Saturday, 2 February 2013

Friday, 1 February 2013

Dear Alex, Dreams.

1st February, 2013

Dear Alex,

The wind is powerful, I'm stood at the top of the highest building I have ever seen. I'm watching myself, I'm being pushed, I can't scream, I'm powerless to do anything, the strength of the invisible dark presence succeeds in pushing me, throwing me from the top.

I wake, breathless and heart shuddering out beats.

It's been a strange week. Pulled in a thousand directions, no wonder I dream like this when my eyes close and I finally sleep.

I get through what I and you have 'lost' by hoping, each time I feel like this is it, this is as far as it goes, no more you to be seen other than this, I pull on, reach out. It's a bit like keeping your eyes open in a sand storm at times, but you have to to see where you're going, even though it hurts! I keep consoling myself with how far you've come.

But I've wavered a bit this week. I suppose because doing a week like I have done without you, it's all for you now, not with you, I need your friendship and your arm around me and it's just not going to happen. With all the hoping in the world it's now, this week, this day I need it, I need you.

And I stay with you, watching you, damaged and pursing lips involuntarily, unseeing eyes flickering. Scratching with your right hand at your shoulder, I try and coax the arm down, I manage for a little while, then it automatically goes back up to 'scratching' position, there's no itch, it's just a movement you do often. And I can't help the heart thudding downwards, the eyes burning with tears I cannot cry, if I do, I don't know where they'll lead or stop.

I just have to get on, deal with it, press on, shut up and put up!

...that Alex you once were, how I miss him...and it feels like I have forgotten you, the you you were. I feel like you are out there somewhere, watching on, trying to get back? And I ache with all my being for that you...

You're hopefully being discharged today, I'm waiting for the Dr to come and let me know.

The week's over.

I survived!

Now for a busy weekend and seeing what next week brings.

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Dear Alex, This week.

Baby Lola, little Monty...goat.

30th January 2013

Dear Alex,

I tap a little boy pretending to sleep (just so his sisters would) on his shoulder ‘Come on!’ I say, he looks up, wide smile, teddy-bear in arms, and tiptoes with me downstairs. We snuggle up; it’s 8pm, on cord sofa and under throws, cushions nested around us, a welcome change to plastic solid hard hospital chair.

We watch ‘Africa’ the nature series narrated by David Attenborough. ‘Hey,’ Monty says, ‘Just realised this is like Blue Planet, isn’t it?’
“Yes, that we used to watch on a Friday night with Dad, remember?"
He didn’t speak, he turned his head into me and squeezed my hand. Then he spoke ‘please don’t remind me about how dad was before, mum’

It’s been a hard week for the kids, and it’s only Wednesday! I noticed swelling around the skull removed on your head Sunday. Panicking silently, to the point I nearly blacked out (flash backs of times forgotten) I tell the nurse at the Home she should call the emergency Dr, and I take the kids home, various people step up, look after the kids between them, I can, at this point and knowing the kids are safe, only think of you. Sweaty palms, hiccupping for breath, I drive the hour back to you.

The Dr decides to send you to Hospital, and we wait for the ambulance. 

I spent 12 hours there, slept for 1 ½ at a friends’ near by, then was straight back in for the day till school pick-up, then I have after school clubs, Dr’s for poorly kids and tea and bath and stories and homework and housework and bed…Then back in to see you after their bedtime. This has been my routine for these past few days. During the day desperately trying to hunt down reasons and people to give me reasons as to why this had happened.

Tonight, my body aches! My whole being aches! There is unopened mail piled up on the shelf by the door- I decide to plough through it. Amongst it a letter:

 ‎"Dear Mr Alex Wood, as you failed to attend your work capability assessment interview, we will be coming to your home (where he doesn't live) tomorrow between 11 and 4 to make sure you fully understand your requirements ..." The job centre

…More nonsense to sort, great!

I’m still pushing to find out exactly why your brain swelled. I keep hearing ‘it’s just one of those things’ I keep replying, ‘No, Dr. it quite clearly isn’t ‘one of those things’, when was the last time your brain swelled up and popped out of your skull? It never has, has it? No, so I want an answer please.’

You’re just tired, sleeping mostly now. I leave you to sleep.

More fights, summoning strength and energy from ...where? #TheMostHigh

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Dear Alex, Hospital.

Dear Alex,

I haven't paid much attention to the time, but I shot a look over to see the time, 3 am, we'd been here since 7 pm. I am stood leaning over you, I trace the lines on your face with my finger. It's been a long night in A and E.

I go back to my friends' house who lives near the hospital at 4am just to get my head down for an hour or two. Then I race back in, my friend gives me a lift.

The scans were fine, they are still not sure why where the bone flap was taken out there is big swelling. They rule out meningitis, but with each potential diagnosis they give me I have to try and calm a racing heart, try and focus out of my fuzzy light headedness.

I have a fear of hospitals now. Terror that they won't listen to what I am telling them, that the consequence will be much worse. I explain to everyone who assesses you 'we've been here before you see, and they didn't listen, that's why we're here now. If they'd listened 16 months ago, Alex wouldn't be like this.' I think I am doing well at keeping the hysteria out of my voice, but I guess my eyes betray me, it speaks enough for them to get what I am trying to say.

They think it's an infection you have picked up in the spinal cord and brain fluid. Luckily I was there and insisted you got checked out...

A lumbar puncture now, and now, 15 hours after we got here I am feeling very lightheaded as the Dr inserts the needle, I don't look, but I can't help feeling queasy.

You are ok in yourself, I check every other minute! So the longer it goes on, the calmer I start to feel.

We wait now, you lie in the hospital bed in front of me, I'm on a plastic chair with a polystyrene cup of tea I paid £1.20 for!

The beeps are deafening, the bustle, the noise, clipping of heels, rattling of trolleys, beepers, walkie talkies crackle out announcements.

Everyone has rallied and looked after the kids for me. I want to be there to pick them up from school reassure them that it's all ok and I am still around.

Then I'll come back in when they're in bed tonight.

It's strange what a visual prompt can do, seeing that swelling protruding from the piece of skull you have missing, it grabs at me like iron tongs round my throat and I find it hard to push away the feelings I had that time before, when things were really bad. I just focus and I focus on the fact you seem ok.

This life is so fragile.

Each day I am reminded vividly of that.

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx