When he arrived at Barrow’s, he couldn’t move his right leg at all. With physical therapy, he learned to walk and navigate stairs again. They sent him home with a wheelchair, but he promptly parked it as soon as he got home and hasn’t even looked at it since. Today, he walked down the street to the mailbox and back – without even using a walker!

We had no idea what were his cognitive abilities when he arrived at Barrow’s, but he surprised us all by reading and writing after only a few days. We’re continuing the work they started with him on reading, writing and basic arithmetic with exercises every day; today, he complained that the worksheets they sent home for him to do are too easy. He’s been home only a week and is starting with the attitude already – that’s so Brian!

If all goes as planned, next Thursday he’ll begin another phase of his recovery – reconstructive plastic surgery. He’s scheduled to return to Maricopa Medical Center for a procedure designed to “grow” skin on his forehead so his plastic surgeon will have enough skin to work with for the various skin grafts he’ll need down the road. The procedure mimics what happens to a woman’s skin during pregnancy in that a type of balloon is inserted under the skin in the forehead and is gradually inflated so that the skin can expand around it. I don’t know how long this process will take, but the doctor said jokingly that Brian could resemble Hellboy before it’s all said and done.   

Now that Brian’s alert and getting stronger every day, boredom is beginning to set in. Some of you have asked how you can contact Brian. I know he’d be happy to hear from you, so if you would like to call or visit him, just leave a comment and I’ll provide you details.

Brian's handiwork

He’s working on his reading and writing, but arithmetic problems are proving to be a bit more challenging, which for this math wizard is maddeningly frustrating. But he’s come so far in such a short amount of time, and every day we see more progress.

He’s doing so well, in fact, that Barrow’s is sending him home next week. Originally, we were told that Brian would be at Barrow’s for four to six weeks. Today, we learned that he’ll be discharged next Wednesday – just two-and-a-half weeks after he arrived – and almost five weeks to the day he arrived at Maricopa Medical Center in extremely critical condition.

The Healing Garden

He’s excited about going home – and we are thrilled – but I’m concerned that they’re letting him go home too soon. I’m almost certain his early discharge can be attributed to pressure by his insurance company to send him home as quickly as possible. I can appreciate that Barrow’s is extraordinarily expensive, and we are incredibly grateful for all the help he’s received there, but when he leaves Barrow’s next week all physical, occupational and speech therapy abruptly ends. Then what? I spent hours on the phone this afternoon trying to find outpatient resources that would accept his insurance. So far, no luck. But we’ll keep trying – and preparing for the next phase of the journey — almost home.

Then this morning, we were back at Maricopa Medical Center to see his neurosurgeon Dr. Gonzales. A month ago, Dr. Gonzales told me that in his opinion Brian would likely never talk again and could very well be paralyzed due to the extent of his brain injury. So imagine his surprise when he saw Brian this morning sitting up in a wheelchair, talking and moving his arms and legs! He was clearly pleased and told Brian that he is doing remarkably well, considering that he was “this close to death” – illustrating his point by tightly pinching his thumb and forefinger.

So in two days, two reminders of what happened. And while Brian’s body has been healing miraculously well over these last four weeks, I can’t help but think we’re crossing the bridge to an entirely new phase of this recovery process. The prospect of this aspect of the journey is daunting – even frightening. What to say? What not to say? What is he thinking, feeling? What does the future hold? Would it have been better if his doctors hadn’t said anything to make him realize the reality of the situation? I don’t know the answers. But I do know that we’re ill-equipped to figure this out on our own and I’m thankful we’ll have the professionals at Barrow’s to help us navigate this next part of the journey.

We were eager for Brian to leave Maricopa Medical Center and begin the next phase of his recovery, but he was probably much more eager than we were. He’d had to tolerate some really strange roommates the last few days. Although their drama and crazy antics were entertaining to some degree, Brian was definitely ready to go!

Brian was in good spirits and had his nurses in stitches (no pun intended), calling them Shrek and Fiona. Then when they asked him his name he said, “Captain Beefheart.” Even in the hospital, he was class clown.

