They have moved him back out of the private ICU room to the main ICU area as it is now not as crowded and is overall easier for the nursing staff to monitor him there. The cost is not as prohibitive but visiting will be again more limited and mum will not be allowed to stay with him overnight. Trudy said the doctors decision was based on nursing and care efficiency recommendations, not cost. So he is obviously not quite as happy right now but we will continue to review day by day and collectively as a family when we are all there on Tuesday. Come on, bigger, better, faster, more. Let’s get you out of there altogether.

I am not sure where my sister finds the strength to deal with all the monetary logistics of papers to sign and insurance circus acts and payments and hospital processing and, and…
(Anthony you have been a constant lighthouse in this hurricane and your help has saved much sanity, there are and will never be enough ways to say thank you)

It slices me with guilt at times when I think about the fact that I live somewhere with such efficient and thorough health care coverage. When I go to my cardiologist annually and have a bi annual MRI, to monitor my baboon heart, I simply hand in my little green OHIP card and I am processed. Done.

Health care in Trinidad is for the most part functionally privatised, in that there are state funded options; that while being very good at many things, unfortunately often leave a lot to be desired. The likelihood of going into the POS General Hospital to remove a splinter from your finger and you end up coming out with a lobotomy and gender reassignment surgery or not leaving at all, are quite high.

According to dads current ID band he is male, we best keep it so.

Jim has some truly remarkable friends, I suppose like attracts like. They have built an incredible metal frame and fashioned a lovely wooden plate to support an iPad to hang over him so he can watch shows. His friend apparently lamented over and went through several pieces of quality hardwood trying to find the perfect segment. The stream of “findin de right wood fuh Jim” jokes were truly limitless.

It needs to be quite close to his face as he doesn’t have his contacts in and his glasses are a kind of coke-bottle-thick uncomfortable. Trudy and I have already amused ourselves with ideas of how much more ludicrous the whole situation would become should it fall and clobber him in the head.

At least now he can watch something other than the ceiling to pass the hours by.

[An Open Letter to the Other Driver]

Dear Sir,

I bear no ill regard towards you. You are after all, simply a stranger to me. But in this last week and a half since the life of my family was tipped out a happy bucket and all over the filthy messy floor, I can’t help but want to let you know a few things. I need to release the thought of you from my mind for fear that it begins to fester and decay.

I would like you to know that your simple action of speeding and failing to handle a machine with the care and diligence that it demands, has shattered a human. One of my very favorite humans on this planet. I can only genuinely hope that you are never so misfortunate as to have the life of someone you love contorted pointlessly by someone else. And if you have, then you know first hand the sick ache of the unknown, the immediacy of the unwelcome change and the thawing pain of helplessness.

I would like you to know that he still fights for his life under the thundery clouds of an uncertain future, while you walked away, from all accounts, with a broken arm. I sincerely hope your arm heals entirely and fully. But mostly I hope that my amazing Dad heals completely, absolutely, effusively, magically, wholly and perfectly. I hope you can both be whole again. Just like before.

I don’t actually find it possible to hold onto any anger or hatred towards you; as the pure act of holding ill will would require my focused energy, my thoughts and my spirit and that would honestly warrant a degree of reflection that I simply can’t let exist. I can assure you with great certainty, that I have given more pause and thoughtful contemplation to my own excrement on occasion.

I can only hope that if you are ever fortunate enough to sit behind the wheel of a car again, something my Dad might likely never be able to do, that you will tremble with the knowledge that all of your actions count. I hope that you carry the consequences of your actions with you daily and make each day another attempt to add joy to someone’s life rather than taking it away. Guilt can be crippling and I hope that if you happen to suffer from any, that you will turn it into something positive during our fleetingly short lives here in this world.

But mostly Sir, I would like to thank you, because without tragedy we sometimes don’t fully grasp how truly lucky we actually are in life. Our(+friends)family is stronger than the titanium in my father’s neck. The genuine and constant flow of prayer, love and support we have received could fill all of the oceans. Our gratitude and love slams us together, making our individual journeys even more meaningful. I pray that you have that kind of love around you because if not, that would truly be the tragedy of all of this.

Warmest regards,
Tracy

THE BAD

• He had a very rough night and consequently a low mood today.
• The tracheotomy facilitates the required deep breathing that he simply can’t do on his own because his ribs are, and have been, fused to his spine for the past 40+ years.
• By nature he breathes with his stomach and diaphragm. He can not do that now because he is currently paralyzed.
• He cannot speak with the tracheotomy in. Being silent and immobile for 1 week now has made the grip of his will simply not as vice like.
• He had a fever this morning, suggesting a potential infection somewhere.  They apparently have the fever under control now, but the feeling that complications are beginning to lurk like things that go bump in the night are starting to seep in.

THE GOOD

• I can’t update about the macabre practically of the situation without trying to add some slight positivity.
• Dr. M said the movement in his right arm was up from a Grade 1 to a Grade 2, this is apparently a good thing…
• This is his nurse on duty, his name is Reggie and he is totally adorable.
• Mum is watching Netflix on a iPad mini, or she might be sleeping, either way also totally adorable.
• His sister (Aunty) Lorna is going to come down from the UK to give him a solid what’s what.
• We are all on him like white on rice.

THE UGLY

• Trudy.

(ps I don’t actually think my sister is ugly but it helps to make fun of her at times like these, kidding she is totally ugly.)

It is -15 with wind-chill here in Toronto today, the air however is apple crunchy fresh and the sun was incandescent all day in a creamy blue sky. I know this obviously has nothing to do with my dad but I felt it an important fact to point out nonetheless. Everyone should know that I am cold and must wear heavy jackets. *collapses into dramatic heap*

I am trying with second to second conscious processes to keep every positive grain of thought foremost and in the very front of my mind. So even though it is cold beyond acceptable human standards here today at least it was lovely and sunshiny crisp.

I think about dad being much more comfortable with the tube out of his throat and keep hoping that progress will start to be hourly and not only daily. He was never good at being so sedentary; it really is like oil to the water of his nature. It is a daily roller-coaster and keeping positive and focused is a seemingly endless task especially in this particular week of ICU containment, uncertainty and slow healing.

I think about and focus on how amazingly strong my Mum is, but struggle to know that she must be so sad at times. I fly back to Trinidad on Monday night and will give her nine million eleven thousand four hundred and seventy-five hugs when I get there. I will make the grand-babies count them out.

Trudy said today that Dr. M noted a tiny bit more feeling further down his left arm; she said that if we can get a centimetre more each day we will take it.  Let those carrots dangle, we will keep on hoping for the best.

One more day to fight. They were able to remove the breathing tube yesterday and have installed a temporary tracheostomy apparatus and a feeding tube as he simply can’t sustain on IV alone. Dr. M has observed some additional feeling lower down his left arm but it is just too stiflingly early to know if more will return to his legs and hand.

My dad and I have the same feet and the same toes, that upon initial observation can look very much like fingers….finger-toes if you will. All potential queries of parental lineage are easily thwarted by simply looking at our feet; Trudy was lucky, hers are not quite as flipper like, though she is still very much on the toe-finger family train with us.

I can’t imagine him not being able to use his finger-toes anymore. I can’t imagine that he will not dance – he can cut the rug like he invented it – and really his version of dancing does look like something he did in fact invent. We all know that we can’t think like that, but these thoughts creep in like smoke and ugly smells.

He is much more comfortable now that the breathing tube was removed and can at least mouth words in whispered communication instead of being totally mute. Apparently he mouthed “fuck off” to someone and I can honestly say I have not felt happier in days when I heard that. Jim being unable to speak was a hell like no other, he is simply too amazing… an asshole, but our amazing asshole.

Dad, fight until you can’t. We love you so much. You have all corners of the world reverberating in well wishes and prayers for you. The glow is almost palpable.

You can do this.

Hi Friends,

My delightful and most plugin-button-thingie able cousin Alex Beadon has set up the blog with the functionality to leave Jim an audio message, which we can then play for him in the ICU. There is a tab above on how to set it up and the steps are not too complex at all. I know he would absolutely LOVE to hear your voices and well wishes.

xo

I brought my dads watch home with me when I left. I am pretty sure it is the same Timex watch with a plastic strap that he bought at a KMART in Florida a few years back when we were going on a family cruise, – the cover photo of this blog was taken on that cruise, much hilarity was had by all. Dad is never able to wear rings or expensive watches because he is constantly doing something, usually dangerously misguided, like welding with his shirt off or pouring corrosive sealants onto unsuspecting objects. I have been picking at what seems to be red anti-rust paint that is splattered all over the edge and strap. The plastic face is totally scratched and I can only imagine how many times it has been ground, clobbered and pummelled onto hard surfaces. The strap still has a faded MADE IN CHINA gold sticker on it, which always strikes me as funny that they make those stickers in shiny gold because nothing says quality like a MADE IN CHINA sticker. Overall its a pretty shitty watch and I love it.

The doctor gave Mum and Trudy some sobering news this morning. He is highly concerned about the healing potential of the screws into the bone due to how brittle the spondylosis has made them along with the fact that there are signs of osteoporosis, creating a very porous and vascular structure. He is worried and is all out of alternate options. We are worried. He is managing expectations by giving us a solid 50/50 prognosis. He will be in the ICU for at least another 2 weeks. It could be longer. My stomach is living in a tight ball of twine knotted somewhere behind my ribcage and heart. Everything feels like it is totally where it shouldn’t be. Most especially my dad.

His mood is not great, the uncertainty of all of this is taking its toll, on all of us. My Dad and I pray to a very similar place. My sister and my Mum pray to the very same person. The truth is in the end it all boils down to the same thing, love and hope in this unsettlingly volatile world. If there is such a thing as a miracle we really need to have all of the stops pulled out now and for it to get here as fast as it can.

We know nothing yet, outside of the hope and knowledge that Jim has already overcome things in life that could crumble most giants. I cling to this idea right now and tighten this watch strap.

Get here as fast as you can, Miracle. We are waiting for you.

One more night down. I am in a spiral of projecting, with childlike inaccuracy, how I felt to be silent and restrained in an ICU 30 years ago. It is not terribly productive to consider the circumstances to be the same.

My return flight home is booked this morning, so instead of sitting here vibrating nervously inside and thinking silly warped thoughts of loneliness and panic, I am going to take the time to go home (Toronto) and get some work, home and life items sorted out. I will come back in a week for an earlier extended Christmas stay, when I can be of actual help when he is out of the ICU and back on the ward and then home.

Having also originally only packed a back pack with a few items, thinking the stay would likely be a few days, I am devastatingly sporting a sort of homeless chic that is starting to be all homeless and no chic. Time to regroup.

I spent some time with Dad this morning and he was stable and resting. It must be mind numbingly frustrating for him to not be able to communicate at all and this more than anything is wearing on us the most.

I board my flight soon and promise to continue to update everyone as I plan to stay in constant contact.

Jim, you are strong and triple so to what you can even fathom. You can do this. You will be back home again, excessively fawning over your orchids and lolling around in your pool and watching wood burn in the fire-pit and sleeping in your bed and cooking for your friends and creating ridiculous machines in your workshop and driving your steam engine and growling at your grand children and yelling for Kareen for no reason and firing all of those god dam cannons.

Fight.

This is the X-ray of the newly installed plate. The madness of all this science baffles me. How you study medicine and think to yourself “I am going to specialise in one of the most intricate and complexly important areas of the body” is remarkable to me. I mean, I could totally do that, with my eyes closed.
But whatever I will let the surgeon have this one.

We had a rough day as he is pretty uncomfortable and isolated in the ICU. He is not able to move or talk at the moment, but what he really needs is to rest and let the bones heal, fuse and get strong. Being still is not one of my dad’s fortes. I am sending him gluey, healing, cement bonding type thoughts.
We want that plate and bone to become one and the same. Strong, stronger, strongest.