Right now -- seven days exactly

Right now is exactly seven days (to the hour) that Phil suffered his substantial stroke. It was about 9pm last Saturday night on a windy, icy, mountain road when the stroke struck. Sometime I'd like to share the whole story as I can feel my chest vibrate and tremor as I even begin to write about the trauma that ensued surrounding the stroke itself. I am working through this trauma and know I have made great strides considering it's only been seven days. I know writing about it will help me to release it as well -- more on this later.

Phil's latest update: he has been shifted to an acute rehab wing of the hospital. Starting Monday Phil will be in speech therapy, occupational therapy, and physical therapy for at least three hours per day. He has had small doses of therapy and does well but becomes utterly exhausted afterwards. From what I have learned this acute therapy is the most CRITICAL. How blessed we are that after such tragedy he is in a safe, healthy, clean center with attention and nourishment? I am acutely aware of the situation of Haiti -- where so many suffer right now and do not have these privileges. My heart aches for them.

The great mystery still lingers: How his recovery will unfold? Whether he will be able to speak clearly or read or write ever again? The baby in my belly? What next week might look like? Where we'll live after this? Mystery enshrouds every moment of every day. I know each of our lives are part of the great mystery but it is so easy to be fooled into thinking otherwise, it’s part of being human and having these big brains.

Phil will be in the acute rehab for at least 1-5 weeks and then life is completely unknown. Most of the damage has occurred in the left hemisphere of his brain -- in his speech and language center. He has a speech condition called: aphasia. Here is a link to learn more if you're interested: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aphasia

He is unable to read, write, or speak in clear full sentences. It is unclear how much he comprehends but most likely quite a lot. This is such a frustrating situation for him now because he is unable to express through words. It is almost like learning English as a new language. We use many gestures now, we start broad with topics and slowly and try to hone in on a focus. When the gibberish flows out he either says -- "oh well" at the end or is starting to slip into quietness. We will all have to encourage him to try to speak, to keep the fluency alive, and encourage him to keep the articulation of words happening.

Yesterday afternoon he said the sweetest and saddest thing to me. He was lying in this hospital bed behind the sidebars and I was sitting on the chair beside him. He was very morose and sad yesterday and at one point said "hope we be together".

For the past two days I have really been pushing the hospital staff for "patio privileges", which essentially means taking him outside in a wheelchair. I won. There is a beautiful cactus garden with wheelchair paths, a small waterfall, and a beautiful sculpture of a shaman woman outside of the front door. Phil uttered the words oooh, wow, oooh many times while being wheeled around the garden in the desert sun. Watching the tiny hummingbirds and sparrows swoop through the saguaro, cholla, and prickly pear cactus was so profound for us. The sky filled with its colors and clouds and the chirping of the birds was a magical elixir for our wounds.

We have received so many loving, encouraging, and generous words, emails, thoughts, prayers, metta, music, and donations. I (we) are filled with deep deep deep gratitude. I can feel the waves of this power -- it is helping the trauma to subside. It is deeply powerful. I hope as Phil lies in his new hospital home this enters both his dreams and his waking life too.

I would like to share something a friend wrote to me a few days ago who has been touched by our story. I think it's beautiful and the sentiment has been a deep inspiration for me to keep plugging along. Honestly I have never felt the net of my family and community (and the universe) more than now -- perhaps this is my life teaching out of this tragedy?

" Hi Lara Belle,
... Through all of this, I haven't worried about you for one minute. You have more resilience than any other human being I think I have ever met - and a piece of your resilience lies in your ability to reach out to people who can help hold the weight of your fractured world. So many people either can't reach out or don't have anyone to reach out to. You and Phil are gardeners of the soul and of abundance and human spirit. I have been told my whole life that everything a person puts out into the world comes back to them eventually - I have never seen that phenomenon so clearly as in the last week. You both have touched so many people in so many ways and all of those people who have received your abundance are ready to return it. This sounds so dramatic and cliche but this week has truly renewed my faith in humanity" ... my dear friend

Good night.