From Depths We Rise

by Rodriguez, Sarah;

  Joel spent a few more days in the ICU and a few days after that on the floor. We spent Father’s Day in a hospital room. Not ever the Father’s Day that I envisioned, but at this point he was alive and that was what I had hoped and prayed for.

  When the day finally arrived for him to be transferred to a rehabilitation facility, I felt like the largest of the bullets had been dodged. He was the one in four that had actually survived the stroke and subsequent surgery. People at the hospital were calling him a miracle man, and he was. We even got clear margins back from his pathology. We knew rehab would be hard, but it was the final step in getting him home to us once again. He was a fighter, and I knew he would fight hard to regain the use of his left side.

  After two long weeks in the hospital, the time had finally come for us to bid the staff farewell. The medical transport came to pick him up and take him to one of the best rehab hospitals in the state. Joel was beyond excited to be leaving. I will never forget the huge smile on his face and the conversations he had with the transport team. They noticed the thick East Coast accent immediately. He told them the story about how he married an Oklahoma girl and how I brought him back this way. He said he was nervous at first, but he loved it here. There was nowhere else he wanted to live. He loved the niceness of the people, and the laid-back lifestyle fit in perfectly with his laid-back attitude. He also mentioned it was a great place for a family, and he was so happy that his son would be raised here.

  Once they got him loaded on a stretcher, they began to take him down to the waiting vehicle.

  “Is it a limo?” he asked. “Because that is the only way I travel.”

  The transport team roared with laughter, and Joel smiled, thoroughly proud of his joke. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at his goofiness but stood in complete awe of his amazing attitude and fighting spirit. Yes, my husband might have changed physically, but the man I loved and adored was definitely still in there. Things were looking up.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Long Good-Bye

  I swerved in and out of traffic, trying desperately not to lose sight of the ambulance in front of me. We had just left the hospital and were headed to the rehab facility Joel would call home for the next thirty days. The driver wasn’t exactly driving as if he had a nervous wife tailing him trying not to get lost. I wasn’t only lost in direction but in thought. How did we get to this place? My husband should be going home with me today—not to another facility where he would spend an entire month away from his family. As hard as it was for me, I know it had to be doubly hard on him.

  Finally we arrived. I carefully unloaded the giant suitcase that held all of his clothes for the duration of his stay. I had packed all his favorite T-shirts, gym shorts, tennis shoes, and sweatshirts to make sure he was comfortable; after weeks of hospital gowns, I imagined real clothing would feel like a treat. I was sure to bring his favorite pillow from home, his beloved sleep machine, and his favorite blanket. I also brought loads of family pictures and taped them to his wall. I knew it would be hard moving from one hospital to another, so I wanted to do what I could to make it feel homey.

  As I wheeled the huge suitcase to his room, I thought about how long this entire journey had seemed and braced myself for at least another thirty days at the rehab center. I tried to keep it in perspective by realizing we were on the downhill slide and the worst part was behind us.

  I rounded the corner to his bedroom to find him lying in bed already looking spent. At rehab there were no IVs and no wires or tubes connected to him. He looked the most like himself he had in weeks. It was a welcome sign.

  I started to busy myself unloading all of his clothing and hanging the pictures on his wall.

  “When do you think they are coming for me?” he asked.

  “What do you mean coming for you?” I replied.

  “You know, to start my therapy,” he responded.

  “Oh sweetie, you won’t have any therapy this afternoon. The only goal for today is to get you here and unpacked, settled, and rested so you can be ready to start up bright and early tomorrow.”

  “But I want to start today,” he insisted.

  “It’s nearly five o’clock. All the therapists are heading home for the evening. Trust me, you need to rest as much as you can for tonight and get ready to go at it tomorrow,” I reasoned with him.

  “I just know that the quicker I get this done the quicker I can go home. So I really wanted to start today. But I guess I can wait one more day.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he let out a big yawn and quickly drifted off to sleep.

  The rest that day was much needed. Rehab is no joke. He had therapy four hours every day, both physical and occupational. He had to learn how to do everything all over again. He had to find techniques to help him transfer from his bed to the wheelchair, to get from his wheelchair to the toilet, and his most favorite job, how to walk again holding the bars. He liked that one the best because it felt as if he was doing the most work. He also had to relearn how to do the small things, like brushing his teeth, washing his face, and getting dressed all with one arm—all the things we take for granted on a daily basis.

  It was hard to watch him push himself over and over, even harder to watch him so physically impaired. Through it all I never once heard him complain. The only time I would ever see him down was when he would talk about how much he missed home and our son.

  You can have special moments in the hospital, and I almost let one pass me by. It was on a day after work when I came to see him. A nurse had just taken him to the bathroom and was transferring him to his bed. This process alone could take up to a half hour, exhausting him every time. For some reason she was insistent after she got him in bed that I “crawl in bed with him.” When she first said it, I thought it was funny. Hospital beds aren’t exactly known for having room for two. If I was ever in Joel’s bed, it was to sit at the end. She was insistent, so I asked Joel if he wanted me to lie down with him. He surprised me by saying yes.

