Saturday, June 21, 2014 Yesterday and today have been very happy days for both of us. I arrived last night and I was surprised, as usual, at the innumerable small successes and improvements hes had. The first thing I noticed is that his sentences are longer, clearer, and more complete. He can prop himself up alone for about two minutes without help. He cant get up alone, but he can stay up alone. Last night, he sent via text some voice recordings to his friends parents phones. One of his friends immediately engaged him back. Corbin had a great time with a few verbal volleys with his bro. We received an accompanying picture. What a treat for everyone involved, including us parents. When he awoke this morning, he was very frustrated. The therapist who woke him up asked why he was upset. He said loudly, Everything is wrong. Wow. He endured his therapy sessions and was steps ahead in each of them of where he was yesterday. I enjoy speech the most since it reveals so much of his understanding, awareness, and mental capability. He took a verbal test of synonyms and antonyms and he aced it. He played Guess Who and won. It was a challenge to find subtle characteristics between the game pieces and call them out. He figured it out and did great. He struggles, for sure, but he is patient and persistent and contemplative and that strategy suits his recovery quite well. He also arranged a messed up pile of small wooden parquetry blocks into color, and then shape. He struggles with vision up close. His right eye just does not follow commands from his brain too well. I see progress in its subordination to his brains commands, though. He worked very hard and became tired. A pamphlet was dropped off in the room about TBI and how to be a caregiver. There is a term within it that I find suitable. I have always struggled with the word victim since there is pity and sympathy laden within its meaning. I perceive that those characteristics would not be appealing to Corbin, nor are they to me. The term in the pamphlet was survivor. He is definitely a brain injury survivor. It all makes sense. He arrived with life-threatening injuries. He was in the ICU. They had him on varying levels of life support. If he had wavered too far in one direction or the other, he may not have survived. But he did. And he is a survivor of this injury, which has a known likelihood to take lives. He had a bit of a mess in his pants today. This normally isnt broadcasted but is quite noteworthy to share. Once he realized what a mess it was, he started giggling. Then, when the nurse was about to start cleaning him up, he asked slowly in his tiny little voice, Are you sure you want to go in there? So funny. Halfway through, she said, My this is a big job. And again, in his quiet little voice and his head turned away from us, he said, Ill cut you some slack. He grasped this comedic opportunity and made us laugh and laugh and laugh. He was so giggly the whole time, it was unarguably the most jovial time Ive spent with him in nearly a month. The nurse walked out and said, That boy crazy. Hes funny. A friend of mine recently told me that my children are like lights. He is at the highest output of lumens in his life, in that regard. His smile is the most natural expression on his face. It is so appropriate looking, as if the purpose of his face was to display smiles. Some more of his nuances are more prevalent, such as a signature jaw-shift he does sometimes when he is being funny in an aggressive way. He is such a pleasure to know and be around. By comparison, at the beginning of the week, we were delighted he had the opportunity to use words or hand signals to communicate yes and no. Now, since he has progressed so rapidly, instead of simply saying yes or no to your questions, he often repeats your question but rewords it to be a true or false statement. Sometimes, if he agrees with a statement youve just made, hell just repeat the key words of it. We went for a walk! Just him and me! His first time! We left the floor, went down the elevator to the main lobby/concourse and went for a fifteen minute stroll. I felt like I was driving a Lamborghini down the Las Vegas Strip. We didnt do any wheelies, I promise. We walked by the cafeteria and I told him my relationship with some of the places in the hospital I knew intimately that he didnt know existed. We went outside and he felt Earths air on his body. We walked very slow and he was quiet and observant. I watched his head scan back-and-forth. We went back indoors and stopped in a sunny atrium. I said, We can sit in the sun for a moment; our life giver. He squeaked, Our life giver. I knelt down in front of him and looked in his eyes showered by the radiant sun. Hospital-folk were rushing past us, like water in a river being diverted by a boulder off to the side. I told him that he is my biggest hero. That he is my most prominent icon for what is right and good. That I am his servant. That this event is the most difficult challenge that he has ever and may ever be given to undertake in his life. He has no choice but to succeed. This is also the greatest opportunity for him to learn and grow in new and remarkable ways. That now is his most obvious chance to make a change in his life and the lives of the people around him. I told him he has a fan club in the multiples of thousands. That this burden now will change his future in nothing but positive ways. He smiled and said, Thank you. This event has repeatedly given me the priceless opportunity to share with him my deepest feelings. Paradoxically, I cherish this catastrophe for the profound gifts it has presented to me. I have always known and felt these things, but now they are my life and I get to live them with purpose. I am filled with wealth beyond the reach of any tangible thing. And it can never be lost or taken from me.
Posted on: Sat, 21 Jun 2014 22:00:51 +0000
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