Each tear is an unspoken word ::Update#22::

I have no picture right now. I am in a hurry to get to the hospital. I have a choice to not post this, but to be frank, I am too afraid not to. I understand that there is something going on in this blog realm that I don't quite understand or deserve. I am somebody and nobody at the same time.

Mark has not looked good to us for a couple of days, pale and weak, but no nurse or doctor has said anything and even we whisper our feelings, afraid that saying anything too loud would not be a good thing, negative vibes...oh, I don't know.

This morning Marks blood came back with bad numbers. As I am writing this, he is receiving 2 pints of blood. He has some kind of internal bleeding again. He will have a CT scan today, but the doctors are hoping themselves that it will show an unnecessary need for a 4th surgery. Setting him back to square one.

I feel like apologizing for any bad news. I feel like this burden that you all have been so graciously carrying is heavy and that praying the same thing over and over may feel redundant, but I also feel an obligation to be truthful and raw.

In the beginning, I made a promise to you that I would be raw, honest and tell you as much as I can. And you have read me and heard my mothers heart in pain and agony. So in truth, today I am scared. I am disappointed and scared for Mark, for myself, because I feel weak and tired. I am not physically strong and I know this is going to be a long haul. I want him home, I want to just touch him and hold him and sing to him. I want to soothe the fear that I know he is feeling.

So, I cannot tell you how your prayers, meditations and hope has meant all the difference to my sanity, and something else I want to say that hasn't yet been said by me in this blog....

I don't care what your religion is...I don't care how you talk to your Maker, I don't even care if you believe in God or not....none of that matters to me. i just need YOU. I need you doing whatever it is that you do when a crisis befalls your life. I just need YOU, you don't have to tell me what your spiritual beliefs are...none of that matters to me. I feel love for you as you are, as you have felt love for my family as we are. I have a phrase for that.........

deep unconditional love

I am leaving now to stand (in faith...and faith is blind) by my son. I will smile into his thin face and look into his glazed eyes and smile. I will say that I love him and that everything is going to be okay....and the only reason that I can say those words that I'm not sure are true, is because when I get home, I can spend the hours that I have away from him reading your hope and strength that you believe because you are there and I am here....and for some reason, that is how it is supposed to be........you are loved by me.

Update #22 ~ I walked into his room and he is sleeping. It is not a restful sleep, it is filled with twitching, mumbling and jolts that cause him to open his eyes in pain from the sudden muscle spasm. He presses the button that controls his morphine and I smile at him as I wash my hands saying, "Hello, my love." That is my signature greeting that I give to the people of my heart, my children being the ones who have probably heard it the most. From the time they opened their sleepy eyes, coming home from school and later evening events. Now I have said it again, looking at this child of mine who's voice is weak and coarse from the tube that has been down his throat for weeks. I push the chair as close to him as possible, put a clean towel over the side bed rail and lean over it to stare at him in the eyes. I am smiling, but he sees the red rings around my eyes from all the crying I have done this morning. He says nothing, he just frowns and turns his head. I reach out and make him face me saying, "Mothers cry sometimes, but it is nothing to worry about, besides, I cried when you lost your first tooth, remember?" He closed his eyes again and squeezed my hand. No more talking...I wanted to touch him. Screw the gloves this time, I needed to feel his skin and he needed to feel mine. Immediately, I ran cold cloths over his fevered brow. I wiped the sweat from his upper lip, I gently ran the cloth over his eyes and hummed. I rubbed his arms, hands and scratched his head, all the things little Marky remembers moma would do when he was sick. Chap stick, ice chips and stories of his sisters new job, her messages of love to him and he said...good.

"The Game" they call it. The flow meter that is given to all patients to prevent pneumonia. The nurse interrupted our quiet atmosphere asking for another round of blowing and holding. His weak, shaky hand reached out and he trembled his way through it. I felt the heat behind my eyes and I blinked them away and said, "Good job honey!" he looked at me like, "Give me a break mom, this isn't a contest." I shrugged and winked. Again the eyes would close and in seconds the twitching would start all over.

A nurse from the ICCU quietly walked in and I recognized her. She was there to check on him. I was so touched that this time I could not stop the tears. She reached out to hug me and I gulped a sob. With a shaky voice she said, "He's a fighter, we are still talking about him in ccu. You need to remember that he crawled all that way for help, despite all of his injuries, this is a piece of cake." I shook my head yes and grabbed a Kleenex. She took a quick peek at the beeps and blips, nodded an okay and said, "Gotta run."

Fear is an interesting thing. One small person exhibiting one kind action makes all the difference in the world. Peace, she left me with peace and the knowledge that the ccu is still talking about Mark, that they are randomly checking on him in their spare moments. They all got to be his nurse for at least one shift while he was there, they all knew his "story" he can be charming, but not in here with morphine running through him, so he made an impression on them...or did he? Is yet another realm of persons being drawn to him?

When Mark cries out in delirium, there is a definite repeating subject matter. He keeps speaking of 'the children' One time the babies were crying and he made me go look to make sure they were okay. There are no babies anywhere near him, or children...it is not allowed. Another time they were singing to him and they left and he wanted them to come back. He asked his dad to turn on the lights, it was too dark for them and they needed to see. They have come and had 'show and tell' he has seen them with balloons, this intrigues me.

His blood pressure is low, this is expected with the blood loss, and there is no decision on another surgery yet. Another wait and see answer from the doctor. When it was time for me to go, I asked for a moment alone with him. I leaned in real close, kissed his forehead and said, "I'm so sorry honey" that broke the damn and he began to cry. "I am so miserable mom, I hate it here, I'm in so much pain and my body isn't healing" I put my hands on both sides of his face and said, "Look at me...YOU are doing great! We are here, we are a team, and together we will get through this." I wiped his tears and my own and I made him see the determination in my eyes. I wouldn't let go until his eyes told mine that he understood. I stood tall and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, maybe I can wash your hair (that was for you Denise ;)"

As soon as I leave his room, I never feel like talking...I let the serenity linger as long as it can. But as soon as I reach the car, that fake sense of privacy that your car gives you...I cry...I cry...I cry. I am not crying because I am loosing hope, I cry because I am his mother, and his pains are mine, his weakness is mine, his tears are mine, but his anger is not...that will be a road traveled later on, with a bible in my hand and my own words of experience as my guide.

A beautiful tribute was posted here ~ Thank you all ~thank you all