I’ve watched enough medical shows to realized that when someone isn’t being taken for an MRI in a hurry, there’s a reason. Now, to be fair, sometimes the reason is that they aren’t seriously injured. But with Ambrose not regaining consciousness…
I spent the night in the hospital. I didn’t have to. I had an offer of a bed nearby. But I needed to be here. I still held out hope that he would spontaneously wake up, start fighting the vent, something.
Looking back, that may have been a mistake. But I’m not sure.
I’m not sure about anything right now.
I had a dream that he woke up. I dreamed his voice, asking “What?” and I dreamed explaining that he’d been out since Thursday. I dreamed texting friends and family that he had woken up.
And then the alarms pulled me out of my sleep.
Ambrose’s heart rate had spiked. He had a fever. The night nurse bustled about, and I just got up to watch for a while, having slept about 2 hours at that point.
After another two hours being up and watching him continue to have runs of tachycardia, I tried to sleep through it all.
I think I heard some nurses talking about a heart rate over 170 beats per minute, though I’d only see it going into the 130s when I woke up.
None of this was good.
He still had a fever in the morning when I got up for good around 6. One of the last things the night nurse did was give him some more Tylenol.
I had a chat with a respiratory tech around 8, and learned that the doctor usually rounded around 9.
It was nearly 10 when he came in.
The news was not good.
Ambrose had a massive brainstem stroke. By the MRI, his brainstem was dead, as were other areas of his brain. The question was now not whether he would wake up, but whether he would be able to breathe without the vent or not. And if he could, his life could only continue in a long term managed care facility.
My dad told me to tell him to go into the light, the brightest light he can find. That that’s what he told Mom, near the end. And I have been. His physical vessel has given out, and it’s okay to let it go. I want what’s best for him, even though I don’t want to let him go.
I asked the doctor what I was supposed to do next.
“Sit with him.”
There is no more than a glimmer of hope for a miracle. The doctor said that if there were hope to offer, he would, but that this is not that case. Ambrose’s body has become incompatible with waking life (not his wording). This is what I must accept.
Even though I really want a miracle.