Thursday, November 13, 2008


Dr. D looked very solemn as he entered the room. I had seen him a mere 7 hours before at my own medical appointment. At that time, we stood in the hallway and joked lightheartedly. Then we talked about how well Tom's cataract surgeries had gone - I told him Tom had received a clean bill of health from the Ophthalmologist the day before and now needed only reading glasses.

Oh the conversations we have every day - unaware that our lives are headed for sudden destruction.

He told me the Cat Scan results showed Tom had suffered quite a large stroke. He indicated that Tom was stable and that "only time would tell" if he could awaken and if so, what would be the prognosis for recovery. He also asked me to list Tom "DNR" that night. I remember feeling like I had been socked in the gut. Dr. D did not think anything was likely to happen but if it did - the damage Tom had sustained was such that it was probably better not to resuscitate him.

I was numb, looking back it was like I had been thrust into an alien landscape and everyone was speaking a strange language. It was as if the room was filled with clear gelatin, all movements were slow and exaggerated - all speech grated on my ears. Tom was there, yet just beyond my reach.

Up until that moment, I was busy holding Tom's hand, telling him I loved him, praying and planning the rehab and recovery.

Oh, weeping shadows on the wall.


1 comment:

  1. Oh Suzann, I can really understand your shock and pain back then.
    I remember that all I wanted was to have Katie wake up. I begged her to do that.
    Then the doctors told me that she would never awaken, and if by some miracle she did, she would be little more than a lifeless shell.
    My heart broke into a million pieces, never to recover