7/7/2012- The walk to Scott's room was unsettling to say the least. It was so quiet and dark in the TICU. It felt like no one was around. I felt like my flip flops were making too much noise. It wasn't the usual hubbub of a hospital.  The 'guard' that sat at the front desk jumped down my throat and informed me that I needed to sanitize my hands before I went any further. I think it was a man but he had more makeup on than I had ever dreamed of wearing.  'She' then pointed out the sign to me that anyone who enters must sanitize every time, in and out. I got her message loud and clear. However, her approach to introducing someone new to the rules was a little overboard. I appreciated her seriousness in her job, but she needed to back off the caffeine and the makeup.

I am like my mother in the sense that I can handle any wound, scrap, broken bone, cut or bruise but I need to be eased into the situation. You can't just rip the bandage off and show me your wound. I need to look at it from a distance and unveil it at my own pace. I appreciated that about Cooper's trauma unit. I had the opportunity to ease my way into Scott's room. The front of his room was one big sliding glass door. I could hear the respirator and the monitors bleeping. I cautiously approached his door. I had no idea what to expect. I could see him laying there, starting with his legs (which were covered) and as I approached the opening, I could see his torso, then his arms, then his face. He was on life support with a tube down his throat. He was immensely swollen, his entire body. His neck and face were huge. Almost unrecognizable. His skin was a color that I had never seen in real life before. Kind of yellow, kind of gray.

I told myself before going into his room that I needed to stay calm. I knew I needed to stop crying and let him know that I was there for him. I truly believe that the unconscious can hear you and that my being upset would make him upset and I didn't want him to worry about anything but his own recovery. I knew that he would be worried about me and the kids and I wanted him to just rest and get better so I could bring him home.

I stood next to him for several minutes, assessing the situation. There were so many cords, iv lines, bandages, blankets, tubes and monitors that wouldn't stop beeping. They had him restrained to the bed with padded hand cuffs. What the hell is going on? I really couldn't make sense of any of it. How, more importantly, why is this happening to us?  Dr. Seamon was at the foot of his bed informing me again of Scott's situation, I was standing on Scott's left rubbing his arm. The doctor was telling me that he had a thirty percent chance of survival. It all depended on how he responded through the first night and the next day. He told me that he had lost so much blood at the scene and during surgery they couldn't replace the blood fast enough. He had lost blood faster than they could put in back in. His blood pressure was the surgeons biggest concern. At it's highest, it was 50/34. Near death.

Scott opened is eyes, looked at me and tried to talk to me. I couldn't believe that he was conscience, let alone trying to communicate with me. Dr. Seamon was astounded too. Not too many people suffer from that kind of trauma and are awake and alert hours later. With the sweetest almost childish demeanor, Scott wanted water. That's all he was asking for was water. I looked at the doctor, he shook his head no and tried to convince Scott  that water was out of the question while on life support.  It was so weird that he was trying to talk to us, he should not have been awake. But I knew then that his will to live and get better was stronger than anything on this planet.

I had a gut feeling that he was going to be okay. It didn't matter what the doctors were telling me. I knew that this was not how this was going to end. Not now and surely not here. We had so many plans, so many things to see and do, so many places to go. We had spent hours and hours talking about how we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. This was not how our lives were going to end up. In a few moments, a million things ran through my mind. I was standing there with my life flashing before me. No control over any of it. I was helpless, hopeless and also had, quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.

During the conversation with Dr.Seamon, Scott tried to interject as much as he could, mostly begging for water and wanting the tube out of his mouth. We were discussing Scott's injuries, when Scott tapped my arm and wanted my exclusive attention. It was kind of like playing charades but he had limited mobility in his arms due to the restraints. He tried to speak and ask questions but we couldn't understand what he wanted. He finally got so frustrated with trying to tell me what his question was. I couldn't understand what he was saying with the tube down his throat. He took his left hand and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and took the forefinger of his right hand and went in and out of the circle made by the left hand. I literally laughed out loud. Dr. Seamon, embarrassed as well, said "Yes, you still will be able to have sex." I was mortified. In this situation that we were in, I couldn't believe that Scott's most pressing issue was whether or not he could still have sex.

With a smile on his face, he closed his eyes and I was asked to leave the room and let him rest.