joined together.

It left me with feelings of praise, anger, frustration and awe.

How fearfully and wonderfully we are made, said a great songwriter.

Wonderfully in the sense that bones that break can be set to heal.

But fearfully because in a moment of madness, all our sensibilities … can be smashed.

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Asylum

Asylum: (n) the protection granted by a nation to someone who has left their native country as a political refugee.dictionary with letter A

I suppose I could wax eloquent discussing asylum from the aspect of international dealings–the compassion offered to those who find themselves alienated or refugees.

But I think we spend too much time talking about things we don’t understand instead of understanding the things we talk about because they’re real in our lives.

I was once offered asylum–in the truest sense.

Back in 1980 my son was hit and run by a car and spent two-and-a-half months in the hospital with a brain injury, finally being released into our care–a child without the capacity for communication and with no ability to care for himself.

We became caregivers.

I would like to tell you that we adapted with great haste to this role, but I would be a horrible liar.

We were young, selfish, wounded, frustrated and way out of our element. The last thing in the world we needed was to be impinged upon by public opinion telling us what we needed to do or scrutinizing us for excellence.

Fortunately, I was surrounded by people of compassion and insight, who realized I was not going to be able to perform my duties and continue to work a job as an assistant minister at their church, but instead, needed a season to learn my new function–taking care of my wounded son and trying to find a way to adjust my spirit to the pain.

They gave me asylum.

For three months I was granted free rent, free board and freedom to be slow in the uptake.

I don’t know why they did this. I’m sure they were tempted to be self-righteous or even demanding.

But they chose to be loving.

I needed every one of those 90 days. And at the end of them, even the bizarre action of maintaining the needs of a helpless child fell into a logical routine.

I was able to rise to the occasion, and my whole family moved on to the next occupation without too much bruising or poverty.

I have thought about it many times. Matter of fact, I’ve used it as a motivation to grant the same asylum to other wounded travelers who have come my way.

The truth is, it is difficult to heal and be responsible at the same time. Something has to give.

More often than not, someone has to give.

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