Merry Christmas!

The family (not quite all of us!) at Zoolights.

What a difference a year makes, folks. This time last year...well, you know. And now not only is Dad out traipsing around in freezing temperatures to look at lights at the zoo, but we also have our Miah back (my tall, handsome nephew), out of the Army (and harm's way in Iraq) for good. No, things are not perfect, but this Christmas we are all here.

Merry Christmas to you, our dear friends and family. We could not have made it through this year without the love and support of each and every one of you. I truly mean that from the bottom of my heart. May you all have one moment during this warm holiday that takes your breath away with its preciousness.

Musings

Lately many people (including myself) have made mention of how different this holiday season is from last year. It's so striking. As I sat down to write this, I just had a serious flashback. I mean, here I am having a cup of cocoa and relaxing while Dad and Joe and our friend Mike watch football in the living room. Everything is easy and cozy. But I am not so far removed from that anxious woman who sat at the computer in the hospital day room praying for something positive, some shred of good news to type to you all. This has been the shortest year of my life. Perhaps tragedy compresses time. Perhaps we are all just too busy getting through to notice time passing.

This morning I was meeting with my small group and our youngest member (not yet twenty) was bubbling over with enthusiasm for her upcoming plans: "I could have done this or this or that, but I knew I had to decide on something, so I chose..." So many possibilities for her. So much time. This young woman is doing amazing work with the organization Youth with a Mission. I envy her. Not the work -- I haven't the constitution for what she does -- but the excitement of possibility. I realized as I listened to her talk that her world is so open, so expansive. Mine has narrowed, sped up, become the world in a grain of sand. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing (likely both and neither as most things in this gray world are), but it is a hard thing.

I don't mean to hijack the blog with poor-me chatter, but I am fascinated by the changes wrought in a quick flip through the calendar. Last year we prayed that Dad would be spared. We had no idea what a hard miracle that would be. After all, he is here and healthy. But every day is a test for him (for all of us) of will and hope and strength.

Perhaps these musings are appropriate at a time of year when the celebration focuses around the rare gift of god-with-us, a baby born a sacrifice. A hard miracle.

1st Annual Celebrate Dad/Grandpa's Recovery Lunch

Hard to believe that it has been a year since Dad first broke his arm and started down this journey. I knew it was going to be a tough anniversary for him and when I asked him awhile back, he told me he wanted to acknowledge it in some way, so I came up with the 1st Annual Celebrate Dad/Grandpa's Recovery Lunch. I told Dad that since I had cooked so much for Thanksgiving I wanted him to take me to lunch today. I secretly got the family to meet us at his favorite all-day breakfast joint and we surprised him there.

We had a wonderfully positive time of affirming how Dad's faith and positive attitude have sustained not only him, but the whole family during this difficult year. We were all in tears as we shared how amazing he was to fight on in spite of pain or discouragement. We talked about how he inspired us and others with his love and optimism, reminisced about moments from his hospitalization and rehab, and just generally celebrated the fact that a year later the strength and sunshine of our family is still guiding our family forward.

If anybody's still out there reading the blog, please feel free to leave your own comment about how Dad's recovery has impacted you or what you've seen in him as he has journeyed through this long year.

Happy man

I think that pretty much says it all. :)

Mr. Leo goes to capital hill

Dad looking spiffy!

This week Dad was invited to attend an annual meeting that he used to be part of regarding the consulting work he did prior to his accident. We spent a day and a half up "on the hill" at the State Office Building with a gracious and welcoming group of colleagues. And because Dad had worked up there so long before retiring, word got around he was there and several former coworkers were able to stop by and say hi. Everyone seemed pleased to have him back in their midst and I think Dad appreciated being in an environment as natural and easy as falling off a log.

I know it was challenging for him -- on a physical level, just trying to get around up there was tough! But you can imagine the mixed emotions of having things to say but not being able to quickly articulate them, and of sitting on the sidelines instead of leading the show. I was so proud of him for being brave enough to be part of it, even though it would bring up memories of how things were just a year ago. He is my hero because even though he is constantly aware of how different he is and how people must perceive him, he is willing to put himself out there and live his life. He is just so darned wonderful.

Dad doing a little schmoozing.

Dad and his colleagues taking a break from all their hard work.

Behind the wheel

Yesterday Joe and Dad took off to the boonies so Dad could get a little driving time. Dad drove nearly 15 miles (perfectly, naturally) and the guys had such a good time. Here are some highlights:

Tyler is gone

In all honesty, not a day goes by that there isn't something that reminds me how truly blessed we are. Dad will do something new, or we'll remember those first days in the hospital... Every good conversation he and I have is always a reminder of the doctor who told us 11 months ago that I would never be able to have one with my daddy again.

But a couple of days ago as I was waiting for Dad to come out of a therapy appointment I had a fresh reminder that cut me to the core. It was a quiet day in the therapy office, so I was alone for a bit. Then a couple came in, healthy looking, maybe in their forties. I assumed they were picking up a loved one. We sat together in silence until Dad's speech pathologist came by. The couple stopped her and began asking her some questions. As I eavesdropped, it became clear that they had a son who had undergone some kind of neurological trauma. They talked with the SP about different courses of treatments, and things that would help his memory (he clearly had some major deficits in communication and thinking). The husband's voice took on a light pleading tone as he asked the SP if she thought, at the son's appointment the day before, "he seemed a little better...sometimes he has good days..."

The SP was affirming, but not encouraging. It was clear the couple could not expect much mental recovery for their son. They were very understanding. And the SP left them with a smile. Afterwards, the couple continued to talk with each other and encourage each other that they might try a therapy they had asked the SP about, because it wouldn't hurt and it might do some good. They seemed very at peace and comfortable -- perhaps they had had a lot of time to come to terms with what had happened -- which is why I was surprised when, after the husband reiterated that their son had his good days, the wife folded herself over, laying her head on her knees, and said firmly but flatly, "Tyler is gone."

Her tone and her posture made me think that this was not grief, but rather the shell of grief. That she had moved past the initial trauma and was safely in matter-of-fact "dealing with it" portion of the family's life post-trauma, and yet... There are always those moments where it hits you like a fist through all the busyness and dailiness of recovery that there is a very distinct line between before and after.

The wife quickly sat up and the couple continued their conversation. Their attention turned to me and we chatted for a moment before Dad came out of his appointment. They were back to okay again.

But I told Dad about it when we got in the car and began to sob as I reminded us both of how blessed, blessed, blessed we are. I am daily grateful that no matter how difficult it is to get Dad's body to do what he wants it to do, he is himself. Yes, we have our grief over the difference between before and after, but Dad is not "gone." Words cannot express my gratitude.

And I cannot stop praying for Tyler and his parents.

Umm...anyone still out there? (A big, long, juicy update)

Hey all. It's been quite awhile (my apologies) and I wanted to catch you all up on what's been happening with my fabulous father.

Back in August, we had lots of good stuff. Dad had an appointment at the VA to check in with their neuroophthalmologist. At first he had a regular eye exam which was amazing in and of itself because when Dad had his first eye test back in March, he couldn't really see the eye chart and this time he could read it all (almost ;) ). So encouraging to see how far he'd come that way.

During the visit with the doctor, we discussed the eye appointment we'd had back in March at the Moran Eye Center at the U. and it came up that at that time he was originally scheduled to see a Dr. Warner, but ended up seeing a different doctor. Our doc then said, "Oh, Dr. Warner's here today (our VA is connected to the University), would you like to see her?" He went out and pulled her into our room -- and a bunch of people came in with her. (I jokingly asked our doc later if she always travelled with an entourage and he said whenever Dr. Warner is on the floor, anyone who works in the ophthalmology department follows her when they can because she's the grand poobah of ophthalmologists and knows EVERYTHING.)

So anyway, Dr. Warner just sat down and asked Dad some questions, flipped through his chart, asked our doc some questions. As I listened to them talk, I had a dawning realization that was confirmed when Dr. Warner simply asked Dad to cross his eyes. He tried (his facial contortions actually gave everyone in the room a chuckle) but couldn't. It became clear then that Dad's eyes weren't working together (it's actually really freaky to see). We had noticed as his eyesight improved that looking at distant things was easy, but reading -- even with his reading glasses -- was really challenging and he kept squinting one eye and then the other.

