Mike had a decent night considering. They closely monitored him throughout the night to make sure his blood pressure did not spike out of control and looked for any signs of his breathing being compromised. The blood on the brain needs time to resorb back into the body. Until it does, it will continue to put pressure on his brain which could have disastrous results.

There is a chance he may need surgical intervention to drain the blood and the doctors have said that would be very risky and complications are likely. I don’t even want to know what that could be. I just pray I won’t have to find out.

He is in a tremendous amount of pain. He clutches his head even while he’s sleeping. He has what’s called a thundering headache. Just that term alone sounds awful.

After a stroke, it is common that patients sleep a lot due to the blood on the brain as well as the medications. It’s a blessing, actually. As long as I’ve known Mike, the man doesn’t sleep. This is the most sleep he’s gotten in probably months.

Every hour, the nurses have to come in and do what they call a neuro check. They ask him several questions that are vital to detect any worsening of his condition, namely, swelling of the brain.

“What is your name?”

“What is your date of birth?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“What year is it?”

It takes a while to wake him up and get him to answer the questions but he always is able to, thank God. He even makes small jokes and responds with “Bond, James Bond”, or “George Washington”.

It’s very comforting to hear him joke.

Today, his voice is significantly more garbled and soft when he speaks, just barely above a whisper at times. He consistently reports 10/10 for pain in his head. Head CTs will be done every morning until they feel he’s out of the woods with bleeding and swelling.

His brother, Steve, and his wife, Lauren, came to visit today. As luck would have it, they are in the area and checking on the house being built for them. We’ve all been excited that they are moving back in July from Maine. It will be nice to have more of Mike’s family close-by. We all spent Christmastime together up in Lake Placid and it was such a blessing.

It was a good visit. As only a big brother can do, Steve got Mike talking and smiling. They both enjoyed some brotherly jabs at the other’s expense. It never felt so good to laugh.

Speech pathology came and did an assessment on Mike and he passed with flying colors. No feeding tube is necessary. His swallowing, however, is another story. Thin liquids are making him choke. We can’t take a chance on him aspirating, so thickened liquids and foods only are allowed for now. Mike has been begging for water and it’s been heartbreaking not to be able to help him. So even though the thickened water looks gross, he’s happy to have it.

Right now, I am the point person for Mike’s family and friends. The nurses can’t answer the phone and take questions from multiple people so I’ve taken on that role. I plan on being here all day every day until he goes to rehab anyway. He is sleeping mostly when the doctors show up and if he is awake, it’s very likely he will not remember much, if anything, that they tell him. I take notes so that I can relay the information accurately to everyone.

Still, with all of his pain and all of these challenges, he’s insisting on getting out of bed to use the restroom. He does not want a bedpan. He’s not winning the argument, of course, but it’s nice to see him trying to make his case.

His pain is going to continue to be an issue, unfortunately. They can’t give him anything that will dull his neurological system. They need to keep assessing him for deficits and how the stroke is affecting him.

I spend the day swapping out cold cloths for his head, holding the straw to his mouth for him to take little sips as he wakes up, refreshing his water every couple hours and just rubbing his arm and hand so he knows I’m there.

The nurses have been wonderful but they are very busy and they can’t cater to his every need. It’s the one thing I can do to make me feel like, somehow, I’m helping him although I’ve never felt so helpless in all my life.

I pray for Mike, I pray over Mike. I read Bible verses and devotional messages of hope and God’s faithfulness.

And as I sit here and watch him sleep, I fight back the tears. I just want Mike back the way he was.

They kick me out by nine o’clock. It’s so hard to leave him here. But I’m exhausted. It’s a long trek back to my car. The hospital is now so quiet and parts of it are dark. I walk with a heavy heart and get frazzled trying to find my car.

In the parking garage, I start panicking because I’m so tired and just want to go home. It takes me a couple times going back to the bridge leading to the hospital and starting over before I finally find it. I get in, lock the doors and quietly sob.