Thursday, 4 July 2013

Dear Alex, Sand slipping through my fingers...

4th July 2013

Dear Alex,

A man stands by Oliver, our dog who comes to school to drop off the kids and I tie him outside the school gates by the 'no dogs allowed' sign. From a distance I almost break into a run, is it YOU? Has this all been a nightmare? Why have I had to wait this long to wake? Feel your strong arms wrapped around me again? His physique the same as yours, in tshirts and jeans, as you would always wear...

Then I realise with a sudden heart crash, that of course it's not you, of course I don't get you back, of course I am awake and I will be late in to see you if I do not uproot my feet which, from wanting to break into a sprint, fly into your arms, now cement me to the ground.

Then I realise there is a huge buried part of me that does not believe any of this is real. A huge part of me I never pay attention too, a lost part of me, the part that used to be me and you.

And I realise how I will never get that hug from you, that 'its alright now, baby, I'm here'. And how my soul aches for this, how it aches and yearns endlessly just for even 5 minutes of you as you once were.

And I feel ridiculous, am I not over it yet? STILL?

It's 21 months exactly to the day when I lost the you you were. The you you were to me, the you who looked after me, protected me, loved me...

I know your love for me still abounds, and I thank God daily, every second of every day for that, but you cannot looks after me, help me, be an ear to listen to me, advise me...

Oh and baby at the moment I need you.

I cry silently the whole time I am with you today. You went up to Physio, you could not stand, could not lift your head, I have not seen you this physically unable since a year feels like a year's worth of progress physically has been undone.

And with no one-to-one support I am terrified for you.

Sand slips through my fingers, torrentially slips right through, it's like, if I could just hold onto the sand, you would make it back, but no one can hold on to the sand, so fine and any whisp of wind sends it flying away for ever...

In your wheel chair, you slump, head hanging, saliver drenches your tshirt and your mouth lolls to one side.

How can this have happened? How can they have let this happen?

Despite my daily fights to assist you, get you what is right for you?

And I won't sleep tonight, I know I won't, because my heart aches too agonisingly for you. And for what, now, appears to be lost.

HEART FM Oxfordshire will be running the story on news bulletins at 6, 7 and 8 am tomorrow.

This must make them listen, has to change things...because you are supposed to be moving home soon, and with you as physically regressed as you are...a huge doubt is in my mind...there is no way you will be able to in this state...

Tears flow again.

Tonight I am sad. So, so. Sad.

I love you Alex Wood, and I for one will never, EVER give up on you, the man I love, the man who saved me, the man who gave me what saves me now, our four little growing souls.

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

Dear Alex, An OUTRAGE! Who's responsibility is it then???

3rd July 2013

Dear Alex,

I leave you in tears, but I have left it till the last minute to leave, so concerned am I by the fact your left leg no longer moves, is swollen and purple, that for the past few days, you are unable to sit, to transfer to the bed or your chair, and the Care home tell me they will call the doctor and let me know the result.

I race home, there are just a few minutes till I collect the kids. I lift the boot open to let the dog out, he comes in every day with me to see you. Blood everywhere. Windscreen, red dog, blood pouring from his nostril. Obviously this bloodbath is shocking to behold and I run into the house, carrying the dog and ring the vets immediately. They say they need to see him immediately, I carry him back to the car, ring a friend to hold the kids in the playground for me, and I am off to the vets. The news that they will have to operate immediately made me swallow hard...but there's little time, they have to out him under anaesthetic immediately. They would call when they knew something.

I rush out, crying, my dog, Oliver, lovely soppy Oliver, whom we have had for 12 years.

The phone rings as I get into the car to speed over and collect the kids. 

"Mrs Wood, you have to go to hospital (50 minutes away) right away, your husband has just been emergency ambulanced over, they think he has had a stoke". I choke, say I am on my way. I get to the playground with panic in my eyes, hardly able to speak, but I kiss the kids, my friend will look after them. Then I turn to run, twist my ankle, fall over the most ginormous basket ball net which no child has ever played with ever in the playground, land spectacularly splayed on the floor, in the rain. By friend bends over to help me up 'you are allowed to cry now if you want!' She says. But I mutter something about it happening in threes and this had better be the third thing...!

I am off.

Dog with a possible brain haemorrhage, husband possibly having had a stroke.

I arrive at the hospital and rush to you. You are in tears, confused, pads all over, cannula in, hooked up to monitors as you await a brain scan.

I am in shock and disbelief, and tell myself I am not thinking about the worst case scenario till they tell me the words.

I eventually hear back from the vets and the brain scan results. The dog is fine, it was a simple nose bleed, you are fine, it was a brain scan unchanged from the last, thus the damage is still the same, no recent further neurological damage. The reason the dr gave after he gasped and asked why? A i answered you no longer qualify for rehabilitation funding, was that due to lack of rehab and Physio, your left hand side now has regressed so much that it no longer works.

This is now my serious point, this is now going to be in the team of legally experienced hands. I spend the entire day with you on the phone, in tears regularly, firing out emails to all concerned. I have a meeting with the Manager of the Care home.

I want to know why you are not getting the critical Physio input you need and which was clearly aiding in your progression? This is serious, this is severe regression. I get some story about you being too tired or upset. But they are apparently a Brain injury specialist Unit, surely they deal with others through behavioural problems, I am not accepting the answer.

You slump in your chair, head hanging, you cannot transfer, cannot stand, you have no control of our left hand side.

I am raging.

The Care home shirk responsibility, the PCT (CCG) as they now are called, too, shirk responsibility. Apparently it is noone's responsibility that you are so horrifically affected by the lack of rehab, that you have regressed to such a degree, you were rushed to hospital because they thought you had had a stoke. 

So who's problem IS this then???

This IS soneone's responsibility, and to boot, I receive a phone call whilst I am up at the Care home telling me they are also pulling the funding for one-to-one support for you.

The situation may not be life threatening on a medical level, but how can the powers that be leave you, a 34-year-old father of four and husband to be left to rot in an old people's home?? This is life threatening to your potential and your right as a human being to be given the right help and support to assist you in this.

This is an outrage, this is my next fight, and I am going in all guns blazing.

I shall update this to let you know where I get to, but in the mean time, any support via sharing this, tweeting this, shouting in anyway you may be able to would be HUGELY appreciated.

Thank you all for listening and helping.

Tamsyn x

Monday, 1 July 2013

Dear Alex, Angel wings...

1st July 2013

Dear Alex,

Like angel's wings, white clouds spread out, augment, with white light from the sun, breaking through the feather like clouds, reigning light down on my way home from seeing you tonight. They stretch, dome shaped over the horizon, in the direction in which I am heading. Embracing the countryside and I try and breathe peace into my troubled mind after you were so distressed at my leaving tonight...

The last week has seen you go through a day of you crying, then the next day you are tired and washed out, barely speaking, closing your eyes. But settled nonetheless.

Now, I drink lavender tea, the kids are in bed, not yet asleep. An old friend sent me through some old surfing photos of you yesterday, and I look at them as though I look at a stranger. 

Have I really accepted this all now, so much so that the man you used to be is a stranger to me? Guilt hits me, and I do not understand why I look at you through eyes that do not recognise you as you were.

It's almost a feeling of being disloyal, as if I have moved on so much and at such hectic speed, that the you that was is not in my radar anymore...

And then I think, well maybe that's a good thing? That I know and have accepted you are not coming back as you once were.

But I never want to accept it, my soul will always fight acceptance. I just know with a heavy heart and a head that needs to rationalise everything, that you as you were, has gone.

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx