Monday. Day 5

Dear Burk,
Has it really only been 5 days?? It feels like forever.
We had family dinner last night like we do every Sunday. Jaida was very concerned that no one is at the hospital with you. I assured her the nurses were taking very good care of you. "yea mom but he needs someone there that he knows in case he gets scared."
Mom and dad went back to see you later that night after shift change. You were still heavily sedated with not much change.
Mom was back at the hospital by 9 this morning. She has her every-other-day-migraine but she doesn't let those slow her down as you know.
You have a male nurse today. I won't mention his name cause he's not my favorite. He's not attentive enough for me. But then again he's a guy so.....
On Saturday the nurse said we really needed to get you to poop. They started giving you things to help the process along. I asked her how that whole process worked. Then quickly determined I did not want to be around when it happened.
By this morning (two days later) the "poop cocktails" they were giving you hadn't worked.
Dad came this afternoon to spell mom. He checked all your "numbers" and said things looked better. I always have to take what dad says and then bump up the seriousness about ten notches. Because if it were up to him he'd probably tell you to "take 4 ibuprofen with food and you'll be just fine". At least that was the cure for everything when we were growing up.
A few hours after dad got there I called to check on things. He said we'd had a "code brown". His term for poop. Thank you for saving that for when dad was there. His "smeller" is broken so it doesn't bother him at all. The only reason he knew is because you opened our eyes and pointed.
When mike got home from work I headed up to the hospital. I feel compelled to be there as much as i can. Mom came back as well. Dad was nodding off in the chair so we told him to go home. I asked if he was okay to drive while he was that tired. He gave his usual answer "Sure, I'll just put it on cruise control."
Mom and I each took one of your hands. Your nurse had been lowering your sedation and this was the most alert I had seen you.
Every few minutes you opened your eyes. Your eyes searched for a person. You look terrified. We tell you it's okay. You slightly shake your head "no".
You start to point. We ask questions to figure out what. We discovered you were cold so I turned off the fan. Then your eyes closed.
A few minutes later eyes open again. Searching. Terror.
We try to tell you you're in the hospital but you don't seem to understand.
I tell you to squeeze my hand if you know who I am. You don't squeeze.
Eyes close.
Mom looks hammered. I tell her that and she gave me the "look". The one I'm sure you've seen plenty in your lifetime.
Eyes open again. This time your brow furrows and you grimace in what looks like complete agony. Then you mouth something. At first we can't tell. Then we realize.
"Help."
"Help."
A tear rolls down your cheek.
It was crushing.
I begged mom to leave. "I'll stay with him for awhile. Please go home." She doesn't argue. She kisses you on the forehead and leaves.
I think at times like these you just have to go numb. Because if you allow yourself to feel, you'll probably crumple onto the floor in a big hysterical mess. And I have a feeling that hospital floor is pretty nasty.
I stayed by your bed and held your hand so when you opened your eyes I'd be there. I tried to assure you everything was going to be okay. You kept shaking your head. I wanted to ask the nurse to sedate you more. It didn't seem fair to wake you up with that tube in your throat. And theain you are in is unimaginable.
I called Kelli and made sure she was coming for the late night shift. It didn't feel right to have you there alone waking up with no one familiar by your side.
I'm not sure what the plan is for tomorrow. Probably similar to today.
Surgery for your shoulder and ankle are both scheduled for Wednesday. Then hopefully they can get the breathing tube out so we can communicate and see how the old brain is doing.
Right now it appears you have at least forgotten some things. Mike and I thought it would be pretty awesome if the one thing you forgot was that you like alcohol. If only life were that easy.