Speaking the Truth

For quite some time, we have felt paranoid. As if the stiff, white coat with the cursive monogram on it's pocket has known all along that Jack will never get well. That it was hiding the horrible truth of Jack's undeniable demise. We began examining the coat's voice inflection and watching it's body language for any indication that the coat's words of good tidings may simply be a cover-up for a horrible truth. Then, after words were exchanged, the stiff, white coat with it's cursive monogram would walk out the door not be seen from again until tomorrow.

In time, the IV bags mocked us too. Their shiny plastic packaging would fold as they emptied into Jack, making their once tight labeled faces into a sad grimace. And the noises the machines would make when they had spent their contents! As if it were OUR fault they were no longer full. And if the nurses couldn't come right then, the bags didn't care. They begged to be changed, getting louder and Louder and LOUDER...and then, right before we were sure there would be an explosion of some kind, the nurses would wander in and reset the bags. And, with that, we waited for it all to just start again. The walls begin to crowd. The floor's too-shiny-white is as painful to the eyes as snow blindness. The machine they use to MAKE the snow white floors roars across the floor day in and day out. They should pass out ear muffs to those who will be in a 10 foot radius of this mini zamboni. After 6 weeks in a hospital, you begin to see that anything is possible.

Anything...is...possible. And today, we hit another stride, a stride we were beginning to think was never going to come. For the first time, in 6 weeks, Jack spoke. The edgy silence that poked you as you sat in the quiet of his room, was broken! They put in a smaller trachea, and with a cap placed over the hole, Jack can speak!

For the past three weeks or so, he has been moving his mouth forming words that at times looked like prayer, and other times looked as if he was letting someone have a piece of his mind. He'd ask for things he never got because we couldn't understand him. He'd roll his eyes in anger or close them in defiance. It was difficult. We wondered just how much Jack was in there...or was he even in there at all?

His first words were his full name : "Jack Alan Huffman" A nurse asked him the questions and he did pretty well! He knew his birthday, but thought he was in Bloomington. He knew he was in a hospital and, with some help, realized he was in Memorial in Springfield. When the nurse asked Jack who mom was, he responded with a spirited, "SHARON!" He knew he had two grand kids and told their names. Uh...though...he said he had two children...both boys. *ahem* They set him straight! : )

Mom said that when he was done with the questioning and wanted to rest, that there was something there inside of him again that wasn't there before. Maybe a peace? Maybe he feels now that he is going to get better or maybe it's the relief of knowing he can be heard again. Whatever the reason, the peace was there. It was a good day for us.

Stiff, white coats and IV bags be dammed. Yes, we couldn't do it without them - but it's pretty clear that love, perseverance and stamina has a lot to do with it too.

I love you, Mom.