They brought Nicole to the ICU of the neurology wing of the MCU around lunch time. The ICU was a large part of the floor, made up of a number of sections, each dealt with various types of brain traumas. Nicole's room was a standard hospital ward room with four beds. Her bed was by the window which would prove to be fortunate. The day is a blur of activity and questions. I was questioned by four different neurologists. There were detailed interviews about Nicole's health, habits and character. Her family history was investigated in detail. I had to make calls to get some information. The neurologists were relentless. Nicole was constantly being tested by them. CT scan, MRI, spinal tap, so many tests. Slowly I began to digest the facts. Her stroke was severe. A blood clot had traveled, most likely from one of her legs into her brain. The blood clot burst veins and started to drown brain tissue. The death of the brain cells was not instantaneous. It would take a few days for the clot to complete it's destruction. There was nothing to do but watch it happen. "My brain exploded" is how Nicole herself would put it years later. This just was not one of those situations where drilling a hole would have helped. Believe me, I asked.
By supper time Nicole was gone. Not just mute but empty. She was not there. She no longer responded to the doctors questions. She was not hurting. She was serene, always smiling. The only encouraging thing was her refusal to let my hand go. She squeezed my hand as if her life depended on it. The doctors were not encouraging. There was a long way to go, many days, before we would know how she would do, but they were already getting me ready for the worst. Terror was starting to set in. The nurses seemed moved by my situation. I talked incessantly about her, I think. She lay there, beaming, oblivious. 10:00 PM. I thought it best to go home, let her sleep. I tried to leave but she would not let my hand go, she squeezed it so hard. A few minutes later three nurses with tears in their eyes pulled the curtains around her bed. They told me to get undressed and to get in the bed with Nicole. I did. I had tried to pry her fingers off. Tears started to come from her eyes. She sighed and fell asleep right away. I spent the next week with her there. Over the next eight days I went home twice to get clothes and make sure mom was alright. I stayed right there in the bed with her. my mind racing with a million questions, all of them overwhelming, all of them terrifying.
I remember getting out of her bed in the middle of the night, the hospital was so quiet. I went outside for a smoke. I walked the halls thinking. I return to her room and get back into bed. She wakes from time to time, always holding me tightly. She can't communicate at all with sound. She never stops smiling.
The chronology of the events blurs somewhat for the next week. Somewhere near the end of the week Nicole falls into a coma that lasts for three days. Before this I remember Dr. Lawrence and Dr. Minuk questioning me multiple times per day for the first few days. They want to determine why she had the stroke. They cannot figure it out. It should not have happened according to the available evidence. She is in the lowest risk group. What happened? It took me over a month to understand why this was a major sticking point for the neurologists. Eventually I realized that it was because experience told them that more strokes were in her future unless we could understand why it happened. It was vital that we understood.
On the second day the stroke trauma team was introduced to us, well, mostly me. I wish I could remember the names of everybody, they are magnificent people all. They told us that we were going to be there for a while, a few weeks at least. There might be improvement in Nicole's situation, perhaps significant given some time. Only time would tell. Nicole was like a baby. When she was awake she tried to make sounds, she looked around her. She clung to me, always, always smiling blissfully. She was using me as a tool already, I just did not know it, yet. Her eyes, darting about then looking at me, fingers pointing, eyes questioning. There were more tests, more meetings with the neurologists. More interviews with therapists. So many questions about her life and her family history.
Her family came to see her that day. Her mom, brother and three sisters. Nicole sat up in bed. She did not know them. She smiled the whole time, shrugged her shoulders with a puzzled look when she was told who each one was. She did not know who I was either. She knew I was hers to use as she saw fit, I think, and so she did, the best she could.
I briefed her family. One by one they went to the nurses desk looking for answers and explanations. When they left I spoke to the head nurse. That was the end of anyone other than me getting access to the medical team. I was there 24/7. Nobody was going to make any kind of decision without me. I was now, for all intents and purposes, Nicole herself. I would brief everyone, I would take counsel from everyone. In the end though, Nicole would make the decisions, through me. I still had not had that moment where I knew she might die, that was still a few days away. That would be when I knew just how much I needed her to stay. I had not yet had that moment of perfect clarity, but feeling her holding my hand, seeing her adoring, empty gaze at me, feeling her smile, I was hers.
Next instalment of a Nicole story
Nicole falls down the rabbit hole (coma)
I am thoroughly enjoying writing this. For 14 years I wanted to write about this. Nicole missed so much of this story. She has heard me tell it but now she will get to read it and keep it for posterity. She will know her story through my eyes as best as I can remember it, as best as I can tell it. Yes, Nicole can read. Slow as molasses, but she gets the job done. She gets everything done. This Nicole person be my very own, live in, personal hero.
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