Dr. Warner did a couple more tests indicating that because of this lack of convergence he has no depth perception. Overall, she was amazed (naturally) by his recovery and pretty much felt assured he would be able to work on his eye issue over time and get back to normal. (She gave him some eye exercises and since then his occupational therapist has been working with him on convergence -- in the last week or so she's been getting his eyes crossed with lots of effort, but more and more consistency!) You can just imagine how encouraging that doctor visit turned out to be!

A few days after that, we had a team meeting with all Dad's therapists which was equally encouraging. They were all pleased that he kept making gains and showed no signs of plateauing in his recovery. Interestingly, his speech pathologist had just returned from a conference where she learned a method that can help some people recover speech more quickly. She tested Dad to see if he would be a good candidate and when she discovered he would be, she started in. It was an intensive program during the month of September (four days a week in therapy and daily homework for four weeks) and really helped Dad to improve the clarity of his speech.

Early in October, Dad met with a rehabilitation specialist recommended by his doctor. We spent a couple of hours with Dr. Speed who asked tons of questions and gave Dad multiple tests. Overall, the doctor was amazed (naturally) at the way Dad was recovering. He told him there was nothing more he could recommend because Dad was already doing all the right things to work toward getting better. Additionally, given Dad's history Dr. Speed was very optimistic (though careful not to actually make any pronouncements) about his ability to make a near-full recovery.

Later in October, we met the VA's Low Vision Center team (last spring we went to the state's low vision center) and the eye doctor there (again, fascinated and amazed by Dad) was able to give Dad some new reading glasses that use prisms to help both eyes focus on the same thing. They also directed Dad to a woman whose job is to make sure vets with vision deficits can work with computers (which of course Dad has been super anxious to get back to -- right now he is well able to type, but getting online or anything has been too challenging to attempt). We met with her last week and she set us up with a wonderful program. The VA contracts with a computer tech company whose technicians are also trained to work with low vision patients. They make sure the patient has the right hardware and software to use computers to the best of their ability. Just this morning we had a visit from the tech who assessed Dad's computer and determined that they need to get him a new one which will run the software he'll need (the software is really cool -- we got to try it out at the low vision center). By Christmas, Dad should have his new system and an on-call tech to work with him to use it. We're so excited!

One sad note in the last few weeks -- well, sad mostly to me, but good news -- is that Dad is improving so much physically they discontinued his pool therapy. We absolutely loved Desiree', his PT, and miss her so much. But we're glad Dad's doing that well.

So, overall, things just keep getting better all the time. Physically he's getting more stamina and balance. The other day he asked his PT to let him walk a full mile on the treadmill and he did it with no problem! And yesterday while visiting Mom, Dad had no trouble pushing Mom in her wheelchair from her room to the dining area (and at dinnertime, the halls are full of people in wheelchairs, the nurse's carts and all manner of obstacles). I asked him on the way home how tough it was on a scale of one to ten and he shrugged and said, "I don't know, maybe a four." As of last week, he's switched from the four-footed cane to a regular one.

On the home front, Dad's attitude is so wonderful and he's really been working to add things each week that he's doing for himself. At this point, Dad is making his own bed, shaving and styling his hair, and making his own breakfast. In fact, last Friday Joe and I went out and we were able to leave Dad his dinner in a microwaveable container which he had no problem heating up. It's really wonderful to see him becoming more and more confident in what he can do for himself.

It's tough that it's taking longer than Dad (or any of us) would like (can you believe it's been nearly a year?!?!) and things with Mom still make him sad (I'll give a Mom update over on the other blog), but Dad is a constant source of joy and amazement. He's so engaged with people and life and the world. He's just wonderful to be around and a constant reminder that attitude really is everything.

Some recent pics:

Desiree' working Dad out on the last day of pool therapy.

And after the workout.

Dad and the first batch of toast he ever made for himself!

A-Camping we will go...

A few days ago we took Dad for an overnight camping trip to see how he would do. Of course he handled it great and we had tons of fun.

Highlights:

Number of toasted marshmallows eaten: 14

Number of butterflies who met their end on our windshield: 5

Number of beavers spotted: 1

Number of stars seen in the night sky: approximately 1 bazillion

Number of cows who joined us for lunch: 3

Number of beautiful views and fun moments: too numerous to count :)

View from our campsite

Happy Camper!

Just down the hill from our campsite.

A nearby lake.

Lunch with a view.

Progress

You know, sometimes progress is hard to measure. These days, Dad's progress is tough to pin down. It was easier when one day he couldn't stand, and the next day he could. Because it's not so obvious Dad is a little discouraged lately. He wants to see the big gains. In order to cheer him up, I've been engaging lately in a little thing I like to call "The Increment Project." (Actually, I just made that up, but it sounds good, no?) Anyway, I try and call attention to all the little ways he's better than before. If he picks up a pill from the table with just his thumb and forefinger, I say, "remember when you couldn't even pull down the hem of your shirt?" When he sips on a cup of coffee I remind him of when he couldn't even swallow.

At this point in his recovery, it isn't about Dad doing new things, it's about him doing the things he's doing, but better. And every day, in incremental ways, he's improving and refining everything he does.

FYI, because he's getting so much better, but still can't see well enough to drive, it's easy for Dad to feel a little isolated. If you've thought about giving him a call but didn't want to interrupt anything, please don't worry. Dad is able to answer his phone most any time unless he's in therapy (and he's doing so well he's down to two hours of therapy each on Monday and Thursday, and one hour on Tuesday). He'd love to hear from you.

Cheers!

Dad made his own pot of coffee this morning! No kidding. And it came out perfectly. He's also been able to take his own pills for the past few days (I put them in a pill case and he can open the right section, get them out, and take them).

Yup, he's amazing.

I'm on vacatiooooooooon

We had a wonderful trip to California to visit Mom's family for our usual 4th of July reunion! Dad was the hit, of course. My cousins arranged for everyone to sing a song for him:

We love you Leo
Oh yes we do
We don't love anyone
As much as you
When you're not with us
We're blue
Oh Leo we love you.

It was so good to see everyone -- new babies, out-of-towners in, kids getting bigger. We love you all and we are so glad Dad was able to go!

Heading out on the open road!

Where we stopped for gas in Reno. No kidding.

Mi loco familia celebrating the 4th!

Leaving flowers for my brother at the National Cemetery.

Letting Dad drive through the National Cemetery. Who could he hurt?

Dusk at the beach.

Independence

With Independence Day fast approaching, I've been thinking that's true for Dad as well -- his own independence day is not too far in the future. Just this last week he's been weaning himself off the walker, using his cane outside of the house and walking freely inside (and doing great!). And a couple of days ago, I left him alone for the first time. I think I was more worried about it than he was. I was racing through the grocery store, panicking that I was taking too long and he was kicked back at home watching the NBA draft.

I am so darn proud of him. He is just tireless in his efforts to improve on a daily basis. And he does it all with his usual "aw shucks" humility. We should all be so gracious under pressure.

The Adventures of Amazing Leo

I don't know what this looks like to y'all, but it looks amazing to me! During Dad's occupational therapy today, Dad got to play on the computer and this is what he typed. (It took him awhile, but WOW!) He's so excited to think about getting to sit at his computer and practice now. Just...wow.

Par-TAY

Thank you so much to all of you who were able to come and celebrate our miracle man's 70th birthday. We had so much fun and it was so special for Dad. Thanks also to those of you who sent your kind wishes through cards and e-mails. Even if you couldn't be there, we know so many were with us in spirit.

So, for those of you who missed the fun, here are a couple of birthday pics.

Dad modeling his new shirt from the "California Girls." Thanks ladies!

Becky made yummy cake and decorated it in the theme of the evening (the tanks are taking brown-sugar hills in case you can't see the detail).

The Coonradt boys.

Dad in his new "Indiana Jones" hat. (He's already my hero, he didn't need a hat to prove it.)

