The latest on my brother

It's been a few days since I last checked in about my brother. There have been a lot of changes since this last post, so I'll try to relay it all chronologically. Here's my last e-mail update (and there's other news since this, which I'll get to later):

Friends and family,

Some of you may have heard this already; others may not. It is hard to say over and over, so I'm glad that I can write it down and communicate it this way.

On Tuesday -- a week to the day after the accident -- the doctors at Washington Hospital Center asked us to have a family meeting. We all gathered in the waiting room to hear what they had to say and to be able to ask questions.

Basically, we were given bad news and worse news.

The bad news is that Rashad has very serious lung issues. It appears that he may have aspirated stomach contents at the time of the crash, which essentially burned his lungs. On top of that, he is fighting his second pneumonia in a week. The ICU team believes that they can cure this lung problem, but it is very, very serious and will take time. Because of it, Rashad is not breathing on his own. He is tethered to a respirator for his very life.

The worst news came from the neurosurgery team. Because of Rashad's lung problems, doctors have not been able to do the CT scans they had hoped to do. So, medically, they have no new updates on his condition. But, professionally, they told us, based on experience and what they can see from Rashad's progress to date, they do not believe he will ever regain consciousness.

Of course we know that God will have the ultimate say. But that does not take the sting out of such a prognosis.

As of the hour I'm typing this, Rashad has been off of all paralyzing and sedation medications for close to two days. The neurosurgery team believes that if he was going to wake up, he would have done so by now. And until he wakes, there is really nothing more they can do.

They did not leave us with the impression, however, that we need to make a decision about his care right now. Dad suggested we wait to see what happens after the ICU team has a chance to heal Rashad's lungs. Perhaps simply the act of breathing on his own will help. We don't know for sure. But it's worth a shot.

The last two days have been the hardest in my family's existence. Since the accident, we have been waiting for Rashad to be medication-free, believing that he would awaken and begin the long road toward recovery, once he was no longer being artificially paralyzed and sedated. Now that the meds are stopped, and Rashad still has not moved, blinked, coughed or even breathed on his own, we don't know what to think.

Are the meds just not quite fully out of his system?
What WAS it that happened on Sunday morning? If he tried to open an eye and turn his head before, why is he so still now?
Does he just need more time? How much time?
Will he come back to us?

None of us has the answer to any of these questions. Only God does. But not one of us is ready to say that we are done fighting. Rashad is not brain dead, the doctors assured us. And his heart is still beating the strong and steady rhythm of a 24-year-old man. So he is still with us. And so we are trying to talk to him like he is still with us.

Kadija cracks jokes. Tahira holds his hand and rubs his skin. Haleem talks to him about whatever brothers talk about, in a booming voice meant to mimic normalcy. Mom reads him passages from the Bible and the letters and cards people have sent (Thank you soooo much to all of you who have done so!!)
Dad, who is up early every single morning to catch the doctors on their rounds, sits in a chair near Rashad's bed, talks to him about any and everything, and then dozes off in the chair, head lolled forward, snoring.
I told Rashad to hurry up and get out of that bed and get a haircut. :-)
It's bizarre to me that his hair is growing.
In fact, the wounds on his eyes and face and legs are healing amazingly well. I can't tell you how incongruous it is to watch my brother heal outwardly and think that he might not be healing in the brain.
So we simply choose to believe that he is.

It is Day 9 and Rashad is still with us. And God may very well bring him back to us. We continue to have faith in His power to make miracles happen. And we continue to wait.

Thank you for listening, and for caring...
_________________________________________________________

That was March 30.

On Friday, Apr. 1, there was a whirlwind of activity!!

My brother Haleem walked in his room, called his name, and Rashad opened his eye.
Later, when my Mom and sister were in his room, holding his hand, my sister mentioned Rashad's daughter and, in response, he squeezed her hand!

Did you hear that, people? He squeezed her hand!!

And when she asked Rashad if he wanted her to go get Haleem (who had left the room at this point), he squeezed her hand even harder!

By now, word had spread throughout the family waiting room that Rashad was responding. So a crowd gathered around his bed, cheering and crying as he moved first his left foot (slightly) on command, and then his left foot (even more slightly) on command!

The nurses eventually re-sedated Rashad because his blood pressure was shooting through the roof, and he was frightened and anxious (we think), and trying way too hard to breathe, so he was competing with his ventilator.

Since then, Rashad has shown little signs of progress. That was two days ago.

Talk about emotional highs and lows.

We're waiting to talk to the doctors to find out what, if anything, that episode means. We believe that he is in there, trying mightily to fight his way to consciousness. But we just don't know.

Since Friday, he's been completely still. His eye occasionally opens, but it never focuses, and often lolls around in his head, which makes me incredibly anxious and sad. The doctors and nurses seem to be making progress with the myriad other things that are in need of repair or attention on and in his body, and we're grateful for that, so grateful. But the biggest thing -- his brain -- is still a total mystery.

So, as usual, we have nothing to do but wait and pray.

What's really weird is that we still have to go on with our lives, somehow. My Dad goes back to work tomorrow; my brother went back to West Virginia to handle some things at his job. The nieces and nephews have to go to school, so they need to have clean uniforms and lunches packed. We have to grocery-shop and clean the bathrooms. I totally overlooked the fact that, at some point, Lester got a haircut.

Speaking of Lester, he has been so awesomely wonderful about being a solo parent these last two weeks as I have been at the hospital round the clock. But I know the babies have been knocked off center by the complete obliteration of the schedule and any semblance of familiarity. And I miss doing the nighttime routine, and playing with them. I just miss them. Period.

So I think tomorrow I will actually not go to the hospital, and instead stay home with the boys.

It will be hard to skip visiting him, but Rashad is so in love with his daughter (who told us this weekend, "My Daddy's car got smushed.") that I think -- no, I know -- he will understand.