The things a year can do

One year. 

This isn't the good kind of anniversary. My anxiety levels have been rising more and more in the days leading up to today.

One year ago since my dad's accident and today has hit me harder than I thought it would, but then again why shouldn't it, everything changed after this day.

I hate when I find myself imagining what this day must have been like for him. To have been hurt, unable to move and all alone lying in the grass knowing that it is entirely possible that no one would find you. I wonder if he thought he was going to die there alone. I wonder if he tried to shout for help. My heart breaks when I think these thoughts. I need to push them out of my head so that I don't break down. I hope that he didn't lie there all alone for too long.

Mercifully he didn't remember anything about the accident.

I am eternally grateful to the man who stopped to inspect the 'abandoned' bike just visible from the road. Thankful that when he felt that the engine was warm that he looked for the biker. He could have just walked away. I didn't think to thank him last year, but I wish I could find him and thank him now.

I am grateful to the paramedics that came so quickly from the mines to help him, for them taking us back to the scene of the accident to explain what they had found and for phoning in the immediate days after the accident to see how he was doing.

If we had known this time last year what life had for in store for us I don't think we would have believed it.

The things a year can do,

How I have changed in the past year

I have been struggling with blog topics lately. I feel like this blog space has become about my dad's death and as such it is now sacred, so I am having trouble talking about general more random topics. However this space was always intended to be about my life and my self-realisation (and apparently self-indulgence) and I would like to try and find that purpose again.

Serendipitously I came across a pin on pinterest titled Memory Keeping: 52 Journal Questions (by www.hayleyfromhome.co.uk) and I felt like it was a good nudge in the right direction. Today I have decided to write about how the last year has changed me which is poignant considering that this time last year I was so very blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold in my life.

"She's changed. You can see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, and hear it in her tone. She's not the same, and she's never coming back." - K. Azizian

Reflecting on this time last year, while I would never really describe myself as a care-free person, it was probably my last few days of being 'care-free'. We had just returned from our first family holiday with just the 3 of us. Ironically* enough this holiday was in Nelspruit and I had never been there before. It was so beautiful.

*It is ironic in that is where my dad was initially hospitalised and I ended up going to Nelspruit 4 times during the month of May 2016.

I still lived in the world of those things don't happen to me. How wonderfully naive. I wish I could blink back to this place of unfaltering security every now and then.

Then it happened. In one split second everything changed. I changed. 17 May 2016.

In the past year our family has been held over the fire. Melted and remoulded into something... different. I can't help but feel a little bit broken, but paradoxically at the same time closer to being more whole.

I am not so naive anymore. I know that there is a place between life and death, a place of mere existence and just plain survival. I know that stories don't always just either end abruptly or if they don't then obviously end happily. I realised that you can take 8 months to die from an accident. I know that one seemingly minor decision, one tiny bad judgement can change everything. I have found out how lies can bring you to your knees.

I can confidently say that I have cried every single day since 17 May last year until today. Sometimes it is just a few sad tears, sometimes it's sobs and for the first time in my life sometimes they are happy tears (spoiler: we got the house).

Since I now know that everything ends and nothing is guaranteed I have started to see beauty in every tiny little thing. I am seizing opportunities as they pass without over thinking it too much (okay sometimes, it is a difficult habit to break) which would be why in the 4 months since my dad passed I have bought a house, a car and signed my daughter up for ice skating lessons, something I always wanted to do as a child (it was her choice though, I am not going to try and live through her). Time is finite!

I seem to be living in opposites land. Never have I been more afraid, yet more brave. I feel both weaker and stronger at the same time. I have never been sadder nor happier in my whole entire life. It feels all so wrong and yet also so right.

I am learning the value in being vulnerable.

My marriage was well and truly tested in this past year, but we made it through and I am happier than ever with where our relationship is even though I am human and I still deal with massive insecurity. Although I feel like I am better able to express it now.

This year has been a true rollercoaster.