Chair-free

Today we returned Dad's wheelchair to the medical supply place. He hasn't used it in weeks, but was keeping it "just in case." Last week, he said he was ready to let it go.



It got me thinking how short a time ago we would have to drag that wheelchair in and out of the van everywhere we went. (Some days it felt like all we did was get in and out of the van!) I know it's so easy for Dad to get discouraged about not progressing as quickly as he would like, but days like this (actually most days for the past couple of weeks!) it's mind-bogglingly miraculous to me how quickly he's recovering. It really helps that my aunt arrived today -- she saw him just before he was released from the hospital -- and keeps reminding us of the difference in him (especially his vision) in just the last couple of months. Very encouraging.



Last night, Dad and I were watching the news and they were doing a puff piece on the Young @ Heart chorus. One of the ladies they interviewed said, "Life begins at 70!" and I had to smile because Dad's been a little apprehensive about his birthday tomorrow ("I don't feel 70."), but it seems to me as he daily, bravely struggles to get his life back, that maybe life does really begin at 70.

I'm just your dad

For as long as I can remember, that has been Dad's response any time I try to tell him how amazing he is. I've been hearing it a lot lately. From being able to completely dress and undress to putting on his own seat belt, to reading signs in a car going 50+ mph, he continues to amaze me.

Perhaps one of the most meaningful things he's been able to do lately is begin to try writing. Around the time he left rehab, he had to sign some important documents and it was so disheartening to him to have to make a crude "x"-- with help even. I was reminded of the scene late in Arthur Miller's The Crucible when the main character refuses to sign a false confession (one he is willing to make verbally) because of the inherent emotional power of signing ones name. Last Saturday, Dad took me and Becky to lunch and we were in joyful tears as he signed the receipt for the first time.



Go ahead and look up "amazing" in the dictionary. The definition is: I'm just your dad.

"We Might Be Going Home"

That was the top headline in the Salt Lake Tribune this morning AS READ TO ME BY DAD!! As I've said before, it seems like we coast along for a little while and then suddenly he has exponential gains.

For several days now, we've been noticing improvements in his vision. Yesterday we had an appointment at the VA. I dropped him off at the door and I told him to start heading toward the lab, figuring I'd park quickly and catch up to him just in the hallway. Well, by the time I parked, walked down the hall, went up in the elevator (to the wrong floor and had to go back down), and headed into the lab, Dad was just finishing getting his blood drawn! He'd only had to ask for help pushing the elevator button!

When we got home, he was able to make out a couple of words in the paper's headlines, which was fabulous, and then when we took him to therapy, his occupational therapist had him playing dominoes!! Dominoes, people!

Out and about driving yesterday, he was getting markedly better about seeing signs while moving. And he's amazing at reading license plates, car models, and store names.

In other news (if that wasn't enough), during his physical therapy, the PT turned up the level on his treadmill while he was walking and he JOGGED for a little bit!

One of the things that's exciting in a less flashy way is how much more stamina he's getting. Even after doing all those things yesterday, we got home and he still wanted to walk to the mailbox with me. In fact, right now we're getting ready to go to the grocery store -- and Dad's going to push the basket for me. :)

What time is it?

Well it's time for lots of things:

1. It's time to return to regular updates. I will confess I've been having a bit of a personal meltdown for the past couple of weeks. Dad is getting better and better -- my problem seems to be an inability to balance Dad's stuff with my own. At any rate, I'd appreciate your prayers that I can find some space and rest for myself mentally and emotionally.

2. It's time to tell you that it's almost Dad's 70th birthday! We will be having a party for him on June 14th and anyone and everyone who loves Dad is invited. (If you haven't received an evite link for the info, please e-mail me or post a message here and I'll send it to you.) I remember so well back in December when things were so touch and go having a clear image of Dad walking into a big birthday party this June. AND NOW HERE WE ARE!!

3. It's time to update you on how fabulous Dad is. Although he is still having some balance issues because of his sight (about which more in a sec), Dad is walking very well. He is still using a cane or walker, but more often than not (please don't rat him out to his therapists) he's really just holding them while he walks. Though he still has some difficulty with using his hands, and is still not quite back to full strength, he is pretty much "well." The problems that he's still having are really vision related.

4. "What time is it?" Why don't you ask Dad? He can see well enough to tell time now! He's actually able to set his beloved grandfather clock! Dad is able to read street signs and see details he hasn't before. The major issue is focus. If things are moving, Dad can't see them because he can't focus on them, but if something is still he has enough time to concentrate on it so it "resolves" (i.e. he can't read a sign as we drive by, but if we're stopped at a light, he can see the signs). As many of you know, one of Dad's greatest concerns has been whether or not he will see well enough to drive again. Last weekend, while on an outing with Joe and his friend along the Pony Express Trail, Dad had the guys pull off the main dirt road so that he could try his hand at driving. Dad handled the curves of the road with no problem and was able to confidently drive for about half a mile. Joe said he did great! (I have felt all along that Dad would drive again. And now we can see that at this point the two issues, of course, are him not just seeing the lines and signs of the road, but keeping up visually with things that are moving and having a quick reaction time -- right now he's quite slow at most things.)

Thank you all for continuing to follow Dad's progress. Your faithfulness to Dad is certainly a testimony to what a great man he is. A friend thanked me the other day for "sharing" Dad with her (her own father is gone) and I just had to shake my head. I'm darn proud to have a father who is so loving and compassionate he has sheltered many "kids" under his wings.

Army Strong

When Dad goes up and down stairs he reminds himself of a mnemonic device one of his physical therapists told him. In order to remember to use your strongest leg to lead going up stairs and your weaker leg to lead going down it's something like: Weak takes you down to the devil, strong takes you up to heaven. Dad has a shorthand he uses, though, to be funny. When going down stairs he steps down and says, "devil...devil...devil..." (I tell him if anyone besides us heard him do this they'd give a call to the proverbial folks in white coats.) When he goes up it's "strong...strong...strong..." A while back, Joe and I took to trying to come up with phrases for each word on every step. Here's how we play: Dad steps and says "devil" and I say, "...may care." Dad steps and says, "devil" and Joe says, "...'ed eggs," etc. and we all think we are very funny. (Yes, we know how sad this is.)


ANYWAY, the reason I'm telling you all this is that my favorite thing to say for Dad on his final step into the house (what used to be the hardest step until recently) was "Army Strong!" One day, Dad picked up the habit, so now he says it instead of me. :) Sometimes we also do a variation and say, "Army of One!" I tell Dad he's my Army of One, a dedicated soldier in the campaign to return to full strength.


You all can't imagine what it is like to see him improving in leaps and bounds, day after day. He is so committed to getting better. For the past week or so he has been doing about 90% of his own personal care (going to the bathroom, showering, etc.). On Wednesday, he said, "I wish I could get rid of the walker," and began practicing walking a little by putting the walker away from him and walking into it so he could stay safe. That day he walked everywhere (with the walker) that he would normally have eschewed or used his wheelchair. He even went into the grocery store with me. And I can tell how much better he's getting because he's not nearly as exhausted by all of this as he would have been even a couple of weeks ago.


Yesterday when he went to therapy, he asked his PT if he could work toward getting rid of the walker and she let him practice with a cane. He did so well she told him he could start using one as long as someone was with him to spot him. We bought one last night and he's been walking all over the house practicing ever since! It's miraculous to watch.


For the past week or so he's also been able to get in and out of his chair at home on his own (it's pretty low, so until now he's needed a boost out). At first it was tough and he really wore himself out, but now it's like nothing. Most times he can just stand right up normally.


The only thing that's holding him back at all lately is his eyesight. That's his huge frustration, but the last couple of days he's been able to consistently see people's eyes in their faces. That's a big deal for him.


Watching him progress like this continues to be such a gift. Dad really is an army of one!

Little things mean a lot

Today was a "day off," meaning no appointments for Dad, so we pretty much hung out at home, visited Mom, got a visit from a work friend of Dad, and watched the debacle that was the Jazz's final game of the season.

When Dad was getting ready for bed he said he was tired and I teased him by wondering why when he hadn't "done anything." And then I laughed because I had to enumerate for him all the wonderful "little things" he did today that really add up. As I told him, the more you do, the more your body becomes used to doing them and the easier (hopefully!) they become.

A partial list of Dad's accomplishments today:

• He stood at the sink to brush his teeth twice today.
• He was able to put on his own underwear and pull up his pants.
• He turned on and off lights and opened doors ahead of himself multiple times.
• At lunch he ate his soup entirely by himself. Soup. And he used a regular spoon (not the one with the giant handle)!
• When we went to visit Mom, he insisted on bringing in his walker so he could walk into the room and give her a hug and kiss (difficult to impossible when they're both in wheelchairs), which he did multiple times during our visit (he kept sitting down, then asking for his walker to hug her again :) ... yes, it was so precious I cried like a baby).

I have to admit, yesterday was pretty much a downer day. From the minute Dad woke up it seemed he was sad about everything that's wrong with him, and by late afternoon when we found out we wouldn't be able to see Mom he was pretty low. It's hard seeing him like that. I'm never sure if I should wallow with him or try and cheer him up. But we remember the ebb and flow of things, that though the good times don't last, neither do the bad times. And we wait for quietly happy days like today.

Under there

Did I make you say "underwear?" (Okay, lame childhood joke...my apologies.)

Perhaps I'm a little giddy, but today, for the first time since the day after Thanksgiving, Dad was able to put on his own...what my Grandma Burke would have called "unmentionables." It was amazing, not just that he could do it, but just watching him figure out how best to get it done. He was so determined. He's really been trying to attempt a lot more the past few days.

Which is really great, considering we spent yesterday morning in the %$#@! emergency room. Sigh...do we get some kind of customer reward card for frequent visits? If we show up there one more time, I swear we're going to have our own room.

In all seriousness, Dad started having weird symptoms in his left leg on Friday afternoon. We were getting ready to go see Mom and before he started down the stairs, he said, "Huh...my left leg feels numb." The numbness came and went Friday, Saturday it became a "heaviness," and by Sunday morning it really ached. No way we were taking a chance with that given his history.

It turned out to be nothing, thank God, but in a nice bonus, the ER doc yesterday was the same doctor who worked on Dad when he went in in December. He walked in the room, looked at Dad and said, "You're supposed to be dead!" He was so thrilled to see how Dad has recovered. The last time he checked on Dad (about a week into his ICU stay) things didn't look good. He told Dad, "you made my day!" After the exam, he left the room and a few minutes later a nurse came in. She had also been in the ER that day. I remember when they whisked Dad off for testing, she gave me such a huge hug and all her prayers and sympathy. She was so excited to see Dad yesterday. When she left, she said, "Now I'm going out to have a good cry."

Hey, if you've gotta drag yourself outta bed to go to the hospital on a Sunday morning, at least it better be worth it. :)

Very Good Things: Dad edition

Thursdays are pretty tough 'cause Dad has three hours of therapy. He worked super hard today and then had the energy to visit Mom (yay Mom!) and endure a heartbreaking Jazz loss (boo bad refs!).

Some highlights from today's workout: Dad stood unsupported for four minutes! Then he balanced with one foot off the floor! Since Dad's memory issues are minimal, most of speech therapy's efforts are focused on clarity of speech (Dad called his brother today and with a concerted effort carried on the entire conversation with perhaps only two to three fuzzy words.). His occupational therapist is working his arms and helping him with coordination. He works so hard. Everyone in rehab is so happy to see him come in! :)

Lately, I've been very encouraged by a clear increase in stamina. Even a few weeks ago a couple of hours of therapy wiped him out and left him falling asleep in his chair. Now, though he's clearly tired it's more "normal" tired. I'm also encouraged because I'm seeing a decrease in his pain levels. Though his left arm and right hand still bother him (and if you ask him he says it's no better) he's not nearly in as much discomfort in the mornings. Just a couple of weeks ago, he was waking up in agony and asking for pain medication. Now I come in and he's doing leg lifts in bed and trying to "focus" his sight on objects around the room.

All in all, lots of very good things.

Cruising

I almost hate to say this, but I feel like we're finally starting to get the hang of things. Dad and I are getting a rhythm to our days, Dad is working like crazy and getting stronger and better, and everyone is (mostly) sleeping through the night.

Yesterday Dad had some vision breakthroughs. We had gone out to breakfast with friends and afterward stopped at our friendly neighborhood hospital so they could draw blood (to check Dad's coumadin levels). As we were pulling out of our space to head home, Dad looked ahead and gestured at the handicapped parking sign (in addition to the wheelchair symbol, it had the word "parking"). "That says 'parking.'" Later, when we got home and went to the bathroom, Dad looked at himself in the mirror. Usually he stares for awhile and then shakes his head and mutters, "I wish I could see myself." This time, he grinned and said, "I can see me!" (Again, not the facial details, but much more of himself than ever before.) He could even tell what his t-shirt said (Utah Utes, of course :)). When we began reminiscing about when he was first at IMed for rehab and couldn't even see the mirror in the gym, let alone see anything in it, we were pretty stinkin' happy.

With how hard Dad's been working in therapy, how well Mom seems to be doing, and a better balance of activity and downtime, things really do seem to be cruising along.

And now, I've tempted fate and you'll all read in the paper about the meteor that came crashing through the roof of a house in West Jordan, Utah. ;)

I feel like a million bucks

Dad did pool therapy today and the smile did not leave his face the whole time. Not only was it great to feel the freedom of being safe in the water, but the warm water made all his little aches and pains feel so much better.

When we got out to the car afterwards, Dad was smiling and joking. He said, "I feel energized. I feel like a million bucks!" It was great until we got home and the exhaustion hit him. :) He managed to eat some lunch, but now he's napping in his chair. Still he felt so good it was well worth it.

He's been feeling pretty good the last couple of days, too. Yesterday's meeting with Mom and her psychologist was emotionally tough (trying to work together to find ways to motivate Mom to do what she needs to do), but it went well and in the afternoon he met with his new Speech Pathologist (she said she likes to call herself a "cognitive specialist" so people understand better the breadth of what she does). She asked some questions and did quite a bit of testing. She was very encouraging about being able to help Dad be more clear in his speech and perhaps help him with some of his vision issues. Regarding his speech, her testing showed that Dad's tongue is weak in it's ability to push up, which might be accounting for some of his difficulties speaking.

On the vision front, Dad told me yesterday he could see my eyes in my face. He said it was just me, though (I guess 'cause we're around each other so much). But when we met the PT at the pool today (different from his regular PT) he was very excited because he could see her eyes, too! We do think things get clearer every day.

Overall, Dad's doing pretty well. He's been sleeping very well lately and doesn't seem to be getting groggy anymore from that medication, so that's great. His left arm is still bothering him at his shoulder, of course, and he often wakes up with aches and pains in both arms, but in general he seems in good spirits and good health. Especially after his little dip in the pool today!

Memories

Last night, Dad and I had a little free time. I asked him if he'd like me to read to him, and he suggested I read through the comments on the blog (some of the older ones he doesn't remember us reading to him). I asked him if he wanted me to read just the comments, or the entries too. Quietly, he said, "Read it all."

So, I read it all. We sat there for a couple of hours, reliving his recovery. We chuckled, we cried. He kept saying it was all "overwhelming." Many things he remembered. Some he didn't. Afterward, he paid me the highest compliment by saying I had "really honored" him by doing this blog. Honestly, though, how can you not honor a man like Dad who has touched so many lives; loved and lived with friends and family through dark times; and served God, family, and country the best way he knew how? How he has handled everything that has happened to him is a constant inspiration to me. Even when he gets down, he is still pushing, still trying, still fighting. I am the one who is honored. To be his daughter.

On a side note, if you could please pray for us. Tomorrow we will have a family meeting with Mom and her psychologist at the care center. Pray that it would go well, that we would all be receptive to hear how best to get Mom (and ourselves!) through this tough time. (FYI, if anyone is interested there's a link at the top right of this page to a new blog which is, essentially, me blathering on about what's going on with me, Mom, and silly little things that happen "behind the scenes" of Dad's care.")

