The last I reported, Steve had made some big jumps in his functionality, the biggest of which was his ability to drive again in December. Our lives changed enormously at that point and returned to the closest thing to normal we'd known since June 12, 2014. And then Christmas ate us up, as you all can relate to. Then the joyful anticipation of my baby brother giving me a new sister-in-law in March (YAY!). Then Lots of Things, too many to unpack here. All this time, while we were barreling back into something resembling normal, Steve started to plateau. I didn't feel I had anything to say. I wasn't sure what to blog or exactly why I would blog at all, and I couldn't come up with the energy to even think about it.
Soon we found ourselves staring down The One Year Mark. We began to realize we'd both sort of expected something magical to happen by June 13, 2015. Steve's initial progress had been so rapid and astounding that we'd been led to believe he could be fully recovered by the time a year rolled around. As it got closer, we had to face the fact that this road is going to continue to be long.
I've struggled this entire year (and two months) to know how to answer the question, "How is Steve doing?" What are they hoping to hear? How much do they want to know? How exactly IS he doing? I'm touched by everyone that asks and still knows that there is a reason to ask, even a year (and two months) after Steve's accident.
So, I've been doing some thinking about the answer(s) to that question. Here's the short answer. Mostly very good. We are so thankful that he's progressed over time, and especially for some recent improvement in July. But Steve's body is still significantly impaired and has great deal of healing left to do. Would you please pray that God would continue to heal Steve's body?
Here's the long answer. Our metrics for Steve's improvement have been: from a month ago, two months ago, 6 months ago, and by those markers we see improvement. He uses a cane to get most places, but almost never around the house, and his very slow speed has improved to slow. Increased mobility, some increased sensation. One of my great joys this summer has been watching him get back in the pool. He uses a cane to get into the pool, but he has great freedom of movement in the water. We believe that has been a partial cause for the small jump in his healing. The kids get to play with him. And perhaps most beautiful to me is watching him pick up the kids and throw them. He can't pick anything heavy up outside the water, and there is something so normal and right about him tossing the kids.
Here's the hard stuff. Steve is not fully recovered, as we had been led by some to believe he might be by this time. He is still partially paralyzed. His legs hurt all the time. His balance is poor, even a little scary. He can't get on a ladder or pick up anything heavy. He can't feel when he's cut his foot (which happened... he discovered it when he saw blood all over the back patio where he'd been walking!). I won't even tell you about his toenails and kicking things without knowing about it (because, ew.) In the middle of the night his legs spasm. Every morning he wakes up and has to remind himself that he's impaired. He has a routine that is required for him to start his day that brings this reality into sharp focus. Every morning, he preaches the Gospel to himself.
We've recently been told by his recovery physician that we should be happy with this and not expect more. That he's 1 in 1,000. But both of us listening to our gut and asking the hard questions are not satisfied with this answer yet. Kaiser has cut their contract with Rancho, and Steve can no longer go there. There are no spinal cord injury specialists in the Kaiser network. He's been assigned an orthopedic physical therapist. In other words, we are at a dead end with what Kaiser is able and willing to provide. Steve's recovery is "good enough."
Don't get me wrong. If this is God's final word for us on this, we're listening. We've been asking God what we do with this information, and both of us agree that we don't seem to be done yet. There may be hard days ahead where we learn that we are indeed done, and need to accept the loss as permanent. But our soul-searching has prodded us to keep investigating.
So now what? We are plumbing our resources to find out what may be available for his recovery. We both feel we need some wisdom and guidance from a spinal expert that we can trust. We're not really sure how to find this person yet. We know it will be out-of-pocket, which we are willing to do, but I certainly fight bitterness with Kaiser for this failure. Please pray with us that we will be discerning about what to do next.
One comment we frequently get is, "You should be so thankful." We really are. When I remember getting that phone call and when I think of what life would look like now had a fragment of bone gone a millimeter to the right or if he hadn't had his surgery delayed to enable 23 hours of aggressive steroid treatment... he could so easily still be in a wheelchair. He could have broken his neck. Had brain damage. I think of his horrid walker he was using a year ago, the wheelchair we used on long treks. I think of the miracle of God creating our bodies to repair themselves. I'm so thankful, and I have very great joy when I think of this. But please know that we are also grieving losses at the same time, even a year later. It's not constant. Most of the time we are wrapped up with making sure the kids get to swim lessons and researching which tires to put on the van and work and church and family and life. But because this process has been so unknown, we haven't known what exactly to grieve and how temporary this all would be, so it catches up to us unexpectedly.
So the answer is, mostly good. So thankful--God is near, God is good, God is merciful. God comforts, God understands grief. God heals our bodies and our hearts, and his timing is perfect.
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| August, 2014 |
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| July 2015 |
