On Friday night Shannon's brother Mike and his girlfriend arrived for a short visit. Knowing that they could only stay for one day and that the hospital wanted to make sure she got her rest, 'the girls' discussed it and decided to wait until later in the day to visit and to keep it short.
Saturday afternoon I popped in to check in on our girl. Shannon had already been moved down one floor to the stroke unit. When I arrived at her room she was propped up in bed wide eyed and in good spirits.
Shannon had 3 new roommates. All, if I had to guess, between the ages of 75-90 years old. In spite of their matching hospital gowns, the Sesame Street melody 'which of these things in not like the other' immediately sprang to mind.
I hugged her and she held on to my sleeve with her left hand. She said "look" and motioned to her lap with her head. Slowly and deliberately she lifted her right arm up off her lap. Amazing!
Her speech had improved since the day prior. Although she was still using mostly one syllable words, and some sounds in place of words, she was starting to string these together more frequently, and somehow, we communicated really well. We laughed and smiled as we encouraged each other on. I kept telling her how great was doing, and she was cheering for me right back. If I knew what she was telling me the first time, or guessed what she needed based on her movements (is your butt sore? do you want a pillow under you? Is your hair bugging you? Should I tie it up?) She would cheer for me and look as proud of me as I was of her. Each small victory got rewarded with an enthusiastic "YA!" and a perfect grin.
As we got better at communicating, it became obvious that the events of the last 48 hours were still confusing, if not forgotten altogether. I asked her if she would like me to explain to her everything that had happened. She nodded yes. As I explained slowly, but with as much detail as I could the events as I knew them, she was silent with the exception of the occasional "oh" and looked interested, and calm. I told her that she is so lucky and such a miracle. She said "I luck" and nodded thoughtfully. I told her "We are lucky too. I can't imagine what I would have done if you didn't make it." We hugged and cried together and said I love you several times.
When the crying was over I told her I couldn't believe how much she had improved already and how impressed everyone is. She nodded. Slowly, and carefully she told me "mayve thee wiks". I smiled and asked "You'll be all better in three weeks?" Again, I got a pleased "Ya". At this point, her nurse (a lovely lady named Wendy) popped her head into Shannon's curtained off corner of the room to tell us she didn't think Shannon would be better in three weeks. That it would likely be more like 3 months, and that she should try to be patient. Shannon smiled a warm smile at Wendy and nodded her understanding. As soon as Wendy was gone she turned back to me with a very knowing look in her eye and repeated "Thee weeks" and nodded as if to say 'That woman doesn't know what she's talking about'.
It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she is right.
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