Busy Week

Dad's had a great week, but it has been so incredibly busy! On Monday, Joe left to head back to New Hampshire to put his father in a nursing home (his dad has Alzheimer's and his mother, who just had knee surgery!, is just unable to keep caring for him at home). So I've been flying solo (and sad) here with Dad this week (wonderful family and friends have pitched in, so it hasn't been bad).

So, here's Dad's week in a nutshell:

Monday. He had PT in the morning where they had him practicing unsupported balance (that means no walker, no therapist, just Dad), which he can do for just over 2 minutes without wearing out. They also had him working on the recumbent bike and doing other things to exercise his leg muscles. It's a solid hour of exhaustion, and at that point he hadn't really slept in at least four days, so he started out the day exhausted. Then we stopped to find some audio books for him to listen to, grabbed lunch at Subway, then ran home to take Joe to the airport! By the time Becky came over in the evening to take him to visit Mom he was "too pooped to pop!" So Beck hung out with him and brought him dinner while I took a nap and felt sorry for myself that Joe was gone.

Tuesday. Day eight million and counting of no sleep. :( We got up super early to get to Dad's appointment at the VA with his primary care doctor. (This was my first VA experience and I am more concerned than ever that we really put more effort into taking care of our vets!) We got there at 8:00 a.m. (did I mention after zero hours of sleep we had to get up, get ready, and leave in time for a 45 minute drive?!) to do lab work, but when we got there they didn't have the order for it. We had to go back to his clinic (back down one floor and one long hallway...thank goodness Dad knew where we were going!), get the order, go back up to the lab, wait with a gazillion people, get Dad stabbed...and then we had about an hour and a half to wait for his appointment. We went to the cafeteria (for those of you who don't know the SLC VA, this is down about a mile of dark, creepy corridor [I think Becky told me they actually filmed the horror movie A Nightmare on Elm Street down there] ) and had breakfast and I read him the paper. We went back up to the clinic waiting room where I finished reading the paper to him, and finally (twenty more minutes past our original appointment) they took us back (for "ease" Dad used his walker, 'cause he needed to get up on the weight scale). We met with an assistant, a med student and Dad's doctor (this involved a lot of talking as we shared Dad's miraculous story time and again!). Let me just sum up the day by saying that we got to the VA at 8:00 and left there at 1:10 p.m.! We were going to meet Becky for lunch, but as soon as Dad got in the car, he fell asleep. Then we stopped to fill prescriptions for Dad (some old, some changes from his doc) which ended up taking about an hour and a half (don't even ask how that happened)! Poor Dad had had it by the time we got home and had a sandwich (sometime after 3). But he still wanted to go see Mom since he'd missed her the day before. Thankfully, thankfully, thankfully, the doctor gave Dad a different prescription to help him sleep. He actually went to bed at 10:30 that night and slept a full 8 hours without waking up!

Wednesday. Dad had so much energy from getting a good night's sleep! We went to see his new occupational therapist (annoying side note: his rehab doctor forgot to send orders for OT and speech therapy, so he went a week without any OT...not good for his poor left arm [we're scheduling an appointment with another orthopedist to see if the arm healed properly after the surgery, 'cause he's still having so much pain]) and she really worked him over. Then Dad and I went to the store to get some things for Mom, went to visit Mom, went home for lunch, then drove out to a follow-up appointment with his rehab doctor. The doc wanted to check on Dad's right hand to see once and for all if he has carpal tunnel. Well, it would have been nice if he'd told us beforehand that the way to do that is by shooting electricity through your nerves! He didn't warn Dad and just started shocking away! Needless to say, that wasn't very fun. Especially when he said, "Hmmm...your responses are a little slow, let's just crank it up a bit." !!!! Anyway, Dad managed bravely and the doc could tell there's CT in the right wrist. For now Dad's choosing to gut out the discomfort. If it gets worse, a cortisone shot is our next option, followed by surgery. We'll see how that goes. But after all that (the doc was running late, so our 3:20 appointment ended at 5:30!) Dad was wiped out. We went home, had dinner, and Dad pretty much went right to bed. And had yet another good night's sleep!

Thursday. We had an early breakfast out with a friend and when we got home, another friend came over for a visit (which allowed me to pop out to attend a funeral for the mother of yet another friend!), then Dad had back to back OT/PT . And since we got there a little early, they worked him for 2 hours and 10 minutes! (I don't know where he gets his reserves. Honestly, just the visiting exhausts him, let alone two hours of exercising! He amazes me!) After that, we ran home for dinner and Dad's brother and sis-in-law came over. (My poor aunt just had a freak accident and broke her foot! People, be careful out there!) Afterwards, Dad had another full-night's sleep!

Today. Today was a "light" day. The most Dad had to do this morning was lift his feet while sitting in his chair so I could vacuum under them. :) My niece and her daughter, the cutest baby in the entire world, came over to visit with Dad for a bit so I could run out to lunch with my sweet, newly-married friend. Afterwards I ran back and picked up Dad so we could go visit Mom for a bit. Right now, Dad is sleeping through the Jazz game after his exhausting week! Can you blame him? I'm exhausted just typing all of it!

Dear Emergency Room: I never want to see you again. Love, Rachael

Sigh...so last night we visited the ER for the bazillionth time. I guess I should start off by saying that Dad is fine, but late yesterday evening he began complaining of chest pain. He didn't have any of the classic heart attack symptoms, but given his recent history (and the fact that when I asked him where his pain was on a 1-10 pain scale he answered "scary") we were not about to take any chances.

After nearly four hours and a nice, morphine-induced nap for Dad, we were able to take him home with a diagnosis of a pulled muscle in the wall of his chest. The day before yesterday, we met with Dad's outpatient physical therapist and he tried to do too much for her. :(

On the plus side, after we got home Dad had the second of two eight-hour sleeping nights. Yay!

In spite of the trip to the ER, yesterday was a great day. Dad has been wondering for awhile now if he would be able to get into his truck (you know how he loves his truck!). He hasn't been in it since the day he broke his arm and crawled back inside to drive himself home. So I packed a lunch for us and we went outside to see if he could do it. With no trouble at all he popped right in. We had sandwiches and listened to sports talk radio and drove and drove and drove.

And today's been great, too. Even though he still has quite a bit of pain from the pulled muscle, Dad went to his first real outpatient PT session. They really worked him out, but Dad was able to walk 250 feet, go up and down a flight of stairs, peddle on a recumbent bike for 10 minutes, AND work on balance issues!

OH, and Dad woke up today and told me, "I think I can see better." We've been testing that out and I really do think every so often he has a jump in his vision. He truly does get just a little bit better every day.

The cure for insomnia

Apparently the cure for insomnia is to stay up late watching a nail-biting overtime conference tournament win by your favorite team. :) This morning instead of going in Dad's room to find he's been up for an hour working on quad-strengthening exercises in bed, he was rolled up in his blanket like a bug in a rug snoring away. Seriously, he has been sleeping better the past few nights. I actually attribute it to the relief the neuropsych gave him the other day in telling Dad that everyone who suffers anoxia struggles to get their sleep patterns back to normal. It's good to know it's not just you and that you're "normal."

And another contributor to his relaxation is the fact that we were able to visit the state's Low Vision Center yesterday to test Dad's visual acuity and take advantage of some tools to help him while he waits for his vision to improve. In watching their assessment of Dad, I can see how much his vision has improved just in the last week or so, and I got a better idea of how he's perceiving what he sees and what I might be able to do to encourage and help him. (Dad says he's "seeing" better than ever, but he can't "focus" on what he sees. Warning: nonmedical speculative opinion... It seems to me that he can see better when he's not thinking about it, but things he has to think about are more challenging. For example, he can see and respond to me smiling at him when it just happens, but if I ask him to tell me what face I'm making at him, he can't. But I'm very encouraged every time I see evidence that he can see and process, however limitedly now, the same information everyone else is processing. In other words, it may take him a minute to focus on the image of a giant 7, but he can see it, understand the image and what it means, and articulate it. To me that bodes well for the future. End of nonmedical speculative opinion. ) Oh, and Dad got a really cool watch from the LVC that speaks the time to him when he presses a button. Fun.

