There’s nothing new to report. Chad is still quiet, but he did say a few words to the girls last night.
He sleeps for a good part of the day, which is in part to the steroids and pain meds. He’s still complaining of a headache, which I would expect.
He is still having some memory issues. I made him lunch yesterday & shortly after he ate, he couldn’t remember if he had eaten anything at all. He sat down at the computer to check email last night, which is good. He hasn’t been interested in anything but sleeping since we got home. He couldn’t remember his email password, so he got a little aggravated — but heck, I can barely remember my email password!
The strangest thing is his laughter. While I prefer laughter to sadness any day, this laughter is different. It’s more like a subconscious effect of being aggravated or not knowing the answer to something I’ve asked of him. On the way home from Winston-Salem, we stopped at Steak&Shake for a bite to eat. I asked him if he meant to eat his french fries with a spoon and he just laughed at me. When he calmed down, he shook his head “no” and stared at his pile of fries, not sure what to do next. And he could not possibly decide on a flavor of milkshake – as if he didn’t know flavors existed.
I have to stay on top of his medications, or he just wouldn’t take them. He doesn’t remember what has happened to him, I think. He keeps touching his head, trying to understand what’s going on or why his head hurts. I think he has bits and pieces of his hospital stay, but not the whole picture.
I’ve really struggled whether or not I should tell you these things. But I decided it’s best to be honest. Very few people realized how sick Chad has been for the last year and a half. He put on a great face and had a great attitude. He didn’t talk about seizures at work. But he had them there. He probably didn’t tell anyone that I had to pick him up at a gas station because he had a complex seizure and pulled into the parking lot to call me just in time.
He just didn’t talk about it. And he’s probably going to get mad at me for telling you, now.
I know that he’s not going to remember everything in this journey, and at least my words are here as proof. Maybe they will help him remember little things that will be lost in his recovery period.
The recovery is not as quick or pleasant as I’d hoped; but he’s still here.
And I see glimpses of him.
He’ll come back.