It's been the hardest thing in the world to watch my Dad lying there on life support machines and to know that his lungs, his kidneys, his digestive system... are not able to work for themselves. From time to time, they lower the sedation and switch off the ventilator - just to see if he can begin to breathe for himself - but he's not able to do that yet. It's hard to see all the tubes and machines: tubes in his nose, draining bile from his stomach and drip feeding him to try and get his digestive system going again; tubes on one side of his neck for the antibiotics, blood pressure medication, painkillers and sedatives; tubes on the other side of his neck, taking his blood in and out of his body to the dialysis machine that is doing the work of his kidneys.. and tubes down his widely gaping mouth to do the breathing his own lungs aren't able to do. You feel so helpless and it's hard to know even what to say or to do when you're there in the intensive care unit with him.
My brother speaks to him and tells him that he needs to hang in there and get stronger; I also pray for him and reads psalms from the Bible. Last night, when I was praying, I just had an impression that I should worship God and declare His character by singing my Dad's favourite hymn - "How deep the Father's love for us; how vast beyond all measure" - and also another song by the same musician, based on Psalm 23: "The Lord is my Shepherd." It seemed as if Dad's eyebrows flickered from time to time, but it was hard to tell whether he could really hear me, or whether it was just a reflex action like our eyes make when we're sleeping and dreaming.
Just then, my brother arrived, bringing my 11 year old niece to see Dad. I leaned across the bed and said to him, "That's Graham bringing Kasey to see you, and it would really make her day if you were able to open your eyes for her." Amazingly, his eyelids kind of parted a fraction, almost as if he was trying to open them for me.
I headed back to the waiting area with my Mum, while Graham and Kasey went in to see Dad. A few minutes later, Kasey came running to us. "Papa's opened his eyes," she said. Sure enough, Dad had managed to open his eyes, but the effort had caused his heart to race, and the nurse had to give him sedatives and pain medication again. We continued to take turns speaking to him during the evening, but it was hard to tell if he was really aware of our presence.
Just as it was time to go home, I turned to my Mum and said, "Perhaps he can hear us. Tell him that you love him." She was fighting back the tears, but she leaned across the bed and said, "He knows that I love him. We've been together a long time, and he needs to get better and come home so that we can be together for our 60th wedding anniversary." Suddenly Dad's eyes opened wider again, and he began to move his mouth - almost as if he was trying to speak. The nurse came over to the bed and explained to him that he can't speak, because there's a tube in his throat.
He's still not really conscious yet, and his lungs and kidneys are still dependent on the machines... but those little signs of life last night gave my Mum a glimmer of hope that she had almost lost. It might be a long haul yet, but she wants to keep hoping and trusting that Dad can come through this.
We'll be going back to see Dad in the hospital this afternoon. In the meantime, I'm helping Mum by cleaning the house and getting things a bit more in order again. This morning, I also have a doctor's appointment myself. Thank you, everyone, for your emails, phone calls, text messages and prayers.