Shawn came to visit and spent several hours with Brian. You could see that he really enjoyed the company. Then around 1:30 in the afternoon, we got word that Barrow’s would be admitting him and that the transport van would be at the hospital at 2:30 to pick him up. I was elated — that was the best news we could have received! The nurses began preparing his discharge papers and getting him ready to go. They told him they were really going to miss him and that he’d been their best patient. I’m sure they meant it. For 23 days, the hospital had been his home and we’d met so many wonderful, caring doctors and nurses. I know without a doubt that were it not for them, Brian would not be here with us today.  I will be forever grateful to the incredible trauma team and all they did for Brian.

Brian arrives at Barrow Neurological Institute

We arrived at Barrow’s around 4 p.m. Friday – wow what a difference! The atmosphere was serene and calm, nothing like the trauma unit. The nurses got Brian settled in his own private room right away – no more drama from crazy roommates! Exhausted from all the excitement of the day, as soon as night fell he was asleep. And we went home knowing he was in good hands and that once again, our prayers had been answered.

On Sunday, Brian seemed more alert and even watched a movie on the TV in his room, laughing at the funny parts. We never know what to expect, so even a simple thing like hearing Brian laugh at a movie is a big deal. He had a visit from his friend Greg and that really uplifted his spirits. Since he now has a phone in his room, he’s able to answer the phone himself. Getting phone calls is one of the highlights of his day. To our surprise, he even made his first phone call – he never ceases to amaze us!

Yesterday and today, Brian was awake and alert the entire day and now boredom is beginning to set in. He’s anxious to get out of bed to try to see if he can walk with the help of a walker – except for one frustrating problem. During neurosurgery, his skull was removed and placed in his abdomen for safekeeping, so he needs a protective helmet. When his helmet arrived yesterday, he was really excited at the prospect of getting out of bed. But it turned out to be too small – way too small – so they sent it back to the lab. Tonight, the second helmet arrived, and again, it was entirely too small for his head. So, back to the drawing board.

The last few days, Brian’s speech has markedly improved. Every once in a while, he comes up with something really hilarious and cracks himself up. We can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside that brain of his. It’s encouraging to witness improvements every day and we hope they continue. With Brian one thing’s for certain, every day is an adventure!

Friday morning in the surgical intensive care unit the mood was decidedly different – a bit of controlled chaos. There had been a terrible bus crash earlier and many of the most seriously injured had been transported to the trauma unit at the hospital. Doctors were huddling and nurses were busily preparing beds and equipment. All available beds were needed so we knew today would be Brian’s last day in the trauma unit. Dr. Pieri was doing rounds and as she began to approach his bed I asked Brian, “How are you doing today?” We all heard his response – a clear, resounding, “Outstanding!” Dr. Pieri looked up from her charts at Brian and smiled. She said that since he was responding so well that it was time for him to leave the surgical intensive care unit and go to a regular room. The news was bittersweet. Obviously, the fact that he’s progressing so well that he no longer needs intensive care is a major milestone, and we are all so grateful for that. But I will truly miss the exceptional doctors and nurses that we’ve come to know and respect over the last 17 days – Dr. Cox, Dr. Vail, Dr. Pieri, Dr. Matson, Dr. Latieri, Lisa, Michelle, Amy, Mike, Kelly, Lenore and the others who have competently, kindly and compassionately cared for Brian.

But it was time to move on, and so Friday afternoon Brian was moved out of intensive care to a semi-private room with three other beds. Although the room is bustling with noise and activity and people coming in and out, Brian actually seemed more comfortable. His new nurses Jen and Nakeesha told us that when patients come out of intensive care, they begin to improve almost immediately because of the windows and natural light, noise and activity. When the nurse brought in his tray of food and set it in front of him I had a moment of panic, thinking he’d spill the food all over himself. I told her he’d not fed himself yet, but she told me to let him try to do things himself. To our amazement, he pulled out the tray, picked up the spoon with his left hand, passed it to his right hand and tried to scoop some red Jello from the bowl and put it in his mouth. He actually got a few bites in there!