Here are some of the things that have happened in the space of 12 months:

• I dealt with my first ever real crisis; dad's accident and severe disabilities as a result.
• I experienced the ICU for the first time (and then over and over and over)
• I failed my first ever exam and it was a biggie, the board exam (I still need to rewrite).
• I travelled by myself for the first time. 
• I built a relationship with my sister.
• I found out that I am never going to have that second baby that I wanted so bad.
• I paid off my debt.
• I co-signed papers to withdraw my dad's treatment once he went into a coma.
• I started therapy (as a result of the trauma of the above point).
• I learnt to believe in miracles.
• I then learnt that not every miracle is about healing forever, sometimes it is about a couple of extra months. Still a miracle.
• I nearly destroyed my marriage (but I didn't thankfully).
• I learnt to love people who didn't deserve it and love when it wasn't something I wanted to do. Love is healing.
• My daughter started Grade 1.
• I lost my dad.
• In losing my dad I 'found' a family.
• I gave away a car.
• I stood up for myself.
• I bought a new car.
• I bought a house.

It has been a traumatic year, but I have learnt so much that I couldn't possibly want to change it for anything else. Although if I could have my dad back I obviously would, but that is not how life goes is it?

Most importantly, I survived.

Life is precious.

Random Thoughts

A few months ago we decided to tentatively start house hunting. The point was less about buying and more about seeing what we could get in our area for our budget while starting to save up for a deposit. We do own a unit in a complex but we would prefer not to buy on the condition of a sale, that is just too much pressure and I don't deal well with pressure. 

It wasn't a very exciting search I'll admit and I even said we will stop looking after the fourth house since we aren't desperate to move, but then of course there was this one house (isn't there always?) I had seen the pictures before and disregarded it, I don't know why? Possibly because it is hovering neatly on the border between affording it and well... not. However the more I looked at the pictures the more I thought that it was a pretty nice house considering what we had been seeing and even though I wasn't (and am still not) entirely convinced on the affordability aspect I made an appointment to go and see it. 

Naturally, because we maybe can't afford it, we fell in love with this particular arrangement of brick and plaster. It ticked all of the boxes. Cue me doing some very creative budgeting and number crunching and we since we had become distinctly aware that this house is a BARGAIN we decided to throw all caution to the wind and put in an offer. We did this yesterday, yes on a Sunday afternoon, estate agents don't seem to care about their own personal down time. After signing the offer and discussing it with the estate agent I am even less confident about getting financing now, but sometimes you really do just need to take the chance. 

We aren't really ready you know, we don't have an immediately accessible deposit, so it is either a 100% bond or we would have to sell our unit first to get that and that takes time. But sometimes, just sometimes, you need to stop thinking and just jump. I truly cannot believe that my overly cautious husband was willing to take that leap with me.  I do it all the time, I love taking chances to see if the universe thinks I should or shouldn't have something, but Stephen, he doesn't buy so much as a lamp without a carefully crafted and double checked blueprint.

And you know what, if it doesn't work out, even though we will be disappointed, it won't be the biggest train smash. We just continue as is and prepare ourselves better to try again in a year's time. We have promised ourselves not to get too invested in the idea. I have stopped believing in failure. Either it works out or you learn a lesson. If this is supposed to be our house then it will be our house. If not, there is something else waiting.

In amongst trying to buy things we can't afford, our family has been plagued with a few medical issues which is actually quite unusual for us. Stephen and Layla have had dental problems that have needed urgent sorting out... a few times now. And me, well yes. I had reflux which I thought was a heart attack and ended up in the emergency room from 2am to 4am on a drip one night last week #hypochondria. Then yesterday I was bitten by something and it just looked like a simple mozzie bite at first however it is now the size of a tennis ball, swollen, hot and developing some tiny fluid filled blisters in the centre. It is itchy and sore and I am feeling a bit woozy now which I am sure is just my hypochondria kicking in again. I started off by determining if it was getting bigger by plotting it between some of my freckles but I have quite a few freckles and can't remember the original border, so I have resorted to drawing a line around it so see if it gets any bigger over the day. Fun times!

Yesterday we went for a boat ride on the Vaal River and I was blown away with how picturesque it was with the river being flanked by so many trees showing off their gorgeous autumn leaves. From yellow to gold to red and pink, it truly was a sight to behold. Nature is amazing. 

Other than that it is our second wedding anniversary tomorrow and I cannot believe how quickly two years can fly by. Suppose we should maybe try to do something to celebrate. Let's see how it goes.

