Tis’ the Brain Bleed Season…

This time of year, I always feel it before facebook memories confirm it. Still locked in my body and subconscious are all the strong emotions.

Yesterday, I sent B a text, “Today is 7 years since your brain bleed happened.” His response, “I wasn’t sure, but I thought so. I could just feel it.” Interesting, isn’t it?

As I mentally replay those days, and mostly think of all that’s happened since, I’m always so deeply thankful. The fact that he was in the 15% of people who survive and totally recover has never been lost on me.

That evening, we had eaten dinner with a family member. Upon returning home, Billy stated he had a headache. This wasn’t completely unusual so I went to bed and tossed a casual, “Wake me up if you’re having a stroke or something” over my shoulder. For real, I said that.

Around 1:45 am, he did wake me up. And, what follows next was very unusual.

He said, “I think I need you to drive me to the hospital. I think somethings wrong with my head.”

B has a high pain tolerance. He doesn’t panic. That’s more me. He’s the solid one.

At the E.R. when the triage nurse said, “What’s your pain on a scale of 1 - 10”? B very quietly and controlled answered, “It’s a 10. No, an 11. Actually, I think it’s a 12.” I see why she had a hard time reading him, but I was keenly aware this wasn’t normal.

They treated him for a migraine.

They talked about old sports injuries and pinched nerves.

They threw all the fluids and pain meds his way.

Finally, ER Doctor said, “Let’s do a CAT scan just to be safe”.

Shortly thereafter the doctor came back in and sat very close to me. Speaking in a low voice, he says, “There is bleeding in your husbands brain. It could be a bleeding aneurysm, or something in that category. I don’t see the source of the bleeding and we don’t treat this here. I’ve already called the brain center in Denver. There is no need for you to not stay calm. Especially since they want to life flight Billy to the hospital and you’ll need to drive there.”

Six new people immediately entered the room -- they introduced themselves as the pilot, his flight nurse, etc etc and a bunch of things I didn't hear. One of their jobs was clearly to keep me focused and distracted. Squaring my shoulders...explaining how it's important that I make the hour drive slowly and carefully because "I can't alter the outcome by driving crazy."

Driving crazy, huh?

They had me walk with Billy as they loaded him into the helicopter and helped me to my car as it took off.

As I shut the car door, I temporarily forgot what I was doing. A minute or so later -- I breathed deep and said out loud, "Shanna, call Denise."

I called Billy's mom at 4 am and led off with, "No one has died, but..."

I woke, a 16 years old, Hosanna with a similar call and we made the hour drive to Swedish Hospital in Denver, which just so happens to be recognized as one of the Nation's top centers for neurotrama, and brain injuries. I had never heard of it.

That began 14 nights in the brain trauma ICU. And, MONTHS and MONTHS of recovery.

Back then, a friend told me, “A year from now you’ll never even think about this. It’ll never even pop in your mind.” That has been remarkably untrue for us. Just ask our counselors.

Not too long ago, that 16 year old I awoke at 4am with the “no one has died, but…” phone call (now 23) admitted she’d never turned her phone off one time since I had called her that evening. We. Are. Still. Remembering.

On the positive side…

• I remember being so thankful for Elizabeth’s direct and decisive help when she told me we HAD to take a day off from the hospital, eat a healthy meal and go to the gym. She saw that my brain was metaphorically bleeding too, and rose to the occasion to help me hold me together.

• I remember the quiet strength Hosanna and Benjamin lent on the daily. One night as we sat in our living room, I said, “Guys, I’m sorry for not asking you how you are doing through all this. I do want to know…” To which they explained in agreement: mom we have to talk about this with every single person every single time we leave the house. We are happy to just sit in quiet and not have to explain things to each other. Silence was my love language.

• I remember Victoria wanting so badly to bring joy and life to her father’s hospital room, but was tasked with caring for her younger brother instead. She too rose to the occasion even though it was quite difficult for her. Sometimes we have to help in ways that are actually helpful in a situation, and not just in the ways that make us feel good. It’s hard. She was only 13 but able to do the hard. And, it was infact, very helpful.

• I remember neighbors bringing our kids groceries (kid comfort food), taking them out to do fun things, and decorating our home with Christmas lights because our “house needed a little happy on it”.

• I remember dozens of my personal clients cancelling their lessons for the month, and saying they wanted to “donate” their tuition payment. Saving me money, and allowing me time to spend with my family was a huge act of generosity on behalf of our studio community I will never forget.

• I remember pastors coming to pray, even when the nurse told them B couldn’t have visitors. They quietly poured an entire vial of anointing oil on B’s head. The act brought him peace.

• I remember a nurse asking me to “stay longer because his blood pressure is lower when you are in the room”. Ironically, Billy has been brought in to raise my blood pressure after a medical procedure. Funny.

• I remember him saying a thousand snippy things to the hospital staff, that were so funny to me. Not so much to them.

• I remember the worship CD a friend made for me, that changed the entire experience for me. So much so, I made copies of it for others.

• I remember a nurse sticking her head in the room and saying, “You guys shouldn’t be talking so much. “ I stuck my head out from under a blanket in the chair and said, “I’m not talking at all. That’s B quoting scripture over himself.”

• I remember being blessed with so many phone messages, texts, and gifts, I couldn’t even keep up with it all.

• I remember God’s presence being so thick and real during that season.

Things could have gone a much different direction. Both patients on either side of Billy died while we were there. In the open atmosphere of the ICU, we were witness to their families saying good-bye.

This morning I whispered a prayer that simply went something like, “God, thanks for letting us keep B that day.” It doesn’t always go that way, and my family knows something about that too.

In the meantime, it’s good to remember. And, it’s good to get counseling. I texted Hosanna this morning, and reminded her it was ok to shut her phone off sometimes. And, she said, “Thanks! I do actually.”

Healing is always good.

Blessings,

Shanna