James was detached from the ventilator last night.  I arrived to find him without his beard, his hair cleaned and combed back, and looking quite dapper with new faux fleece lined bootie-shoes.  The nurses agreed he looks much younger now. He is coughing up the congestion in his throat which is important to do on his own but requires assistance from the nurses to suction the phlegm.  It is a bit gruesome but I have been in the NICU long enough that I have acquired a bit of gallows humor.  His new trachea tube is a bit like a geyser or blow hole of a whale. If James coughs a bit, it flows through the space like old faithful.  I apologize for the graphic image there but I am so relieved that he is off the ventilator and coughing that I congratulate him for his efforts.

James's brothers and Robert share this somewhat dark humor with me and I am glad for it--no need to go into the details of our riffing here!

James was assessed today by the rehabilitation team of doctors. They have decided to recommend him for rehabilitation once he has stabilized enough that he no longer needs assistance from the nurses to suction his phlegm.  I will have to work with the social worker and my insurance carrier to find the appropriate rehabilitation facility for his condition.  It made me feel hopeful that he has been recommended for the more rigorous rehab which involves three hours of work a day, five days a week.  I do not want to get ahead of the cart though because he is not quite there yet. They are still monitoring him and he is scheduled for another MRI to check the abscess site of his brain.

I had a visit from a Catholic priest today. Now that James has lost his beard and also, a lot of weight in the past three weeks, he's looking rather grave, if you did not know the details of his condition. The priest was making the rounds and from the distance of the hallway, made the assumption that James may need a blessing.  Again, with my inappropriate humor, I thought to myself that James did look rather Christ-like, stretched out on his bed in white sheets, just days before Easter. The priest asked me, in the most polite of terms, if James needed a blessing for well, checking out, and if he was Catholic.  I had to tell the man that although James was baptized and raised Catholic, he does not practice or keep the faith now. I do not think the priest really believed me--I have encountered many a skeptical priest about James's lack of religion despite being raised Catholic.

I told the priest that although we do not practice religion or have faith in that specifically Christian way, we do have many friends and loved ones that are praying for James and we welcome prayer whole heartedly.  I told him that although James is very ill, he is making a slow recovery.  The priest said to me, "His recovery is a blessing from God." My response was, "Well, it feels more like a kick in the ass." There was a bit of silence from the priest and we both listened to the music that I had playing for James in the room. He turned to me and asked, "Is that Bob Dylan?" and I said, "Oh, yes, James loves music."  Then, the priest asked me, "May I say a blessing for him?" and I said, "Please do!" It was Bob that brought us back together. I do think the priest's blessing was helpful because James is hardwired for sound, the sound of prayer and the particular way in which the priest's voice rose and fell, the gestures he made over him--it was beneficial and loving.

Yesterday, as I was getting ready to leave, I saw a patient from the other side of the intensive care unit which I think is related to heart patients, walk down the hall, pulling up his jeans over his hospital gown. There were a trail of nurses behind him. He was grumbling to himself saying, "I am done with this. I need to get the hell out of here." He appeared to have had enough. I could completely sympathize and part of me wanted to cheer on his attempt at escape. I do believe the nurses were able to get him back to his room.

James has a yellow wrist band that has some sort of words in dark upper case letters regarding caution that Robert immediately pointed out and laughed over, I want to say it reads "flight risk."  I do not think that's right but it feels right.  God is sort of kicking his ass at the moment and he's had enough of it.

One day at a time. I arrived home to an odd garbled message on the voicemail from the hospital. It made me panic and I called the nurses' station (directly outside his room) and they told me James is fine. I asked if they knew anything about the doctor's call and they had no idea. The message made it seem as if the doctors thought they had hung up the phone but it was still on and capturing the typing of computer keys and discussion of James's case. It was utterly frustrating. You may be happy to know that a mobile phone is in the works of being procured for me to use during this time period.

I am taking Imogen to see James tomorrow.  She has visited the hospital previously but has not seen him yet. I am hoping she breathes a bit of her fairy life into his recovery and that James will be in responsive mode and see her.  Imogen's fellow student, Auden Hamill, and her inspiring musical theater/science teacher, Andrea Kubis, created a way to record Imogen singing her song, in character as Shere Khan the tiger, from the Jungle Book at today's after school practice. I plan on playing it for James and would like to thank Auden and Andrea for their gift and direct contribution to James's recovery by capturing Imogen's voice, true angels here on earth!

Peace out on this foggy New York City evening!