A look at grief 3 months on (a personal perspective)

At times I can't believe that it has already been 3 months and in the same breath it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Some days it feels like it happened to someone else and some days the finality of it consumes me.

I hate that time keeps on moving forward. I feel like the further we move from the date of his death the more I lose of him. The more my grasp of him slips. I don't want it to ever be years since he left but I know that there is nothing that I can do to stop that. I really don't like that idea at all.

Two weeks ago we got his autopsy report and it was a difficult but disconnected read. How was it that it is my dad's name on such a report, the one talking about internal organs and incisions? What this report did bring was a small sense of peace though, my dad was in a very bad way and the decision to not resuscitate was the right one. His lungs were by far the worst, respirator lungs was the term, but his brain, heart, liver and kidneys had also all experienced a level of tissue damage in one way or the other. That is every vital organ. He also had some pretty serious pressure sores which had become infected. Cause of death was cited a quadriplegia and complications thereof, primarily being bronchopnuemonia. There were abscesses in his lungs. I don't know how he managed to survive as long as he did.

All of that - from a motorcycle accident. Eight months of agony, physical and mental, all from a split second of bad judgement. A mistake. It is terrifying to contemplate.

So here we are, 3 months on, and there has been some closure from the perspective of his physical condition and why we are where we are now. Emotionally the road is somewhat rocky still although substantially smoother than where we have been. I still cry almost daily, and it is almost always while in the car - the only time that I am by myself during the day. The tears are different all of the time, sometimes sad, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes angry or afraid and sometimes in disbelief, but they are always healing and the crying comes in much shorter bouts now. It is quiet crying.

Once a month however I do get overwhelmed and anxious and just utterly heartbroken and when I try to figure out why it is hitting me so hard at that particular time I come to realise that it the day before the monthly anniversary of his death. Every time without fail. I don't try and stuff it down though, I feel it fully as sucky as it is. Somehow by taking ownership of the feelings it seems to stop them from overpowering me.

One particular aspect that I have struggled with is my memories of him. Every time I think about him it is a time that he was in the hospital, only post accident memories, and I was starting to get concerned that I was only going to remember him that way, helpless and dependent. Then I went back to our whatsapp group, the one where we kept each other updated visit by visit and discussed all of his issues at whichever point in time and I read everything and listened to every voice note all over from beginning to end. It took almost 3 hours. I was shocked by how much I had forgotten, or gotten wrong from a timeline point of view in this blog. There were far more ups and downs than I had ever remembered. There was one voice note from November that I had eliminated from my memory, didn't even know it existed, until I pressed play. My heart caught in my throat as I heard my dad's trach voice (a rare occurrence, I had forgotten he was well enough in November to have his trach cuff deflated at times to talk) address my sister and I. The tears came immediately because it felt like he never left or like I was hearing a message from the grave. The end of the message is priceless though - I love you, bye... I have listened to it often since I found it.

Despite all of the above and also feeling like people seem to think that we should all be over his death already (which I try not to let upset me but I do get annoyed at times), I actually feel much stronger emotionally. I am starting to have more and more spontaneous memories of him from before the accident which hurt at first for all the things that they will never be again, but I have started to find myself smiling at some of the memories as well. Something I thought was never going to happen.

There is so much more that happened during this entire 8 month process prior to his death that I haven't mentioned in this blog because they are so personal and so devastating that it isn't fair to any of our family members to bring it up on such an open and public platform. I have done a load of therapy work on it and I am amazed by my own, and others, capacity for forgiveness. It overwhelms me. I thankfully don't have much experience with grief, but the little that I have gathered over the past 3 months has certainly changed me in a way and helped me to grow as a human being. Probably more so than I have done in my entire life before this.

I have realised the fragility of life. There really are no promises.

And I don't ever want to take this life for granted again.

A fresh perspective

The past three weeks have been interesting to say the least. Perhaps nothing extraordinary to the eyes of an outsider but within this little bubble which I call my life, there have been lessons and learning and growing at a rate at which I have never experienced before. Probably because even though I like to think I'm cool with change and can embrace it, I am actually extremely change resistant.