I would have to say that, cognitively, I'm afraid I'm out in left field

Today Dad had an appointment with a neuropsychiatrist. The appointment was for several hours of testing meant to determine Dad's current level of cognitive functioning.

Dad was a little nervous on the way to the hospital this morning. Because he can't function the way he wishes he could right now, he tends to get worried (as any of us would) that he's not doing very well. He told me, "I would have to say that, cognitively, I'm afraid I'm out in left field." I said, "Dad, just the fact that you articulated that sentence proves there's nothing wrong with you cognitively." "Oh," he said. :)

Anyway, I would have to say that today was the most positive medical appointment we've had to date. First of all, the doctor was very open about what we've known for months: that when it comes to the brain, all bets are off regarding how any one individual will react to or recover from an injury. You wouldn't believe how refreshing it actually is to hear a medical professional say, "You know, we really don't know."

The main take-away message from today, though, is that the testing showed the damage Dad sustained from the anoxia is quite localized. Considering the time he spent without oxygen, this is pretty amazing. Basically, Dad's vision and motor skills "took one for the team" leaving his cognitive processing, memory, and learning abilities relatively (there are still some minor issues which should mostly resolve over time) unscathed. It's a reminder yet again of how blessed we are that he is "himself" still, with all his mental faculties and personality. And it bodes well for his future recovery that his brain has fewer areas in which it needs to recover. (The doctor was very encouraging about Dad's potential progress given how well he's done these past few weeks, though he was quick to point out that recovering from anoxia is a "long, slow road.")

All in all, it was a very exciting morning. Dad and I celebrated by getting Subway and cinnamon doughnuts from Banbury Cross (if you live anywhere along the Wasatch Front and have never eaten one of these, go right now and get one...seriously, we'll wait...) and sitting at Liberty Park while we ate to enjoy the fresh air and watch the geese attack each other.

Hi, I'm Bob. Will you knock me out, please?

For the past couple of nights, Dad's been back to his insomnia. Joe and I have been levelled with the worst cold/flu/plague imaginable, so getting up every couple of hours to get Dad to the bathroom, turn on the tv, get him a drink, etc. is slowly (slowly?!) using up everyone's reserves, not the least the poor man recovering from a brain injury! Every time I get up, I think of the above line from the movie What About Bob. Not because I want to pop him, but just because I wish something, anything (since his medication isn't cutting it) could truly "knock him out" so he could get some sleep!

Of course the reason he's not sleeping is that he's SO anxious about Mom. First of all, here he is back home after three months and his wife isn't sleeping beside him (when Dad was in the hospital, poor Mom had the opposite problem!). Secondly, after meeting yesterday with Mom and her care team, it looks as though it might be some time before they can be together again. Please pray that somehow this would not drag Dad down so much.

Dad is also distressed because things are tough for him physically. He's achy, everything's a challenge, and his left hand in particular has been extremely painful. In his words, he feels like he's "falling apart." Pray that his body would heal quickly and he would find some good strategies for pain and stress management.

And please continue to pray that things would smooth out here at home. I would love to get us into a routine, but what with my stupid root canal (which went as well as could be expected, but now I need to finish it off with a crown, so yay, more pain!), the current cold/flu/plague, the fact that I'm in the wedding of my dear, dear friends tomorrow (congratulations guys!) and any number of other niggling "normal" things to do...well, routine, schmoutine. (Maybe, I'M the one who needs to be knocked out. Please! :) )

Better living through chemistry

Thanks to the miracle of drugs, Dad finally slept last night! Yay! I think it also helped that the anxiety of waiting for the eye appointment was over. At any rate, we all got a pretty good night's sleep and we know how critical that is for Dad to heal and continue to recover.

When I posted to the blog yesterday I looked back at the entry from before Dad came home and how exhausted he was going around the house with his PT team. It made me so happy to think about how now walking around the house, getting up and down the stairs, and getting up and down from different surfaces is sooooo much easier. It's so exciting to see.

I appreciate so much all your kind offers of help. You have know idea how much it means to us to know that so many are at the ready to do whatever we need. Thanks to my sweet cousin (and her husband) who came over tonight to help Dad with his wardrobe. He's lost so much weight (and oddly enough isn't interested in being a trendy guy with baggy pants) and she's a expert seamstress. Truly, these "little things" are so incredibly huge to us. You all are such a blessing!

The good, the tough, and the other

My apologies for not posting sooner. I'm sure you all can imagine how challenging the transition home is.

The good stuff: Dad is doing great, moving around more easily and getting stronger every day. His stamina has been improving and he's always up for hopping in the car to visit Mom or go for a drive. He is working hard on his therapies (his care team decided to send him home with home health care for a couple of weeks until he is acclimated to being out of the hospital) and doing anything he can think of in his "down time" to improve himself physically and mentally. His PT is amazed because he's about the only patient she's had who actually exercises on his own! He's doing so well that I anticipate he'll be ready for outpatient therapy by the end of the week.

For the past two Sundays, Dad has been able to go to church. I hear there wasn't a dry eye in the sanctuary the first time when we surprised them! I simply can't tell you what a beautiful thing it is to hear him singing in worship again.

The tough stuff: Since he's been home, Dad has had a heck of a time sleeping. As you can imagine, he's got a lot of stuff swirling through his mind, so in addition to just trying to get used to sleeping where it's dark and people don't burst into your room at odd hours to draw blood, he's also been pretty anxious about Mom and his own health/recovery. (And as you can also imagine, if he can't sleep, neither can Joe and I, so we're all pretty stinking tired.)

Dad has also been experiencing some aching in his left arm and continues to suffer with carpal tunnel-like symptoms in both hands. It's really discouraging to him to have all these "little" things irritating him when there are so many big things to deal with.

Perhaps toughest of all, today we went to Dad's appointment with the neuro-opthalmologist. After several hours of tests, we ended up right back where we started. Dad's eyes are, essentially, perfect. Unfortunately because of the anoxia, Dad's brain is currently unable to process what he's seeing. We are encouraged by the fact that his eyes do continue to improve and the doctor is convinced they will continue to do so for up to 18 months or so from now. The really hard part for Dad was the doctor's prognosis that he will likely never read or (big one for Dad) drive again. But, Dad and I agreed that since he's beaten all the prognoses so far, there's no reason he should stop now. :)

The other stuff: Please pray for us as we continue to try and get a handle on everything. I keep hoping to get a routine down, but with so many appointments, stuff going on with Mom, and goofy personal things (I was down a couple of days last week before having Part I of a surprise root canal. Yippee.) most days we're lucky we have food and clean clothes to wear (which means if you come over to visit, please do NOT look closely at the state of the carpets!). Props to folks who are single caregivers, 'cause I would fall apart. We've got a great group effort going on between friends and family pitching in. THANK YOU to everyone who helps, however obliquely (and huge thanks to my wonderful husband who gets up several times a night to help Dad to the bathroom!).

For anyone who has called, e-mailed, smoke-signalled or otherwise tried to contact me I am not ignoring you. It is most likely that I have attempted to rely (foolishly) on my brain to remember who I need to call, e-mail, or smoke-signal back. If you think you may be one of those people floating lonely at the back of my brain, please try me again. Especially if you are Sherri and you want to share some sushi.

Home Sweet Home

Dad is nestled in his La-Z-boy watching the Jazz game on his big screen tv and sipping hot coffee. For now, life doesn't get much better. :)

The beginning of the end

Yesterday Dad's therapy team came over to the house to see how Dad could handle being home. They checked out how well he could get in and out of bed, use the bathroom, and get up from his La-Z-boy. :) It really tired Dad out, but it was so exciting to see how well he could manage the normal stuff of getting around the house. There are many challenges, to be sure, and Dad will need someone with him all the time for safety at first, but we know it will only get better from here on out.

Dad had SO many visitors today: my cousin and her daughter (who is 17 today and wanted to visit Dad for her birthday), another cousin (who's also celebrating a birthday today!) and her husband, yet another cousin and her sister-in-law, one of Dad's brothers, AND one of Mom's sisters and one of her daughters who are visiting from California (with another cousin to fly in tomorrow!). That doesn't include the immediate family. Crazy! But we are so appreciative of everyone's presence. We know how much Dad means to so many people.

