Preparing for the leap

James and I went on an intense mountain bike ride in Colorado with James's brother Chris over twenty years ago.  We were driving across country with everything we owned packed in our truck moving to New York City and made a stop in Winter Park, a small mountain resort town, to visit Chris who was taking advantage of the high elevation to train as a cyclist.  Chris was also raising rescued wolf pups with his friend, Paul at the time. We envied their boys-in-the-wild way of living--taking off for hikes into the lush landscape to fly fish with their restless, fuzzy wolves trotting at their sides.  It was other worldly. 

James did not want to be undone by his brother on the bike ride so the two of them rushed off ahead of me through the forest.  Brotherly competition left me breathless to catch-up. I was feeling the effects of the elevation and the trees were a blur as I strained to follow them on the narrow dirt path through the forest.  Suddenly, there was an empty stream bed directly in front of us that Chris navigated across without slowing down, easily flying over the surface of the loose gravel.  James was next, immediately on his tail, gripping hard on his handlebars so as not to slide out in the ravine.  Then, it was me.

It was too late for me to stop and I did not have the skill set to even know how to overcome the challenge.  I could see Chris and James, paused on their bikes on the other side of the creek bed, looking back to see the inevitable wreckage of my attempt to cross it.  There was a split second when I thought to myself, perhaps, I should not attempt to do this--knowing that there was no way to steer clear of it.  I may have even closed my eyes.  I just let go and the next thing I knew, I was on the other side of the bed--no crashing.

James is feeling a little like that right now, approaching a large challenge at a rush and not having the skills or knowledge to overcome it but having to take the plunge, regardless. I think he will make it to the other side too.

He went on a walk outside today in Central Park with his occupational therapist, Jack. James has grown attached to all the therapists at Mt. Sinai but especially, to Jack who is the only man on the team.  James has a special affection for him and told me today that he wants Jack to be his therapist at home. Jack pushed James in his chair to the park, helped James to stand leaving his chair parked by a bench, and walked with him under the gorgeous May sunshine.

James also wants Nehal and Olivia, his physical therapists, to come home with him.  I told him that if all the therapists came to Brooklyn to work with him, there would be no one left at Mt. Sinai to help the other patients.  James pointed out that it is an easy commute by subway and they would incorporate it into their day.

I had to explain to James that an entirely new set of therapists will be hired for the transition to home and that he will come to know them just as intimately as he has the Mt. Sinai team.  James is already feeling wistful.  James is in a state I recognize, only, slightly more emotionally enhanced.  I have labelled it the "Sheehan long goodbye."  Any of our friends will recognize it. James always wants to be the last person to leave at a party. He likes to stand in the doorway, drawing out the final leave-taking, until the moment that Imogen and I have to pull at his sleeves.

I received approval from the Mt. Sinai dietician and doctors to change James's liquid food.  I have wanted to take him off of what I think of as the Nestle Quik Crap from the first day at rehab but I made the decision to wait until he was stabilized since maintaining the right balance of nutrients was essential.  I did not want to muddy the clinical picture with another factor to weigh in the recovery process.  My dear friend Elisa sent me a link, very early on about Liquid Hope--an organic liquid nutrition that is made from actual vegetables and good enough to eat! I am ordering some tonight and James will start as soon as I receive it.

I was hoping that James would be eating when he returned home but at the very least, if he has to transition with a feeding tube, I want him to have the very best possible experience that I am able to give him.  We still have time for him to develop a stronger swallow.  His speech therapist was working with him today.

James is preparing for the leap without knowing that he is setting the groundwork. He is like me on the bike, taking a deep breath and flying forward.