  It wasn’t easy to maneuver myself in a way that was comfortable for us both, being that his left side was paralyzed. Still, I found a way to wedge myself beside him on his right side. I laid my head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around me and rubbed his fingers through my hair, kissing my forehead softly. I closed my eyes and pretended we were at home in bed relaxing together and watching TV like we used to do. It was the closest I had physically felt to my husband in a very long time. We continued to lie like that in silence for a long while. I finally tilted my head up to see that his eyes were closed, too, taking in the moment just as I had been. I tenderly kissed his cheek.

  “I love you so, so much, Joel, and I am so proud of you,” I said through quiet tears.

  “I love you, babe, and I’m proud of you, too. You’re doing a great job. I know it’s not easy,” he said.

  “Don’t be proud of me. I’m not the hero. You’re the hero, and you’re our hero,” I told him.

  I looked up at him to see a big smile on his face that didn’t disappear as he faded off to sleep.

  Joel was working hard at rehab but not progressing very quickly. He was encountering a lot of pain from the two surgeries he had endured. Much of the day they had him medicated to combat it. The pain was getting worse the more exercises he would do, so as time went on, we had some loopy conversations.

  One day, however, we had a conversation that would change my life, for the rest of my life.

  Joel’s back was hurting, and he asked me to help him sit up in bed so I could rub it. I quickly obliged, glad to give him relief in any way I could. We both sat quietly as I rubbed light strokes, in a circular motion. Finally, he broke the silence.

  “Babe, you and I are going to have another baby. It’s going to be a girl.”

  I was taken aback, first by the fact he was talking about children at such a time. We both remembered our infertility problems and how difficult it was for us to get pregnant. We currently had two embryos in storage, but in his current condition,
I didn’t see any way we would be able to try to use them to have another child.

  “Okay…,” I said nonchalantly, hoping he would drop the subject.

  “No!” he said boldly. “You are not listening to me. We are going to have another baby, and it’s going to be a little girl. You know what you’re supposed to name her.”

  I remembered the baby girl name I had in a dream years prior. A name I had never heard before. When I woke up from the dream, I looked up the meaning and was shocked it was the exact meaning of Joel’s name: “Jehovah is God.” I told Joel the name, and we both liked it and decided if we ever had a girl, that would be her name.

  “Ellis?” I asked.

  “Yes, Ellis. That will be her name,” he replied.

  Just then he started to yawn, and I gingerly put him back to bed. What a random conversation that was, I thought, as I put it away in my mind for safekeeping.

  The next day was my son’s first birthday party. Sadly, we were not at home celebrating as we had planned. Instead, we had booked a conference room and would celebrate at the rehab center. Nothing fancy, just some cupcakes, presents, and enjoying the day as a family. Joel was not happy about any of this. He felt awful that his illness was causing us to have to celebrate our son’s first birthday in the hospital. We had tons of conversations about it, and he finally listened when I said the most important thing was he was there celebrating with us. We promised each other no tears that day, and even though it wasn’t the celebration we wanted, we were still going to celebrate. It was a hard day, but we made it through. After an hour-long celebration, I wheeled Joel back to his room, and the nurse helped me to get him to bed. She asked him if he enjoyed the party. Joel smiled big and said he had. I knew better. I gave him huge hugs and told him good-bye for the evening. After walking out the door, I paused outside, peering through the crack.

  It was then, when he thought everyone had left, in the silence of his room, that he started to cry. I rushed back in beside his bed and held him close.

  “JoJo…,” I started in, unsure of how to finish.

  “I know, baby, I know I promised no tears. I’m sorry. I just miss the little guy so much. I miss him and you. I want to come home. I want to be home now,” he said, tears pouring down his face.

  “Babe, you know there is nothing we want more than to have you home with us. Nothing. And you are so close. You just need to keep fighting hard to get strong so that you can be home with us,” I said.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying so hard,” he said, still crying.

  “I know you are. You are fighting hard, and we are so proud of you. Milo and I love you. We want you home with us and we know you will be, but you’ve got to get a little bit stronger. You are so close, honey,” I said.

  “I will keep fighting. I’m fighting hard every day. Do you believe me?” he asked.

  “Of course I do,” I said without hesitation.

  That was the problem. I knew he was giving every ounce of himself, and we were still so far from tangible results. He didn’t say it, but I know he knew it, too. The deadline for his release was coming soon, and he was still so very far from where he needed to be. It scared me. I didn’t know what the future held for him or for our family. The unknown was terrifying.

  I stayed for a while longer and held his hand until the tears stopped and he was ready for sleep. I walked over to close his blinds and turn on his sleep machine, and I pulled his blankets over him. I kissed his forehead like I did every night before I left.

  “I love you, Joel. I will see you tomorrow,” I said.

  “Love you, too, babe. Good night.”

  Little did I know that was the last time I would ever hear those words from my husband again.