On the health front, Dad's right hand has been bothering him the last couple of days, so his doctor checked him out and told us he has carpal tunnel! It's really frustrating to him to have so many things wrong at once. He is so amazing for being able to work through it all. His doctor also brought in an endocrinologist to check Dad out. They think some of his fatigue might be the result of a hormonal imbalance, so they have been running a variety of tests and plan to start Dad on hormone therapy soon.

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers over the next few days as we begin the transition from hospital to home. There will be many challenges and there is so much to be done. We have also grown quite attached to the rehab staff (we had to say goodbye to one of Dad's physical therapists today and it was bittersweet) and though we want to miss them, we will miss them. I'm not sure how things will all go. It feels like forever that the hospital experience has been our lives. Dad agreed the other day that it's like the end of a tour of duty with all its mixed emotions and I'm not sure how we'll adjust. But we welcome the change.

[While I generally want to keep the blog all about Dad and his experience, I do want to thank all of you who have expressed your love and concern for Mom. She is now settled in a care facility where she can receive the various therapies she needs. Please feel free to e-mail or leave a comment if you would like more details on her. Thanks as well for all your interest in me (a heartfelt thanks to those of you who offered sweet condolences over the passing of my cat) and Becky and our families. While this has been a difficult time in our lives, we feel the crises passing and a new chapter opening for all of us. Years ago we began planning to take Mom and Dad to Hawaii for their 50th anniversary and I think we are all looking forward to seeing the two of them happy and healthy and holding hands on the beach two years from now. We believe that can happen and ask for your prayers that that will become a reality.]

GUESS WHO'S COMING HOME!!!!

That's right, Dad is set to come home next Tuesday!!!! Joe and I will move into the house to give him the support he'll need as he keeps getting better, and he will be scheduled to do outpatient physical therapy, but he will finally be back home. We are so excited!

This has been such a tough, amazing, thrilling, miraculous journey. We would not have made it this far without the love, support, and prayers of all of you. I am daily amazed at the blessings that have been poured out at our feet. We have been given such a precious, precious gift.

There is still a bumpy road ahead, so please don't stop praying now. We will need that support as Dad continues to gain strength, as he deals with his vision deficits, as he struggles to regain fine motor skills (and as we transition Mom to a rehab facility where she can get stronger and come home herself).

Although we would not have willingly chosen this journey, but we are grateful for your company as we have walked (sometimes crawled!) each step. Thank you.

Free

We had a beautiful day with Dad today. We picked him up at the hospital at noon and first we were able to take him home. He wanted to see if he would be able to manage the stairs to get inside and he handled it almost perfectly (he had one little moment of weakness on the last stair going up, but no problem going down). What a wonderful moment it was to see him back at home for the first time since the beginning of December!

After lunch at the house, we took Dad to see Mom at the hospital. He was so anxious to be with her. (Because of her health issues, they haven't seen each other in nearly three weeks!) It was so touching to see them together. He couldn't stop kissing her hand.

It was an exhausting day for Dad, but I know it meant the world to him to be with Mom on their anniversary, let alone being able to leave the hospital and therapy behind for just a few hours. And this little taste of freedom is the first sign of how close we really are to having him home.

Great gains

Dad had such an awesome day today! He practiced stairs for the first time and did great, then walked back to his room from the gym (one side of the building to the other). Later he practiced getting in and out of the car so he'll be ready for us to take him to visit Mom on Sunday, which will be their 48th wedding anniversary (before you applaud, we met a guy here in rehab who's been been married for sixty years!).

I have to tell you that this past week Dad has truly made some amazing gains. It's like all the little pieces of his therapy are coming together in a big way. From something as simple as being able to reach over and grab a drink off the table (and get the straw to his mouth and put it back on the table!) to needing only a light hand under his arm to stand up with his walker, I tell him every day he is awesome and amazing, and he is. And that's just the physical stuff. Any short term memory issues Dad has had seem pretty much gone and his ability to focus and problem solve is improving, too. Every day I think he can't get any more fabulous, but the next day he's even more fabulous!

Today we went to a group get-together with some other patients. We heard some amazing stories and it was very encouraging to see what others are going through and hear their struggles and triumphs. I've seen so many people here on this floor go from wheelchairs to walkers to canes to walking out to go home. It's profoundly touching to know we are just one of so many miracles.

Which do you want first?

Personally, I prefer having my bad news first so that the good news kind of makes up for it and leaves you on a happy note.

The bad news: My mother is in the hospital (and unfortunately for us not the same hospital as Dad). She is under observation for her knee pain and a severe UTI. We are still working hard to get her the right help so that she will not have to come home until she is well enough. (If any of you would like more information on Mom, please e-mail me or leave a comment here.)

Unfortunately, this is really effecting Dad's mood and focus. (With any brain injury, the patient is likely to be much more emotional than previously and less able to cope well with strong emotions...and this is a lot to cope with.) Several of the nurses have noted that he's not his usual cheerful self. It's tough to see him so down, especially when he needs all his fighting strength.

The good news: Dad's catheter is OUT!! He is tube and wire free for the first time since December 3rd! AND this morning he WALKED to the bathroom! He needed a hand up from the nurse and then was able to use his walker the 8-9 feet into the bathroom!!

He is getting so much stronger in his legs and is sitting/standing better and better. I had a nice long chat with his occupational therapist and she told me he is using his utensils better at mealtimes. She is so pleased with his progress in so many ways, but she really sees a difference in his vision.

My dear friend Emmy (she's a doctor of physical therapy) came and hung out with us some today. Because Dad's PT team is mainly focused on getting him mobile, Emmy wanted to help him work on his left arm. He's still having trouble trusting it enough to use it, and Em explained that after so much lack of use the muscles have likely shortened, thus causing a limit in his range of motion. Dad worked really hard on some exercises with her and he told her she really helped him. One great thing she explained to us is how long it takes to get back muscle tone. I think it helped Dad to understand why he is still pretty weak, even though he has the ability and coordination to do the activities of therapy. I love my Emmy. She makes everything easy to understand! :)

Thanks to all those who are able to stop by and visit. We appreciate the time you take to make Dad feel loved. (If I could just make a quick PSA, please, please announce who you are when you come in the room. It's sooo frustrating to play "guess who I am." End of PSA.)

Hard work...tough times

Dad is doing so well! At least two of his therapists told me today how much they enjoy working with him. The speech therapist told him she appreciates his tenacity in doing all this work. "I have lots of patients who get frustrated and give up, but not you, Leo!" Today, Dad walked 116 feet in physical therapy (they hook him up to a harness suspended from the ceiling to help him with balance and then he uses a walker). His PT told him he's really improved since she last worked with him Friday and she's definitely not one to toss off idle compliments.

Over the weekend, Dad had an MRI. His doctor and the opthamologist want to compare it with the one that was done back before he left the first hospital. This might give them some insight about his vision, but they also want to see if there are any changes. They should have their reports in the next day or so.

One of the exciting things for Dad is the news that they are planning to remove his catheter tomorrow! That will be his last tube!

Right now, things look really good, but Dad is still discouraged about his vision and he's really sad about my mother's health issues. And I had to tell him this morning that my cat (nearly 20 years old!) passed away last night. He was such a kind "grandpa" to her and will miss her. Please pray for Dad's emotional health as he wrestles with some pretty dark times. Pray for the whole family.

Challenges

Yesterday was a tough day for Dad. At home we had to call the paramedics to take Mom to the hospital. (It was very weird to see that truck pull up, see the gurney in the hallway, head to the Jordan Valley ER...deja vu all over again.) Over the last week or so a bad arthritis flare-up in Mom's right knee brought her to the point where she felt she could not walk on it at all. She received a cortisone shot in her knee at the hospital and we are following up with home health care to get her all the help she needs. But of course, as you can imagine Dad was totally worried and feeling helpless all day.