I am not going to say that everything is all fine and perfect now, in fact far from it, I still have the same stresses and problems that I had before and that hasn't changed, the difference now is how I react to it and it has made all the difference to my peace of mind. I have finally grasped concepts that I have never even been able to consider before.

Patience has become a friend - and it took a moment of impatience, which resulted in an over reaction, which in turn turned a pretty much non-existent problem into a big ongoing problem, to finally learn my lesson in patience. It was a Sunday afternoon and we had a 'water leak' in the driveway. Water was coming up through the paving in an area about the size of a brick. It wasn't gushing nor was there a fountain, there was just a pool of water originating from underground. For some unknown reason I panicked and decided to act immediately. A plumber was called and he proceeded to dig up the driveway for a solid 4 hours - with absolutely no resolution. Fun times! What had been a small pool of water was now a 2m x 5m water filled hole in the paving. Eventually it got too dark to continue digging and I called it off and got a second plumber to come through the next morning. And guess what, it was just ground water from all the rain we had been having. Nothing needed to be done to fix it because it would eventually dry up by itself. If I had just left the issue alone it would have resolved itself in a few days without any input or interference from anyone. Instead I created a problem where there was none and now I have the stress of having to fix it. And just to drive the point home a little further it has become something that is taking weeks and weeks to fix. Just being patient would have literally saved me weeks of stress.

Conversely I have also figured out how to actually identify an emergency from a non-emergency. For me, for pretty much my entire life, I have determined every problem to be an emergency. This is the problem with being an anxious person, I need to react immediately or else I don't feel like I am doing my best. This means I tend to over react and create drama and problems for myself (see above for proof of this). A few weeks ago we had to deal with a bona fide emergency (ironically coinciding with my great non-emergency above), Layla woke up at midnight wheezing and barely able to breathe. We had to rush her to the hospital where she was given adrenaline and neubilised 3 times before she was able to breathe normally again. It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life, (although to be fair I have had quite a few in the past year) and it created a stark contrast in my mind as to what I need to react to swiftly and what I don't. Here is the thing, there are very few moments that require immediate and urgent reaction. Everything else can actually wait.

Once this finally sunk in I felt all of the intense stress and anxiety I had been experiencing for just about forever now, just melt away. So long as no one is going to die, get sick or get hurt from not reacting immediately then I am allowed to take some time to come up with the best solution to the problem first before reacting. I am the type of person that can thrive on stress to a point and then when it all becomes too much I become paralysed and unable to react appropriately at all (it is embarrassing how I react at times). I have been in this state of paralysis for almost 7 years now which explains why I haven't bothered to look after myself. I haven't been living, just merely surviving from moment to moment. Just surviving isn't a bad thing by any means, our bodies were designed for it, but only for short periods at a time. Periodic stress is actually good for you, constant stress most definitely isn't and since dropping the unnecessary stress for those things that are out of my control I have freed up brain capacity to focus on more important things, like spending quality time with my family where my mind is actually present, or finally taking on some projects around the house, or maybe (just maybe) even finally looking after myself and my needs.

Making this change in my way of thinking has made me calmer, happier, and more motivated than I think I have ever been before. I know that this won't eliminate the stress in my life, and at times, especially with extreme stress, I am likely to go back to my old ways of thinking although I hope that I can always eventually come back to how I am thinking and feeling now.

This past year has been difficult to say the least, but what I have learnt has been priceless and for that I am forever grateful.

The day time stood still - Part 7

Once again, things seemed to be going well, relatively speaking that is. The doctors had visited the long term care facility and deemed it suitable for dad to live out the rest of his days, however long that may be (no one could predict), and we were just waiting for the caregivers to visit dad to confirm that they could manage his conditions. So when I say Friday the 13th of January 2017 came out of nowhere, while I can see you thinking how could they not expect this? - I really do mean it. It took us by surprise.

Somewhere around 9am, while at work checking a delivery of block mounted pictures I had just received, I got a call from my stepmom, she sounded calm, but told me that the hospital had called for her urgently because dad's heart rate had slowed dramatically and his oxygen saturation was in the 50's and she would call me once she got to the hospital and knew what was going on. I didn't freak out, we had done this so many times before and he had always been okay. I refused to cry or assign any major significance to this event until I knew more. I just repeated to myself over and over we have been here before and we have always made it through.

However, if I am honest, as I pressed end call on my phone I knew what was coming. At around 9.10am my nose started to bleed profusely. My nose never bleeds for no good reason - that is my husband and daughters thing. As I wiped the blood from my top lip I then knew deep down that this was it. The call didn't come long after that and I hadn't realised how two words, he's gone, could literally bring me to my knees. The sobs emanated from the very depths of my soul. I don't remember the rest of the phone call, but when I finally took some notice of my surroundings, I was on my hands and knees on the floor of my office, my face was drenched with tears and feeling like my heart had been ripped in two.

Dad left this world at 9.10am on Friday the 13th of January 2017. His heart just slowed down until it eventually stopped beating. He had decided it was time.

He had given us 8 months of the bravest and toughest fight of his life, possibly the greatest gift he could ever have given because while it was almost impossible to face at times, it forced us to right old wrongs, forgive and then love without all of the hurt that used to taint it. Parents are human, children are human and we all  make mistakes and many of them and here we were given the most precious gift of acceptance and closure. Nothing was left unsaid and I realise now that this is a luxury denied to many and I am so grateful to have received it.

Today, I am still struggling to come to terms with what has happened. There are times when I am in disbelief that anything I have written in this blog could even be true. How does all of this even happen outside of a movie? 

But it was true, I lived it, I breathed it and somehow... I survived it.

The Rollercoaster - Part 6

Hospital number 3. ICU number 3. 

By this point it was approaching 4 months since the accident, we were losing precious time as far as rehab and trying maximise neurological function were concerned. It was also becoming more and more difficult not to lose hope, but my dad did not falter. He continued to fight, and fight hard.

Once again, he started the long and difficult road to breathing on his own. This hospital was immeasurably better than the last and it was evident in his progress. While he suffered from intermittent lung infections, his drive to get himself to rehab became relentless. His positivity became infectious and hope surfaced (again). He had set a goal and he pursued it with a bravery I have never seen before, and I am guessing I am unlikely to see again. We started to get photos and short videos of him taking trips in the wheelchair to rehab and outside, practising swallowing fluids and trying to talk.

I continued with my weekly visits, and they were mostly positive every time - at least for the first few months.

I had a very honest discussion with his doctor, and this is when I learnt that his injury was complete. There was no function to be found below the injury level. In fact, due to the numerous setbacks since the accident, his injury was considered to be one level higher (C6) than it had been in the weeks after his accident. He had indeed lost function. He was not going to be able to use his fingers and his lungs were significantly damaged.

In September - 5 months, almost to the day, after his accident, he turned 54 years old. My sister flew up from Cape Town and family rallied around him. He was still positive, with intermittent low days, but who could expect anything less considering he spent the majority of his time lying flat on his back staring at a white ceiling.

I can' t remember the exact time frame now but I think it was sometime in October, my sister flew up once again to visit and for us girls to also have a spa day (a wonderful gift from our aunt and uncle). Dad was so happy to see her and although it was distressing watching him in pain as the nurse cleaned the trach site, I know they were glad to have had that time together. He was only on CPAP for a few hours a day at this point and was no longer ventilated. Hope was soaring high.

The week after, I showed up on Sunday morning for my usual visit and dad kept on mouthing 'coffee' to me and I wasn't understanding. He often asked me for beverages so I didn't take too much from it, but every time I said that I was going to leave he mouthed "don't go. coffee". As it turned out, he had been waiting for my stepmom and the physiotherapist to show up because they had planned for us to go to the coffee shop. This goes down as the best visit we had ever had.

He was put in the wheelchair and off we went to the hospital coffee shop, our favourite nurse in tow in case he needed any breathing assistance or got dizzy. He had the hugest grin on his face as we sat around the table. All of us ordered coffee but he ordered a kiddies chocolate milkshake. I looked at him and asked him how he was feeling on a scale of 1 to 10 - he smiled and mouthed '12'. He destroyed that milkshake and proclaimed it to be the best drink he had ever had. The entire coffee shop experience wasn't probably more than 15 or 20 minutes, but it imprinted on my heart. When I eventually left the hospital he thanked me for staying to experience that with him. I like to hold onto this memory, because heavens knows I had to hold onto it tight in the weeks that followed,

In the following week he developed another lung infection. It made him very tired and then he was put back onto ventilation. This was a massive blow to all of the hard work that he had put in, and became an immensely pivotal point in this journey. He was miserable and seemed to just give up. I visited again but he was depressed and slept for the majority of the visit. Historically (well in his hospital history at least), I noticed that depression always preceded something bad. This time was no different.

The next week I visited he had just had a bronchoscopy and was still sedated (bad timing on my part), so he slept through the entire visit, but now that icky feeling was back. My stomach was twisted in knots. The nurses told me how he had asked them constantly that week to just take him off the machines, he had had enough. My heart just broke for him. That night at home, I made sure that my phone was charged and the volume on loud, some part of my brain was just telling me to be ready for a call.

The next morning I woke up and relief flooded my body as I picked up my phone and saw that there were no missed calls. But this relief was short lived; my phone rang as I held it in my hand. His blood pressure had tanked in the early hours of the morning causing his heart rate to skyrocket. The medical staff were getting zero response from him. He was in a coma. I couldn't do anything but lean over the kitchen counter and sob. My whole body felt the depth of that despair. My husband had to keep reminding me to breathe.

I had already taken the morning off to watch my daughter's karate demonstration, so I just called in to take the rest of the day. I watched Layla do her karate exercises with the feeling that my heart had been filled with cement. When it was done I went straight to the hospital. Seeing him like that was heartbreaking, he was barely trying to take any breaths for himself and I just knew my dad wasn't there. I stayed with my stepmom at the hospital the entire day and we met with his doctor. We had to have the discussion about resuscitation and further medical treatment. At this point dad was on an antibiotic flown out from the USA especially for him. The doctor admitted that this was his last resort and it didn't seem to be working, after this there were no more treatment options left.

My stepmom and I struggled over the decision. We phoned the close family members to discuss what to do. I cannot even begin to explain the enormity of making potentially life ending decisions for someone you love. The guilt settles on your soul and weighs you down in a way that can't be described. It is the kind of thing you never ever get over. Signing a letter to refuse medical treatment for further infections (current treatment would remain in place for the time being), and putting an official 'do not resucitate' order on file made me feel like a traitor, as if I had given up on him. Signing that piece of paper made me feel sick to my stomach. The truth though is that we had to rest on his wishes from his entire life. How could we have known that after a lifetime of telling us what we should do in this situation that we would actually end up in this exact situation? Had he been preparing us our entire lives? I couldn't bear the guilt, it was at this point that I finally decided to start therapy to help me cope. I am still quite disgusted at the minimal support that we received from the hospital from a medical and ethical point of view when making this decision.

We did request a neuro consult at this point to find out if he had suffered any brain damage, but this request was not fulfilled until two weeks later when we, as his family, had reached breaking point and were in absolute hysterics. He went from coma to minimally responsive, but I always felt that minimally responsive was an optimistic diagnosis, it seemed more like a persistent vegetative state to me, but then again I am not a doctor so I can't really say. He was still taking some of his own breathes, they just weren't of a good quality, ventilation was keeping him alive.

Two weeks after this incident he was still not conscious and we finally got the neurologist to see him. She suspected hypoxic brain damage, but we needed an MRI, but the medical aid refused to pay for an MRI. And so my stepmom and a lawyer attended another meeting with the treating doctor and a social worker. The doctor explained the current condition, words like minimally conscious, hypoxic brain damage, poor prognosis, MRI futile, further treatment futile, lungs too badly damaged were used. Essentially my dad was dying. The question was, how long did we want to draw it out? The request we made two weeks prior was only then made official and he was to be made comfortable on morphine; with fluids, nutrition, and ventilation provided. All other medication and measures were to be stopped. Ventilation was set at the minimum that the doctor felt comfortable with, which was 60% oxygen, 10 PEEP and 16 breathes per minute and some other stats I can't remember at all now.

I drove to the hospital the next night and of all things, I sang to him - Iris by the Googoo Dolls. Then I said goodbye. We all said goodbye a lot. His eyelids would open a slightly and you could see his eyes staring blanking roving rhythmically from side to side as if watching tennis.

Over the next week his vitals remained stable, I started to visit twice a week. My marriage started to take some serious strain, my work suffered, I was basically a complete mess. And then I showed up one day and his eyes were open, and I could see that my dad was back. Unfortunately he was unable to even move his mouth and was essentially trapped. Couldn't move, couldn't talk, but was definitely conscious. This was worse than having him non-responsive. The thought of him trapped in his own mind was extremely distressing and I could see that he was distressed, and there was literally nothing that anyone could do for him. How was this happening? All treatment had been stopped and now he was doing better? We were waiting for him to die, but there he was, coming back to life.

By the time I visited him the next time he was mouthing to us again, very slowly and not very well, but he was communicating. He was also understandably exhausted. We were all floored. His recovery was beyond unexpected, the doctors were just as stumped as we were yet they still had no treatment left for him. He was never going to be able to get off of the ventilator and his autonomic reflexes where failing him on the regular.

By this time it was December - 7 months since the accident - 7 months in ICU. It had become a never ending exhausting nightmare for us, can you even imagine what it must have been like for him?

I was getting ready to go away for Christmas and was preparing myself for my last visit before the holidays. I had to leave not knowing if he would be there when I got back or not, but I stayed positive and let him know that I would be away for two weeks, but I would see him again when I got back. Something that strikes me about every visit that we had - no matter how bad it was for him and so long as he was able to communicate, every time he saw my face the first thing he would ask me is how I was doing. Like it even mattered in the context of where he was.

I once again left heavy hearted, but with the tiniest spark of hope.

He stayed stable over Christmas and my stepmom sent regular updates and pictures. Unfortunately he did completely forget why he was even in the hospital, the entire preceding 7 months wiped clean from his memory. My stepmom had the awful task of retelling him everything that had happened and watch him process it all over from the beginning again. It was devastating.

I got back home in the new year with a certain level of acceptance and peace. I had come to terms with this is how it was going to be, he was never going to make it to rehab, we would be visiting him like this forever, he would not be able to ever leave the bed or the room, but he would still be alive and that was all that mattered. Somewhere during this time the medical aid had decided that they were not going to pay the expensive ICU fees anymore and he would need to be moved to a long term care facility, so that move was in the pipeline. Dad was actually looking forward to it.

I made the first visit of the new year - on the second weekend of January. I walked into the ICU and up to his room and stopped dead in my tracks. His bed was empty. I stood still for a couple of more seconds and scanned the other beds around me, something I hadn't done in months because I could no longer get invested in other people's stories. I couldn't see him. The ICU was actually really empty that day and I had to go and find a nurse. Dad had been moved to the other isolation ward in the adjoining ICU section. I never even bothered to ask why, the nurses were being unusually unhelpful that day. I had to interrupt some poor patient's breakfast just to find out where I could find the aprons and gloves in this part of the ICU. Thankfully she was very graceful about the intrusion.

I went in to see him and his eyes popped open as soon as I walked through the door. I wished him a happy new year and then we just spoke and spoke. He insisted I get him orange juice so I had to find a nurse because I sure as hell wasn't going to be responsible for him aspirating. He had to wait 20 minutes which pissed him off, but we had a good chat during the wait. There was a certain sense of peace about him that day that had never been there before and he openly told me that he was battling to come to terms with what had happened, which he quickly followed with asking me how he could make money on the internet. He was trying to plan his life going forward. I told him that it was my birthday the next Sunday, and since my husband would be in Dubai that I would come and spend it with him and he seemed to like that idea. We laughed and laughed because I couldn't lip read the word 'nurse' and when he spelt it to me I somehow managed to spell 'arse' instead of nurse. Actual genuine silly laughing. I always clock watched while I was with him, but this time was the first time it was because I didn't want to leave just then. So I stayed a little longer than usual. In the last part of my visit he started to say he was battling to breathe, which isn't technically correct because he was ventilated, but he had a pretty mean panic attack which was solved relatively quickly with an extra shot of morphine. I thought I would panic with him, but instead I held his upper arm where I knew he could feel and I told him that everything would be okay. He turned and looked straight into my eyes and gave me a smile I hadn't seen in some time. Once he had settled I said goodbye, told him I loved him and that I would see him next week. Everything felt calm and for the first time like it would actually be okay.

That was the last time I saw him alive.