  I got to the rehab center a little later than normal the next day. Since I had been gone so much the past four weeks, I wanted to spend some quality time with my son that morning. When I arrived at the center, Joel was asleep. I sat in the chair beside his bed and read a magazine, patiently waiting for him to awake.

  He finally did an hour later. In seconds it was clear. Something was wrong—very wrong. My gut told me to get him help and get it now.

  I ran down the hall to the nurses’ station. “Something is very wrong with my husband. I think he has had another stroke. If someone is not here in the next few minutes to give him a scan, I am going to take him out of this hospital bed and carry him to the ER. Something has to be done now!”

  I meant it, too. Joel weighed about 185 pounds at that time. I have no idea how I would have managed to carry him out of that room, but I was desperate and would have put him on my back and crawled on the linoleum floor to the ER if I had to.

  The nurse on duty looked in my eyes and knew I was serious. Fifteen minutes later they came to take him to CT. Just a few minutes after they had brought him back and put him in his bed, the doctor came back in the room. From the moment I saw his face and body language, I knew. My suspicions were correct.

  “He has an immense amount of bleeding in the brain. We have to take him to the hospital now. I am calling the transport team.”

  Bleeding in the brain. Another stroke. How on earth could he have had another stroke? We had just gotten past the first stroke, and he was in rehab. I didn’t understand how we were back to having another stroke.

  I didn’t have time to burst into tears. The ambulance would be here in a few minutes. I ran around the room, throwing all of Joel’s things into suitcases. The pictures I had hung on the wall to remind Joel of home, in hopes he would be home soon, were hastily ripped off the wall. The nurses were working on him, and the room was complete chaos. The transport team showed up soon and loaded Joel onto a stretcher. I grabbed his hand, telling him I loved him and we had to go back to the hospital to check some things out.

  No response.

  By the time we got there, our family and friends were starting to show up. The look on everyone’s faces scared me. I was inconsolably weeping and shaking with fear. I could not believe we were back at the hospital.

  They finally let me back to be with him in the ER, explaining he would be waiting there until a spot opened back up in the ICU. By this time they had put Joel back on a ventilator and had him sedated. My dad was back there with me. We sat in silence. A doctor finally entered the room.

  “I just saw his CT scan. And it’s bad; it’s really bad,” she said.

  She was telling me what I already knew. Then she took a deep breath and started in. “You know Joel has been through a lot, and he has fought very hard. Sometimes the most compassionate thing you can do is to think about the person’s wishes and what he would want. Would he want to live the kind of life he is going to live?”

  I could not believe what she was insinuating. She was trying to tell me, in that moment, the best thing to do would be to decline care for my husband and let him die. I was furious.

  “Actually, Doctor, I know exactly what my husband’s wishes are. We talked about it at length and have advance directives. He wanted every avenue exhausted in trying to save his life. He has a family and a young son. He told me to never give up on him, and I never will. So I need you to do every single thing that you can to save my husband’s life and nothing less.” I looked her square in the eye as I said that.

  “Okay…,” she said hesitantly. “But I need you to know this is very bad, and you are going to have some very difficult decisions in front of you. But we will do what we can.” She turned and quickly exited the room.

  They did try. For an additional two weeks, Joel was in the ICU on a ventilator. They hooked him up to a machine to cool his body in an effort to reduce swelling to his brain. I was by his bedside every day. After he got off the vent the first time we were in the hospital, he had told me he had heard the things we had said to him. Knowing this made it all the more important for me to talk to him now. I explained to him all that had happened. I willed him to keep fighting. I told him how much I adored him.

  Finally, it appeared the time had
arrived when they could begin to unsedate him and remove him from the vent. He was getting better, and I was thrilled I would hear his voice again and hug him tightly. My dad came to spend time with him in the hospital that evening so I could go home to tuck my son into bed. I left feeling a sense of calm and grateful anticipation for what the next day would bring.

  I was home for less than an hour when my phone rang.

  “Sarah, it’s Dad. Um…they are going to take Joel back to CT right now,” he quickly said.

  That didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t scheduled until the morning. Why would they be rushing him in right at that very moment when he was scheduled for the next day? Something wasn’t right. I didn’t get a chance to spit out all my questions before a member of the neurological team took the phone from my dad.

  “Sarah, when they went to check on Joel, his eyes were fixed and dilated and not responsive. We are taking him to CT. This is not good at all. You need to come back to the hospital now.”

  Just like that, my world crumbled once again beneath me. We were so close, a day away, in fact, from good news. Joel was doing well, and the doctors had been the most optimistic with me they had ever been.

  Why now? God, why is this happening? I thought.

  I quickly kissed my son good-bye and raced the entire thirty-minute drive back to the hospital, praying not to get pulled over. As I drove, I was so distraught I was dry heaving, wracked with sobs.

  I finally got to the hospital and walked back to his room. It was a teeny-tiny room; there were no fewer than ten people inside. My dad was standing outside the door, white as a ghost.

  “Something went very wrong,” he told me. “I don’t know everything that happened, but they had a lot of people in there working on Joel.”