The Blog of mamapolo

I was hesitant to post this new information, because I feel like I have dragged you folks along with me through this ordeal, and it seemed cruel at first to supply distressing news.

But I guess honest is honest whether it's good or bad.

I requested a psychological consult for my husband and it was performed early morning on Friday. I asked about the results and was told by the social worker in the hospital that it wasn't yet 'posted.' He advised I could ask a case manager for the information today (Saturday), which I did upon my arrival at the hospital.

My daughter, valiant soul that she is, and most excellent daughter, having already put her life on hold to fly to my side and help me this week, took upon herself the mission of visiting local rehabilitation centers (four of them) to try to determine the gentlest for my husband's next stage in recovery. Before embarking on her quest, she cleverly sat down at the computer and made up a list of questions she wanted to ask, and so provided me with a very cogent and intelligent analysis.

Back to the hospital. I asked several times to speak to a case manager, but of course it is a weekend and there are few personnel at the hospital except nurses, therapists and surgeons. The parking garage nearly echoes with the empty "PHYSICIAN ONLY" parking spaces.

I ran into a woman I had met during my husband's last hospitalization at Shadyside. We had begun casually chatting and found we had a fair amount in common. She is a case manager. I explained my plight - I wanted to see the results of the psych consult but couldn't find anyone who would provide them.

She gently told me she was working another wing of the hospital, but if I hadn't gotten any word by Monday morning, to call her. She gave me her card.

About two hours later, she came into my husband's room. She said, "I was thinking about it, and I wouldn't want to wait another 48 hours."

We went out to the nurses' station, and she got my husband's chart. We read the psych report.

My husband had already told me that "A shrink was in, trying to find out if I was tracking properly." That in itself gave me hope - he knew when he was being probed.

The psych report did not support that hope. The doctor thinks his damage is organic, meaning brain damage. Nobody seems sure why. I'm not sure it matters why. It may develop that it does matter.

I believe that my husband received the best available care, the best care the hospital could provide. I can't ask more than that.

My initial reaction was predictable: devastation.

The kind social worker, Mary Beth, put her arm around me. I cried. "It's not fair," I said, as though the past three months HAD been fair and this was a new development. "He deserves better than this."

She just looked at me, knowing there was nothing to say.

Then I stopped crying. What was I thinking?

My husband and I are both determined sorts of people. We both believe that God has a plan for us, and if this is His plan, well, then, I can't accept all the blessings He has bestowed in the past and then reject this decision.

There is no way to know at this point whether the shrink is right or wrong. I do know that I do not accept his analysis as fact. I said, "Shrinks have been wrong in the past."

"Damn straight," Mary Beth said. "Shrinks have been wrong in the past."

It is frustrating that this sort of thing always seems to happen on weekends when nobody who knows anything is available until Monday. But perhaps that is better. I have tomorrow to regroup, and then back into the fray on Monday.

As soon as it is possible, as soon as he is strong enough, my husband is coming home with me, in defiance of the shrink's advice to (he didn't say it in these words) find an acceptable storage facility. We are going to work on this together.

I went back into his room and he smiled as I kissed him. "What's my name?" I asked.

He told me.

"What am I to you?"

"A friendly neighbor."

"What?"

"A friendly neighbor."

"Do all your neighbors kiss you on the mouth?"

He grinned. "Not all."

"What is our relationship?"

He looked at me as though I were daft. "Husband and wife," he said, and turned back to the James Bond movie on television. Then he looked back at me. "And friendly neighbor." He IS still in there, I don't care what the shrinks say.

I ask for your prayers, as always. Pray for my strength and Tim's healing. Please.