I grew up hearing the phrase, “Where there’s life, there’s hope.” I saw that emotion — hope — shining in the eyes of a desperate mother more than 30 years ago in an Idaho hospital, and I shall remember it always. Our oldest son, Kevin, during his first week at college had been in a horrible automobile accident and lay in a deep coma for three days while we waited for the unknown, seeing him minutes at a time in ICU, and then more waiting until we were permitted to see him again. We met so many good, kind and concerned people during our stay near his bedside. Some had family members in various stages of recovery so we all shared in the profound commonality of grief and worry. However, uppermost in all of our thoughts, struggling to banish any negativity, was hope.
We watched our son lying there, seemingly so calm and relaxed, outwardly unscathed by his ordeal, all injuries being internal, including a severe concussion, leaving us to wonder if his brain had been permanently damaged. He looked so normal sleeping peacefully, except for the occasional outbursts of profanity. “It’s all right,” said the doctor. “Base man is injured and angry, and he hurts. That’s how he responds. It’s normal.”
There was another couple whose son had been in ICU for some time, until his doctor had him moved to another ward. Still hooked to his IVs, he needed additional nourishment so they inserted a feeding tube. Ken and I visited with the parents as they watched over their 15-year-old who had been returning from a football game with a friend at night, his friend at the wheel. It was dark and the RR crossing was unmarked. Undoubtedly, they never knew what hit them, and now he lay there, still unconscious, but alive.
Unlike Kevin, the boy was rigid, his hands curled up into tight fists, his body responding not to any stimuli. We spoke very little. What could we say, just giving them a hug for comfort. My inward thoughts told me this boy would not recover, yet when I looked into his mother’s eyes, I saw the familiar agony and worry we all shared as we hovered over our injured children, but beyond that I could see there was also the most tenacious of all emotions: hope. The boy was alive and where there’s life, there’s hope.
“Mr. and Mrs. Romick?” asked a smiling nurse. “Your son is awake.” We wondered if he would recognize us — he did — but it would take a long time before he recovered. We were able to fly him home two weeks later to begin his journey back. I have always wondered about the boy from the train wreck. We didn’t see the parents again following our visit with them. Was he able to overcome those tremendous odds? Were the prayers, faith and hope of his parents enough to bring him back? I hope so.
And it’s hope that sometimes levels our roller coaster ride with Alzheimer’s — at least from time to time. When Ken has longer periods of being Ken, and he calls me “Sweetheart,” I find myself hoping. Treating him holistically, I must have faith that what I give him in the way of supplements will do him some good, even though I have absolutely no medical training, and it’s because of hope that I continue. After all, the medical community doesn’t have much to offer.
Today, it was a bit of joy and laughter from both of us that gave me my needed spark of hope. We were out shopping and just before we returned home, I said that I should stop at one more store. “Where?” Ken asked. “The Dollar Tree,” I answered. Having a bit of a hearing problem, he hesitated, looked at me a little puzzled, yet smiling and said, “The Adult Tree?” Then he laughed repeating himself, “Adultery — do they have a store for that?” Then we both laughed. Poking him in the ribs I said, “You made a funny.”
We had a wonderful afternoon, but at sundown, the moods returned as did the agitation and other symptoms of AD, but I was nourished with my spark of hope. Reality check: I know after nearly six years that his brain is ravaged, yet if he yoyos with good times to mellow the bad, then perhaps it will postpone that awful day when I must consider placing him in a full-care facility. Meanwhile, I too can keep in my thoughts that where there’s life, there’s hope.
