I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I really enjoy reading Lisa Jo’s blog. But, what you may not have thought of yet, is that she inspires me to write more. For those of you who have been telling me for years that I need to write a book, let’s just chalk this up to practice.
I’ve never written everyday, not to mention on one topic. How can I find 31 parts of one subject? I wasn’t even sure I wanted to participate or if I could. I’m not even sure how many people still visit us here. And, is this the right blog to post this?
But, my 31 hit me this morning on my drive into work. And, although, I’m behind one day, I’m going to do my best to write each day. So, today, you get the two for one special.
Thirty-One Things I Don’t Have To Do For Danny Anymore
31. Shave Him
Do you remember this?
This photo was snapped not even three weeks after his injury.
See his eyes half mast, rolling around in his head? They were like that most of the time.
See that neck brace? The only time I could take it off was to shave him. He wore it for seven weeks and even then, couldn’t hold his head up. Like an infant, his head would nod forward or backward.
Danny’s right fingers were the first to move, then his hand, then his arm. Yet, still, he couldn’t get his fingers to his face and he didn’t have the energy or endurance to shave.
We started with an electric shaver; not his usual choice, but it was easier for him to hold and use. Once he started with the razor, he would still tire easily and could not reach everything. And, when we started shaving his head again, it too was a progressive lesson in endurance and patience.
Now, I’m not even around when he shaves most of the time and sometimes, I find him like this:
30. Wonder if he’s “in” there
See these eyes? He looks lost doesn’t he? Like a deer caught in the headlights? Like the light is on, but nobody’s home?
This photo was taken on a day Danny was discharged from Piedmont Hospital; one of three hospital stays for pneumonia and MRSA in less than two months.
At this time, he still wasn’t talking or even mouthing any words. Every once in awhile, he would whisper something, move his mouth or turn his head. His right hand was waking up and we had to give him something to hold in order to keep him from pulling out his feeding tube, his catheter or his oxygen.
It was like he was being held in the darkness. His body was present, but his spirit was gone, or at least, hidden.
I’d say his spirit has returned! Look at these eyes!
If anything, this exercise will remind me of what we have to be thankful for. When you’re feeling stuck in the muck of your journey, it’s good to turn around and see how much ground you’ve covered.