Eight is a lucky number in China. And this Family Day Number Eight, we feel especially lucky.
A few days ago, John came home. He'd been away two months, the time spent shuffled, or rather more correctly, ambulanced between hospital and skilled nursing facility. Three of those days were spent in separate ER visits, about ten days in three levels of ICUs, one as still and pale blue as an isolation tank with sliding glass doors for the few patients who never moved and the rare visitors who had to scrub in and out.
Many more days passed for John in stages of sleep, sedation or an altered reality caused by the massive brain inflammation.
Viral encephalitis hit him hard, nearly took him, but he battled back and as XX wished, he was back for Family Day.
She helped out at the nursing facility, played a short concert for everyone one morning and made friends with patients and staff alike. The hospital gowns, missing limbs, cath bags, lolling heads, even drooling mouths made no difference to her, these are her friends.
At home, XX is, if not gentle, perhaps a little less aggressive with Daddy, drawing his bath, setting out clothes, picking up after him. She's getting used to him saying something odd on occasion, and she just answers or corrects without judgment. She hasn't lost her bite completely, however, telling people, he was always forgetful, it's no different. But it is.
John's made enormous, even miraculous progress. I have every faith he will make a full recovery. All he needs is rest and time.
And we'll have it ... as a family.
