Friends have been kind in asking how my grandson Jake is doing after the horrific accident on October 2nd. Best news of all. He was moved from the UCLA trauma center yesterday to Casa Colina in Pomona for rehabilitation. Waking up, recognizing, talking a little and moving all parts. I am including a letter from his Mom, Catie, which was sent to friends. Hope it all comes across because its along one but well worth reading. Hello all- While I know that David sent out the Facebook update tonight, giving the latest news that Jake is starting to emerge from the darkness and we are moving on to a new chapter in his recovery. I wanted to reach out to you, who have had our backs and kept the wheels turning in our lives, from just showing up- knowing that you were needed and coming without being asked, sending packages (down pillows and cashmere blankets, for Gods sake- so lovely), incredible posters of Jakes life, bringing lunches, daily coffee, dinner, wine, sending daily texts from home (both the emotional and the mundane-both greatly appreciated) to tell you again, just how truly grateful we are to have you all in our lives. We have been, without a doubt, the most cared for people to grace the waiting room at this crazy place. Yup. We have been here for exactly four weeks. We both woke up this morning and had to check ourselves, as we do every day, that we are still in the Holiday Inn on Carson Blvd. in Torrance, California. We can see the ICU at UCLA Harbor hospital from our hotel room and every night we wonder if Jake is restful or restless, aware, scared or even present at all. While its less than a 3 minute drive from the hospital to the hotel, walking away every night, looking at the lights on in the windows from our room, it seems a million miles away. A few of you have been here to see it in person. The neighborhood, the local color, the dismal waiting room, met our new community of friends here at Harbor, checked out the the security staff, seen the unbelievable doctors and nurses in action to whom we owe so very much, but worst of all, to visit Jake laying there- eyes open but not really looking at you, attached to monitors and tubes, strapped down, unable to do anything or communicate anything. Never in your wildest dreams can you imagine anything worse. When we first arrived, Alison Forbes-the floor chief ( 5 star General, really) was strait up with us. Jakes situation was bleak. She had a brief discussion with Tony , who along with David was there within an hour of admission, regarding the fact HE WAS A TROJAN (seriously) and was going out on the biggest limb to trust a Bruin to care for his Grandson-but he was all in. From then on, we had an ally in the massive machine of this Trauma Unit and Alison has kept us afloat throughout. Over the last few days, Jake has started to emerge. He is struggling to communicate, uncomfortable and in pain, but he is there. VERY MUCH SO. His journey will be long, uphill and not pretty. Every staff member who knows anything about traumatic brain injury has repeated to us that this will get much scarier before it gets better, and this is NORMAL, and to be expected (my new favorite phrase). At one point several days ago, Buzz and I were in a spiral, desperate to consider all the options for TBI rehab across the country and were feeling lost. Alison comes in, hears our angst patiently, then holds up her hand. For those of you have met her- you can totally visualize this- she says......everyone just needs to calm down. This is your run of the mill brain trauma and Jake is going to fully recover. I told you at least 6 months- you need to chill. You can take that to the bank, and I cant say that about everyone that comes through here. Jake will be fine. Ok. We can breathe. Fast forward 4 days later. Jake is making huge strides. His voice is getting louder, he is recognizing people. He will follow commands and very much needs us with him. He is scared and anxious. Every time he dozes off, he awakens to the same realization. His body hurts, it aches and does not really move at will. He has lost over 30 pounds. His movements are deliberate, but not fluid. His speech is strained and exhausted, but it is there. After jumping thru the hierarchy of hospital politics and insurance mazes, we believe that we are approved to move to a wonderful facility called Casa Colina in Pomona, Ca. A recommendation from a warrior of a nurse who has talents that far surpass his pay scale (gifted is an understatement)and recognized that Jake needed something special. As it turns out, Reilly became friends with a young woman named Mollie at U of O whose father is the chair of the board at Casa Colina. It is an exceptional private facility that will give Jake the best opportunity to help him return to his life. Again, we are beyond grateful to all those who, helped us get there and our next adventure begins. It will not be without setbacks or struggle, for all of us, but it is where we need to be- here with Jake. I believe that our kids understand that on some level, but it will be hard. Thank you in advance for everyones love and attention. We must, first and foremost, thank our family. my mom and Jerry, to begin with. They have dropped everything and become parents to our kids at a way late age in life (sorry, Mom). Teenagers are hard- enough said. All of us are just so damn lucky. Dad and Mary, to help fill in in Portland. Tony and Linda to come almost every day, watching what isnt easy and thank you to Laurie and my Dad for coming to be with us. Second, we need to thank our team on the ground here in LA. David and Steph, Tony and Linda, Reilly and Christina, Bennett, Jerry and Julia, Shane Armstrong and the Marymount family- we have been coddled beyond belief. We have never once needed to think about where our next meal or caffeine fix need come. In fact, one night we dragged back to the hotel after a long day. Our favorite night manager here waved us over. He asked shared with us that a significant part of out hotel bill had been paid. In fact, it was a family