2007-12-24 — Newsletter from Chris to All

Dear All,

I take this opportunity, being perhaps one of only a handful of staff members left in the VIC on Christmas Eve with really not much work to be done at all, to send out a further update on my Dads situation as it is now.

I must first say that it has, since my last update, been somewhat of a rollercoaster ride for us, and I think that could be putting it lightly when viewing it from my Dads perspective. I think he will perhaps describe it as having been to hell and back, and perhaps more than just the once. A negative start to an update, but I can assure you that although I start negatively that in the big picture things are looking positive.

It's hard to sometimes put things in an understandable order, so I will try to keep it to the point. In my last update there were hopes of my Dad being out of intensive care by the time my sister arrives on Friday the 21st (1 or 2 days the doctors said, and the phrase '1 or 2 days' is becoming an all to familiar one to me now). He is still in intensive care. It has now been 13 days and from what the doctor told me yesterday he could still be in intensive care for a further '1 or 2 days…'.

Day by Day;

Thursday:

It was decided that my Dad should come off the breathing aid, unfortunately he was not ready, so they had to put him on some other type of breathing aid that pressurises the lungs, so when I saw him that afternoon, he looked very distressed. He had what appeared to be a special space helmet around his head that pumps oxygen and pressurises the lungs. With this contraption on is head it meant that because he no longer had the breathing tube through the nose and down the throat he was able to try speak. That was nice. He wasn't very clear, but with practice that would come. His words though where not words of happiness and joy, he was very distressed. Since his awakening on Tuesday he apparently had had no sleep. From one extreme to the other it would appear. For him, a nightmare, he looked exhausted, he was exhausted, but his body rejected sleep. This, according to the professionals is completely normal, it is a type of withdrawal from the previous 7 days induced sleep. The body is trying to regulate itself, but for my Dad this of course meant nothing. He wanted desperately to go back to sleep.

Friday:

Because the pressurised helmet was not working, they had to put my Dad back onto the original breathing aid, which meant putting this tube back through the nose and down the throat, by no means a pleasant experience. This was done in the morning. My Sister and I arrived at 14:00 that day, and of course an emotional visit as it was my Sisters first. Dad was awake, and although extremely confused, tears expressed his joy that Sarah had arrived. He had also managed to get some sleep which was quite evident.

As speaking was no longer an option, we resorted to pad and paper, which he has now mastered. This is where we understood exactly how he was doing. I don't think anyone other than those who have been through such an ordeal will understand it, but it's extremely hard to have to convince someone that they are alive and not dead, or that they are awake and not in a coma, or that they are sane and not mad. But these are all questions he was asking. Tough on a first visit for Sarah. I think slowly though, through that visit he started really understanding himself where he was, why and that it was a matter of recovery.

Saturday & Sunday:

These two days showed marked improvement. More so from the mental side of things. He is still confused at times, he will wake up in panic, but in general, when Sarah and I are there he is calm, and we just spend the visiting hours communication with him. It is now evident that he is very bored. We have been given special permission to have his laptop in there with him. He now has books, his iPod amongst other items to make him pass the time more easily. I think these are more for his comfort, because the effort it takes to use them is exhausting, but I think knowing they are there gives him that much more motivation perhaps.

All in all, although his lungs are healing very slowly, they are healing and it really is just a matter of time until they can move him up to his own room again. He now knows this. His wounds from the operation are in excellent shape according to the doctors. He is able to smile, and has not lost his humour. He also questions why the are no visitors… I have told him that I'm sure there will be, but he has to wait until he's out of intensive care.

He has asked us to pass on his love to all. He knows there are lots of people out there thinking of him, praying for him, and he appreciates it. He looks forward to seeing you when he is healthy, and is looking forward to visitors as well.

A special note; Don & Lucille, whom many of you might know, have been extremely supportive not only for my Dad but also for Sarah and Me. My Dad really appreciates everyone's support, but I think Don & Lucille in particular. He had requested that they visit, and we managed to squeeze them both in on our Sunday visit. I think this was something my father really appreciated, and Sarah & I were pleased they could make it too. Like I said though, visits are easier to organise when he's out of intensive care, so he knows that for the rest he’ll have to wait.

From Sarah and myself, we wish you all the best, enjoy the holidays, and thank you all for your support.

Christopher.