The Waiting Game

It's amazing the things that go through your head when you're unsure of what will happen next. I took the first flight home this morning in order to be with my family during this difficult time. There was some good news upon my arrival, the swelling in his brain has gone down a bit and he hasn't had anymore seizures (even in a comatose state, your brain can continue to seize but thankfully he hasn't). I don't like when the people I love are in any kind of pain do you can imagine what feelings have been conjured up by seeing my little brother lying unconscious in a hospital bed. It feels oddly familiar, yet completely foreign to me. I know what it's like to be the one in the bed, the one being poked and prodded and scanned and told that there is some damage to the brain that cannot be undone. But I had no idea what it was like to be on the other side of it. My mother and sister and everyone else know the drill because, unfortunately, they've played this game before. They know the benefits and risks of an induced coma. They know there could be significant damage when he is brought out of the coma. They are aware that it could be two hours or two months before he is awakened (although it seems like it will be closer to the former since the swelling is subsiding). I know all of this too, but this time I play a different part than I did before. I realize now that I had the easiest role last time, all I had to do was lay there and fight for my life ("easy" being relative, of course). Family and friends had to get up every morning and try to function normally and fight all of the "what ifs" that invaded their thoughts every minute of everyday. And that's what I'm doing for the first time. Having been on both sides, my mind is running a mile a minute thinking about the situation from every angle.
I was in an induced coma for two weeks after the accident. I has a traumatic brain injury (or TBI) that required surgery before they made me take an indefinite nap. The next four days were very touch and go; the swelling in my brain was not going down and I was barely responsive during the tests they ran. Still, my family refused to believe that was going to be the end of me. My mom worried about mundane things she'd forgotten to tell me. My sister wondered if I'd remembered that my girlfriend was gone and if that would affect my own outcome. She felt I could get through the TBI but that the broken heart was what might actually kill me. (Fortunately, I didn't remember that while I was out but she was right, that did nearly kill me in the months and years that followed.) There's always the question of whether or not you can hear anything while you're in a coma. And I'm honestly not sure. I remember bits and pieces of things that may have been said but those also could've just been vivid dreams. What I do remember is waking up after the two-week break from walking amongst the living. It was such a bizarre feeling and one I don't think I can accurately explain. Even though the people I loved were right there when I woke up, the overwhelming feeling I had was fear. I didn't know where I was or what had happened, but I knew I couldn't speak and I didn't recognize the man in scrubs who was trying to talk to me. Every sound was distorted and unfamiliar. The room itself was incredibly bright. I knew who every family member was but had no recollection of how any of them came to be in my life. In the days ahead we all began to discover that most of my childhood memories were wiped out. I didn't remember the death of my grandmother or having been sick as a child. I had trouble with words, something that still surfaces on occasion today. And none of that was even the worst part. I had nightmares for months after I was released. I didn't want to go to sleep because I was convinced whatever they'd used to put me into the coma was still in my system and would kill me if I closed my eyes. I had nightmares about being paralyzed and unable to move while something bad was happening to someone I loved. Then, once I eventually did start actually closing my eyes, the PTSD kicked in with a new batch of nightmares. The whole experience was awful and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. But now, my brother may deal with a similar situation once he wakes up. And that kills.
Part of being in a coma is that someone is always at your bedside to monitor what's going on, and I took my shift with my brother about an hour ago. I can barely stand being in there, seeing him not move or open his eyes or speak. And I feel bad about not being able to stay in there very long. A bunch of stupid stuff runs through my head about things I forgot to tell him and needed to tell him. I know he's going to be fine and wake up and I can say all of those things, but it doesn't change the guilt I have now. Part of me wishes I'd been a better brother, but the other part knows that I did all I could for him when he was going through his rough patch. I would have severed ties completely if that were the last resort and the only way to get him back to who he is. I'm thankful it didn't come to that but he and I still had some very tough times. We've also had amazing times though, with more to come I'm sure. Our relationship has ranged from best friends to bordering on worst enemies, but we always come back from the brink. I love him very much. And I hope he wakes up soon.