While we were visiting, Brian’s Grandpa called on my cell phone. I asked Brian if he wanted to talk to Grandpa and he immediately took the phone from my hand, held it up to his ear and began listening and responding to Grandpa’s voice. A few minutes later, the phone by his bedside rang. It was Jina. He immediately picked it up, said hello, leaned back on his pillow and cradled the phone between his neck and ear in the familiar way he’d always talk on the phone. For the next few minutes, he responded to her questions and comments and then proceeded to hang up the phone!   

Wilbur and Christie

All that intense burst of activity completely exhausted Brian. So as night fell outside, we left his room feeling that we’re clearly starting a new chapter in his recovery. We don’t know what’s next, but with each day we find more reasons to count our blessings and continue to hope.

The trauma unit at Maricopa Medical Center -- home for the last 17 days

For the past couple of days we’ve been a little euphoric about the incredible progress Brian has made. Yesterday, reality hit me square in the face. Today, Brian will probably be released from the surgical intensive care unit – his home for the last 17 days – and go to a regular semi-private room. So that means we now have to start working with the social worker on his discharge plan. Where will he go from here? Who will care for him? Those are all questions we’re now grappling with.

We toured Barrow Neurological Institute yesterday afternoon, one of the best neurological rehabilitation facilities in the world and the one we’re hoping Brian can go to after he’s released from the hospital. It was a little shocking to learn that the neuro rehab program at Barrow’s is only four weeks. Can he really learn and re-learn all he needs to in just four short weeks? Then what? The staff at Barrow’s gave us a lot to think about and we left there a little overwhelmed with all the decisions we will have to make in the coming days and weeks.

When we returned to the hospital after our tour of Barrow’s, Brian was sitting up in his bed – a site we hadn’t seen yet. He was alert but seemed disoriented and was not responsive to our questions or comments – although he made us laugh once when I pointed to Ray and said, “Who’s this?” He replied, “Father figure.”

The doctors warned us that Brian will have good days and bad and that we’ll all experience a wild roller coaster ride of emotions. Looking at him, we couldn’t help but wonder what the future holds for him – and us. None of us knows what the “new normal” will be. And so as joy and elation are tempered with a harsh dose of reality, we prepare for the next phase of the journey.

Brian gives Christie a squeeze

On Tuesday, something truly amazing occurred – Brian spoke his first words! They were simple words – hi, hello, OK, yes, no, pretty good – but just hearing his voice again for the first time in two weeks gave us incredible joy. Just last week, Dr. Gonzales, his neurosurgeon, told me that in his opinion Brian would never regain his ability to speak.

Yesterday, we were even more amazed. When we arrived at the hospital in the morning, Brian was awake and alert. He greeted us with a clear, “Hello.” Christie and I began asking him questions to see how much he was able to comprehend. I asked him if he’d slept well and he indicated he hadn’t. Then I proceeded to tell him that it was Wednesday, March 3, at 10 a.m. in the morning. He responded with a resounding, “Holy crap!” Everyone within earshot burst into laughter. Brian began laughing too. It was the funniest thing we’d heard in weeks! What a great way to start the day. 

For this last two weeks, we’ve been blessed with some of the best nurses I’ve ever met caring for Brian. They’ve been wonderful about letting us visit with Brian as much as possible, even though the rules say visits are supposed to be only 30 minutes every four hours. So we’ve gotten used to being with Brian for hours at a time throughout the day and night. But yesterday, he had a new nurse who is a strictly-play-by-the-rules kind of person so we had limited visiting time with him. But each time we were able to see him we talked to him more and more and challenged him with questions. What color is your dad’s shirt? What color is my sweater? What color is my shirt? What is your last name? To each of those questions, he answered correctly. So we now know he has some level of comprehension.

When we were getting ready to leave last night, I said, “I love you Brian.” He responded with, “I love you, too.” Then Ray said, “I love you, Brian.” He said nothing. A little crushed, Ray said, “Sort of?” Brian said, “Sort of.” Then Ray said, “Don’t you love me, Brian?” And Brian responded with, “Of course I do.” We laughed. It was a great way to end the day.

And even though Brian clearly uttered those words yesterday, we don’t know yet whether he will be able to converse in sentences. But we do know that he understands us and can respond with words. And that in itself is a major milestone – not to mention a major miracle.

