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You can hear me read this by clicking below, or subscribing to the podcast at the end of this post.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
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August 16, 2016
I so expected Dana to open his eyes at any moment.
I took this photo, and this, fully expecting him to wake up at any minute.
Look at you! Wired up, in the ICU, with all kinds of tubes attached to you, Dana!
So many tubes. So many wires.
So many lines, so many IV’s.
And I was not concerned. This was a blip in Dana’s screen, he was going to walk out sooner, rather than later, I had no doubt whatsoever.
Dana’s two sons were working, as was my husband Mikey. It was just Dana’s daughters Yu Han and Yu Rou, myself and my kids. We rotated time in with Dana, and the ICU waiting room. My kids were altogether consuming waaaaaaaaay too much by way of screens.
My mom came up from the Bay Area.
Mom settled into the ICU waiting room, while my nieces stayed in the family center that the hospital provided for those of us who were there for our beloved, wounded. There wasn’t enough room though for my kids and I, so mom paid for the hotel room for us.
We drove back that day, and mom came with us to the restaurant (next door to the hotel) to eat before returning back to the ICU. There in that space, we were just still for a moment.
I remember the disconcerting feeling of needing to be near Dana at all times – like a visceral need.
When I was at the hospital and around him, my brain fog cleared and I was better. When I was away, I couldn’t really focus.
I knew he was going to walk out of the hospital. I knew it was never a question of him “making it,” but rather, if he would have a disability afterwards? Or not? What kind of rehabilitation would he need? I remember that evening, mom and I talked about that. We were wondering how far we should look into rentals nearby. We’d rent a space and help Dana get to and from the rehab center, and help him get back on his feet.
And despite those question and the certainty that I had with his healing, I still felt that intense fog and lack of focus when I was not there with him. I didn’t understand that.
Meriah Nichols is a counselor. Solo mom to 3 (one with Down syndrome, one on the spectrum). Deaf, and neurodiverse herself, she’s a gardening nerd who loves cats, Star Trek, and takes her coffee hot and black.
