Bright Moments

There’s been little good news to share. So, Brian and I chose to wait and post until something turned for the better, knowing that rehashing tough times can just get old. In the interim for Brian, there were nine days of chest pains, rapid heart rate, difficult breathing, and near zero energy. Hours spent under observation in the hospital with one diagnostic test after another systematically ruled out a life threatening lung clot or a damaged heart. After days of testing, we were waiting in the hospital room for the final lab, which would tell us if Brian had to stay or could leave. We knew he had a robust non-contagious infection with fluid around his heart. But had the infection gotten into his heart?

So we waited, trying to find some humor to the events from the past several days. At the head of a short list was the ever present chasm, separating the laid back patient from his anxious Dad, who is always questioning the medical staff. We have our routine, while I’m parking the car, Brian typically debriefs those wearing white about Dad, advising them to “humor me”. Admittedly, I do arrive at the scene armed with my well-organized diagnostic notes, probing conjectures, and an acquired knowledge from the Google School of Medicine. It doesn't hurt either that my handwriting is easily mistaken for the genuine scratching of a bono-fide physician, since I do insists that my notes be added to Brian’s medical folder for attending physicians to read.

As we waited, neither one of us were placing bets on the potential of heart infection which would have required yet another stay in the hospital. We just wanted to get out of there. The powerful antibiotics, via IVs, were working. I knew that because Brian’s jabs about my appearance were increasing. It was good to get him back, so I pulled my pants up even higher toward my chest and rolled my socks as high as they would go in a geeky celebration of his emerging energy.

So caught up were we in our trading of jabs that the doctor had to ask for quiet to give us the lab results. When you have spent the last 10 months waiting for the “other shoe to drop”, the drama of it all becomes tempered. Oh yeah, the lab results – good news, “Go home, there is no heart infection; the fluid on the heart is residual fluid left over from the trauma of the accident.” On our way out, a young nurse came up and handed me my diagnostic notes. I couldn’t get a read on her facial expression since her eyes were locked on Brian the whole time she was talking to me. She did say, “The attending doctor thought your notes were actually helpful. But next time Mr. Keeter, please sign them so that we nurses don’t get caught up trying to figure out who wrote them.”

As the odd couple of son and Dad exited, I thought what a good ending to yet another nine days in the world of SCI recovery. In the midst of darkness, we truly keep looking for the brighter moments.