A jungle of beeps and wires

It's that special time again. 3 o'clock in the morning. I think I need to accept this rather than fight it with tears, anxiety, and frustration. Now that I've got this blog rolling I'm determined to put my insomnia somewhere -- writing, walking, or bathing. I do usually get a solid 5-6 hours of sleep for all of those who worry about my pregnancy -- this will turn around someday. This is just life right now. Who could sleep soundly as their husband lies miles away in a mysterious jungle of beeps, wires, people, and smells?

Phil got moved to a new room! He is out of ICU. I didn't care what anyone said before about the intermediate status. No one stays in ICU unless they need too, period. He also made it beyond the 72-hour most critical stage. This room change is symbolically gigantic. The room is more spacious, not as loud, and he may actually be able to receive some healing rest. It has been necessary for doctors and nurses to do what is called "neuro-checks" every single hour until quite recently. On the hour they come in, wake you up, open your eyes with a flashlight, make you move one arm, the other, each leg, and try to answer a bunch of questions. I was so utterly exhausted after the initial trauma I can't even imagine his state of being. Can you imagine suffering from a stroke and then being woken up every single hour for three days straight? I know it's necessary but it was starting to feel like sleep torture to me.

I am so grateful for this transition off of the intensive care floor. Sadly yesterday was a hopping day in the ICU waiting room. A surge of about 50 people were there (when I arrived at 4am Saturday night it was only me and one or two other lonely frightened souls). It's exhausting to witness people pacing around with cell phones talking about biopsies and chemotherapy (for a little kid!), major accidents, life machines, chance for life etc. When you are pregnant you are extra sensitive to your environment as well. I can't take it anymore. I am starting to know certain characters in that waiting room from afar - the elder man in rainbow suspenders and a t-shirt that has to call seven people in Alaska daily meanwhile sitting alone, the bearded younger man who always carries his fancy laptop and fresh coffee but keeps his head hung low in his hands more often than not, the same Mexican family (with even more family members now), and the newly shocked fresh souls -- you can always tell. I gotta get out of there for good!

More about Phil: He played a little bit more music through his flute yesterday! He held the shakuhachi completely by himself and made a quiet but beautiful tune. He looked quite pleased. Other big accomplishments (which I am aware of how a week ago I may not gauge these as big accomplishments -- will life be this different forever?): he ate a sandwich by himself, he walked a bit with a walker and physical therapy help, he was telling time on the clock, he listened to many songs on the iPod with pleasure, and he is no longer on too many machines. Now he wears just a heart monitor and is on a few minor medications. These were big steps.

It looks like he will begin acute rehab here at this hospital, the Mayo Clinic, as soon as Friday perhaps (no one ever knows anything for sure around these parts). This is good news. His health insurance will cover this (which social workers feared it wouldn't). Thank god! I haven't let my mind go too wild with what it will cover or will not cover. I imagine helicopter rides and ICU rooms aren't cheap. There really is no other choice for rehab currently. It's either here or another helicopter ride to an insurable center (of which many aren't covered) So, Arizona it is for a while. I have absolutely no idea how long he will stay in rehab. I know in my heart this is his best chance for any re-structuring of life. I have 10 weeks before baby comes -- time is of the essence here.

As many of you know, Phil was previously married to Kim James for a long time and has two adult children (and even some adorable grand kids). Kim, his first wife, Sierra and Aaron, his kids, each made the trek from Missouri and California to be by his side for the last day or so. You should have seen Phil light up to have Sierra and Aaron each by his side holding his hands. This has been a tremendous boost to his spirit. I vividly remember one powerful moment yesterday when each kid was by his side while Kim and I held his feet. He smiled and slept like a baby surrounded by this family love. It was a beautiful fusion of family -- I am so grateful for this. We are becoming even more an example of one of those unique modern blended families. It's been easy for me to become heady in this blended family situation, but when trauma is here -- sheer presence reigns.

Lucky for me Kim James is an accomplished midwife with something like 30 years under her belt. She brought her pre-natal check up kit and we had an informal exam right in her hotel room. Who would've thought? Baby looks good! The real test was my blood pressure. Nothing like a near death car experience, watching Phil have a stroke, driving from hospital after hospital in the dark of the night, and not being able to sleep or eat properly for a spell to test a pregnant woman's blood pressure. Amazingly -- it's 100% fine. Kim and I decided I'm having a textbook pregnancy with an extra-ordinary non-text book life.

I (we) have been flooded with love. It's seeping into every crevice and crack of this experience. I am more grateful than any of you will ever know for each gesture, email, chant, flower, and prayer. The buoy is still afloat. Please keep it coming -- I am starting to read each message to Phil one by one too. We've only gotten through two out of around 100. I will try to read each and every single one to him when the time is right.

On another promising note there have been at least 2-3 members of Phil's tight shakuhachi community that have some real advice about stroke recovery -- they're experienced. First of all, they're writing me an email after having strokes -- huge. Second, they have incredible stories of regaining their life. I have been warned over and over though to remain cautiously optimistic -- each person varies greatly. So this is the new mantra -- cautious optimism, cautious optimism, cautious optimism.

Here's another poem from the vault written by Phil. Enjoy.

who doesn’t want to be a tree

turning each moment's events
into shape,
or biological process
into automatic art

and presenting
for your viewing enlightenment
past present future
in one gnarled
skyward gesture