that Buzz and I had met briefly over move weekend at Marymount and were hoping to have some fun with at parents weekend. The generosity of people has astounded us. Third- our Army of friends. We will never be able to repay you- but we will die trying. This requires a dance party and late night fires and Buzzs cellar open for all. From being advisors, counselors, comedians, therapists and reality checks- we will go down believing that we hit the jackpot. The fact that Buzz has such an incredible team of co-workers has left everyone here in LA rather speechless. Not a day goes by where a nurse does not comment on how remarkable it is that we are BOTH here. The fact that his team in Portland has picked up his load and strapped it on their backs has allowed him to focus all his energy on being here with Jake. The rumors of what Buzz actually does for a living have been hilarious. Nonetheless- he has become the defacto Mayor of the waiting room- sharing candy, the cooler, changing the relic TV, in addition to warming over the most hardened of security staff with candy and Starbucks runs. In fact, every one of them hugged him tonight as we walked out. I guarantee- these folks dont hug. Big Buzz is indeed a changed man. Fourth- the staff at Harbor. As word spread that we were potentially rolling out tomorrow, the staff came-one by one- to say goodbye. From the ER nurse who was there when he was admitted, his team of docs, the most incredible nurses, the security guards and the social workers. There were hugs and tears. Jake has created quite the fan club. He truly has touched hearts and these people see the worst of the worst- Jake being a bit of a bright light . These nurses (yes-nurses) give their all. They do back breaking work, dirty and gritty. They deal with the most heartbreaking situations and have to keep it all together, all the time. I have never been more inspired, watching them work so hard under the most extreme circumstances. Alison alone kept us grounded and real. Like I told many of you- watching her work made me fee like Id wasted my potential. Her straight forward, truthful, honest nature left us always knowing where we stood. We knew that she wasnt in the business of offering false hope so we waited on her thoughts, like anxious expectant parents. She kept us real. Have I mentioned that shes a good Catholic girl, the oldest of 7? In fact, one morning she walks in after way too many mornings of daytime TV. I tell her that there was just a segment on the Today Show about how the oldest are the smartest, with data to prove it. She looks at me, dead pan like she does, and says yeah. Duh. She totally gets us. Last- to our waiting room friends. Words cannot describe what happens within the walls of a place like an ICU waiting room of a Trauma One hospital in a city like LA. We have become intimately attached with a cross section of people that will never forget. We have leaned on others, hugging and crying, and literally held others as they collapsed. We will forever forget those who we have met and been changed by their stories. Nothing would make me happier than to follow their stories of strength, seeing holiday cards year in and year out. On Saturday night, a new family came to the waiting room. The patient was a man named Lee who had a big supportive family, much like our own. He was in a motorcycle accident and his injuries were severe. He was married three months ago. They were devastated and scared. Their initial conversation with the trauma team sounded like a carbon copy of our own. Same terminology, same analogies (imagine that the brain is like jello in a box. When is gets shaken, it begins to lose its shape- yup. Thats what they said)) Lee also had a whole host of ortho needs, much like Jake did. Buzz and I sat in the corner with our new BFF Karla whose son Carlos faces the same battles, trying to disappear while they got the lecture. We all held our breath, and one another. It seemed like it should be the utmost private of conversations, held in quiet- but thats not how it goes here- its delivered in front of whoever happens to share the same side of the room. Well, over the last few days, Lee continued to have the familiar procedures, ventric drains, ortho surgery. His family is learning the ropes of the waiting room, we all shared advice and recommendations for the best food around, what the real time for procedures is, where to park, and how to navigate the security guards. Lees mom flew in from Atlanta. He was supposed to go for a shoulder replacement this afternoon. As we are walking down the hall tonight, grateful to be moving on to the next step, relieved that we dodged the social work trap of being in a county facility, hugging nurses, laughing at Jake saying oh, shit, trying how to figure out how to make Alison move to Portland, talking about Greg Oden- we walked into the waiting room. The Neurosurgery team is there- the same ones who met with us 4 weeks ago today. Karla is hovered in the corner. Buzz and I join her- all feeling the same familiar blanket of grief. All of us can feel what they are feeling. Lees family is holding one another up. The revelation is this: Lee has a brain stem injury. Lees brain was essentially severed in half- he will never walk, talk or have normal brain function. Thats it. The neurosurgery team leaves. I cannot explain the next half hour. We all knew who stood where, and there were lots of hugs. They were the most graceful family- truly. They are not giving up without a fight and we will pray and cheer for Lee. Miracles do happen. We left UCLA Harbor hospital tonight, hopefully for the last time, feeling like to most grateful people ever. That could have been us 4 weeks ago. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. BBB- (the only inspirational art on the walls at Harbor. In fact- its in the stairwell the NOBODY other than the Doctors walk- is BALANCE. BELIEVE. BREATHE) hence, the BBB. Buzz, Catie and Jake
Posted on: Fri, 01 Nov 2013 17:45:37 +0000
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