Over the weekend, we saw other significant progress too. His doctor told us on Saturday morning that he might have pneumonia, which was scary to hear. But they started him on antibiotics and the fever that had plagued him all last week finally began to subside. That was a huge relief! Brian’s Grandpa spent hours by his bedside talking to him and holding his hand and I know that made a tremendous difference. For the first time, he smiled – a huge smile with teeth and all – and we couldn’t believe what we saw! And he began to move his right hand – another major milestone. Until then, the doctors were unsure whether the right side of his body was paralyzed. Though he has yet to move his right leg and foot, the facial expressions and movement in his right hand are more signs of hope.

On Sunday morning, Brian gave us a few more big smiles. Dr. Cox, the trauma surgeon, was back on rotation and saw how much progress Brian’s made since that Tuesday night when he was rushed through the doors of the emergency room and he’d spent six hours operating on Brian to save his life. Dr. Cox spent a lot of time talking with us and planning next steps. He believes that neurological therapy could make all the difference to Brian’s recovery and ordered speech and physical therapists to get involved to see how much more Brian can do. Dr. Cox is one of the most positive people I have ever met and his positive attitude is contagious. He is also one of the most compassionate, caring doctors I’ve ever met and I’m so glad he’s on Brian’s team. Thanks to him and Dr. Vail, another amazingly wonderful doctor who we met this week, we heard Brian’s voice again. And we are convinced that miracles truly do happen.

Before they took him to surgery, he was very alert, looking straight at me. When the anesthesiologist asked him how he was doing, he raised his eyebrow and curled his lip in typical Brian fashion to tell us he was so-so – the first sign of a facial expression!

After that, Brian was sedated for most of the day, between the surgery in the morning and another procedure in the afternoon that enabled the doctors to insert a camera in his bronchial tubes to examine his lungs and airway for another possible source of infection. So it was a little disappointing that he was completely out of it for the entire day because his Grandpa Craft, whom he loves and admires so much, came to visit along with his Aunt Sherry and Grandpa’s girlfriend Sally. I had been telling Brian for days that Grandpa would be here on Wednesday night and had built up Grandpa Craft’s visit so much in my own mind, thinking that once Brian heard his voice he would instantly respond. When each and every tiny movement Brian makes is momentous, it’s a bit of a letdown when a day goes by and not much happens. Maybe tomorrow. One day at a time. I just have to keep remembering to take it one day at a time. But each day that Brian is with us is a blessing.

I am so grateful for the support of family and friends. Thank you for continuing to keep Brian in your thoughts and prayers. Please keep praying and sending positive thoughts – it all helps so much!

The fact that Brian is alive is nothing short of a miracle. Each day that he survives is another miracle. Today was miracle number seven. Within each day, other miracles occur. Like yesterday, when I witnessed for the first time his right eye opening seemingly to look at me as I greeted him in the morning. He moved his head to follow my voice and looked right at me! And then there was the time that he responded to the command to give us a peace sign by holding up his two left fingers. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of elation when I asked him to squeeze my hand and he responded with a fierce grip using what must have been all his strength.

To hear from the doctors and nurses that he is doing really well, considering the traumatic injury to his brain, gives us such hope. But they keep reminding us it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon. I’ve been given the sobering facts by the neurosurgeon – that the biggest threat to Brian’s survival today is infection of the brain or other parts of his body. And there are plenty of opportunities for that. So he’s not out of the woods yet. Then there is the chance of stroke and the very real likelihood that he will never speak again or regain use of the right side of his body. What brain function remains is a mystery today and may be for some time to come – perhaps six months to a year. The future is uncertain. But today I saw him open his eye and he squeezed my hand. And I have hope.

If there is even the slightest silver lining in all of this, it’s that he is in the best of hands with the amazing doctors and nurses at Maricopa Medical Center in Phoenix. I am so impressed with the level of care he has been receiving since the first minutes he arrived at the trauma center. Their kindness and compassion has helped our family get through the first week of this ordeal. We owe our deepest thanks to them for their skill and talent. And to everyone who has sent wishes of support to Brian and our family, thank you so much. It means more than you’ll ever know.