Wednesday, May 1, 2013


I am writing with a box of kleenex by my side. It has become my constant companion. The tears just flow and I have no control. This is the truth to a larger extent. There is very little left. What kind of life is this? How do you live in an ICU for months? We should not have to wait this long in these circumstances. We are told that this was never the intention. James is one of the first patient on ECMO for this length of time to be awake, alert, and oriented (and not to mention, able to participate in physiotherapy). I cannot even begin to imagine his rehabilitation at this point. We could be here for many more months. It doesn't only feel endless. It is endless.

That all being said, James and I must find a way to remain focused on the positive. There is always hope on many different levels. We can hope for a successful transplant. We can hope for comfort and calm. We can hope for genuine care, compassion, and empathy. We can hope for autonomy and voice. We can hope for laughter. We can hope for love.

Love can also be endless. I believe it is.


  1. I have been following James's journey, since Jessica Carver posted a link, and I know words at times really may not be of much comfort, but you and James are constantly in my thoughts and prayers. Take care!