And then we finally had our appointment with an ophthalmologist. After some testing, his determination is that Dad's right optic nerve was damaged so severely during the anoxia he first went through that he will never have vision out of the lower half of his right eye. The doctor is also fairly certain that the anoxia created damage in the vision center of his cerebral cortex which accounts for his "fuzzy" vision right now. He said in these cases they like to give the eyes up to a year to come back from that kind of damage. Because the doctor met Dad in his hospital room instead of his office, he didn't have all the diagnostic tools with him, so to really get to the bottom of things, the doctor will refer Dad to a specialist at the Moran Eye Center in Salt Lake.

So, needless to say it was not the best day for Dad. But after processing all the news of the day, he is still trying to remain hopeful and keep plugging along.

On the plus side, Dad had a lot of visitors yesterday and I know that lifted his spirits. It was particularly nice to see some of his work friends. They were able to talk and joke about stuff that took Dad out of the worries of the day for a few minutes. It was so good to hear him laugh. Many, many thanks to all the friends and family who made yesterday a little easier for him.

It means so much to me that so many of you count on this blog. That lets me know how many people love us and are praying for us. I will do my best to at least post every other day while we are in the middle of so many challenges. Thanks for your patience.

Good, good, good

First, my apologies for not getting anything posted sooner. Here's a handy hint: from here on out assume that if I don't post it's actually good. At this point I'm spending a lot more time with Dad, actively involved in his therapies so we'll know how best to help him when he gets home.

Let me tell you, I don't know if I've seen anyone work harder at getting better than Dad. You should see the look on his face, the set of his chin when, exhausted, he pushes himself one more time to take another step. Today, the PT asked, "Are you ready?" when it came time to go again. "No," he said, "But let's do it!" Similarly, today he struggled to use his special utensils to feed himself his entire plate of lunch. (He can get the utensil from plate to mouth okay, but because he can't see and lacks coordination to hold a plate still in front of him, he needs some assistance to get food from the plate onto his utensil.)

Speech therapy is working on both clarity of speech (which is pretty good unless he's tired) and memory/thinking skills. I am still amazed that all of Dad's memories, personality, and thought processes are completely intact. For me, that's the biggest blessing.

Right now, much of Dad's struggles are centered around his lack of vision (as best as we can tell, he can see shapes and movement and contrast between light and dark colors, but details are fuzzy). Because he is still vision-centric, it's hard for him to process information about things he would normally relate with sight. For example, it's hard to remember different people because he can't put a name with a face (especially with the number of people parading through his room on a daily basis!). His care team is getting him an appointment with a neurological opthamologist who will hopefully be able to let us know what is happening and what might (if anything) be done about it.

Thank you all again for your kindness in thought, prayer, phone, calls, messages, and gifts. In particular, thanks Z&E for the CDs and Leo K. for the spiffy shirts! And please, if you come over and Dad's asleep or out of his room, leave a note so we know you dropped by. (If it's around 5, he's probably in the dining room, and you can just head down the hall and check.) Oh, and when you come to visit, please let Dad know who you are when you come in the door. It's tough for him to feel at a disadvantage and try to guess who you might be out of any number of people.

On a final note, I have to tell you that the sweetest thing happened tonight. Dad, Joe and I were watching the Jazz game together when there was a knock at the door. When I said come in, the door opened and a familiar face peeked in. It was Dad's wonderful physical therapist, Reuben, from UVSH! (Unfortunately his brother-in-law has been in an accident and is a patient at Dad's hospital.) How incredibly sweet of him to come check up on Dad. It's so wonderful to see how Dad has touched the lives of those who have and are helping him heal.

Standing tall

"They really put you through a workout!" That's what Dad says about his grueling schedule of therapies. I tell you, he's amazing.

Today physical therapy worked on getting him to stand and what they call "transfers" (moving from one place to another, which right now means a wheelchair to a bed for example). Watching him work out each of his movements and think through what his body must do is fascinating. I mean, it's like time-lapse photography of the learning process. Just today within a five minute period of time, I watched him go from an inability to use his hand to steady his body in a move to a smooth, normal motion. And every time he stands up with a walker he needs less help and is standing even straighter. His last stand today was tall and straight and he was able to hold it for a minute. From where he has been...well, you all know this is nothing short of fabulous!

His appetite and attitude were both good today, in spite of continuing frustrations with his vision. Literally, and figuratively, he is really standing tall.

Good bye/hello

It was very emotional leaving UVSH yesterday. There were a parade of well-wishers in and out of Dad's room all morning from the administrative staff to the housekeeping crew and everyone got a little teary. As many of the staff as were able came to the elevator with Dad to send him off. He gave his farewell to the troops (his heartfelt thanks) and they cheered as he headed off. (I was crying like a baby.) We are really going to miss the wonderful folks there. But we want to miss them. :)

So, I got to drive Dad back to Salt Lake and by lunchtime we were settled in his new room, the nurse had checked out all his owies and got him comfortable, and we waited for the barrage. He was able to have lunch in peace, but after that we met the occupational therapist, the doctor, the physical therapy team, the staff psychologist, and any number of nurses and aides. By the end of it all Dad was a little frustrated and overwhelmed (after all, how many times can you answer the same questions over and over?). But of course he was his cheerful self throughout.

So far today, Dad has been amazing. He even ate yogurt today (which he absolutely loathes) because it was part of his breakfast and he knows he needs to eat all he can to get stronger. (Apparently yesterday morning he got his arm caught in his feeding tube and it came out so far it wasn't worth putting back in, so he is FREE.) The schedule of therapy is truly rigorous. I don't think I'd be up to it. Dad isn't sure he is, what with the backside pain and all (which is better today), but of course he's toughing it out. Before lunch today he was at the end of about an hour of intensive occupational therapy and physical therapy. One of the PTs said, "Shall we try standing one more time?" (they had been having him practice standing up with a walker and he was having a tough time getting completely vertical) and Dad said, "Let's go for it!" He set his chin, clenched his teeth and made his body stand up straight and tall. That's my dad.

We're still in the process of evaluating where he is and what needs to happen to help him get better (the visual issues, strength in his left arm, getting him moving, etc.). It's daunting and Dad does seem a little sad when we talk about all that he's got to work through. But as I said to one of the staff yesterday who asked what Dad's personality is normally like, his philosophy can be summed up in two of his favorite phrases: "You've gotta do what you've gotta do," and "Ten percent of something is better than a hundred percent of nothing." He is so strong.

Anyway, Dad has a great, committed team of folks who are working hard to help him. The physical therapist thinks that Dad should be able to walk and handle the stairs to get into the house by the time they're done with him. The doctor's assessment is that he'll be ready to head home in about 3-4 weeks. Please pray that our family will be able to do what we need to do to get ready to welcome him.

Whew!

This has been a long, exhausting day, so I'll be brief. Dad is comfortably settled in his new room at IMed. Everything went wonderfully.

Those of you who are local, please be aware that visiting hours are strictly between the hours of 4 and 8 p.m. because the schedule of therapy is so rigorous and the patients can't be interrupted. If you would like information about his room/phone number, please let me know and I'll give you directions.

I'll give you all of the fabulous details of the day when I get a chance tomorrow!

Down to the last straw :(

Poor, poor Dad is in so much pain. He told me he feels like he's "down to the last straw." The diarrhea is only just beginning to improve, but it has taken its toll by breaking down his bed sores. It is so heartbreaking to see how brave and gracious he's trying to be when he is in agony. Please, please, please pray that he would begin to heal quickly!

The good news: he is on schedule to head to rehab tomorrow! I was able to go over to the new facility today and check it out. There is so much positive energy there, very lively. For those of you in the Salt Lake area, this is now in the new IHC campus in Murray. The rehab is on the 12th floor of the patient tower there and all the patient rooms are around the perimeter of the floor so every room has an amazing view of the valley.

Our case manager here in Provo told me today when she was talking to her counterpart at IMed, the woman told her, "We're almost entirely full, but for some reason I have been saving one bed. I wasn't sure why, but now I'm glad we have it to give to Mr. Coonradt." When I was taking a tour there, they had already heard about Dad and were so excited to have him there and be part of getting him better and getting him home.

We can't wait.