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Again, we refused and transferred him to a rehab. I asked him 2 weeks ago for one thing for my birthday Unfortunately, unless he exhibits a blink reflex, none of the doctors at his rehab will believe or admit that he is improving, and are still pushing for hospice. I refuse to give up but am getting frustrated, as he will soon be discharged from this facility because they don't admit his improvements and call him terminal, and this location is the ONLY one that has trach care needed for his problems with lots of respiratory secretions within 3 hours of home.

I cannot drive due to vision issues, and losing 6 hours of my time that should be spent with him isn't acceptable, but I don't know what else to do! Sorry, I meant to post a positive message about how doctors don't know everything yet, not complain. Just know that if you love the person who has been injured, and give them all the support that you can, they can come back farther than others might believe. Thank you for your comment and best wishes for your dad and that you are able to find appropriate care for him within a reasonable distance.

I have a friend who is young, only she suffered a heart attack last June and has severe anorexic damage, as much as I've been able to glean, as her family has been very secretive about the whole thing. When I visit, which is difficult, since I don't have a car and it's hard for me to get there before visiting hours end, she seems very much alive to me. Only yellow. I KNOW she's alive in there and her mother is super wealthy and as far as I can tell, has not so much sought a second opinion, fMRIs, nueropsych support, massage therapy, physical therapy etc. They just leave it up to Medicaid.

I don't know for sure, but bnb I don't believe they consistently interact with her to stimulate her mind and let her brain rewire those connections if possible. It's killing me to watch this go on, I want to scream! I really appreciate your comment about the impact loved ones can have on the prognosis of patients with persistent VS.

I truly believe that being there, massaging shoulders or calves, reminiscing out loud, retelling old stories, playing familiar music, and asking them to respond to you does a world of good. Don't give up on them if you see signs of life. My friend's eyes are usually open although they don't track or focus on objects or faces.

But I think if her family that visits almost every day would work with her and request that she look at things or blink in response to questions she would have come a lot further in her recovery. I am Health Care Proxy for my friend. He had 12 hours of surgery, He is mostly in a vegitative state for 16 days. What are his chances? Do people come out of those long term specialty hospitals? I am ignorant of this whole thing. He was supposed to be in the hospital 7 to 10 days, and he is still in ICU 16 days later?

He had surgery to relieve the pressure from the bleeding a few hours after the fall. The ICU doc said if death was 10 his injury is a 9. He was in ICU for 2 months with no significant improvement and a poor prognosis. They moved him to a sub acute trachea care center, he is in a MCS he has been in the facility for a month.

They are trying to wean him from the ventilator. He has started to show some improvmemt like more time spent with eyes open and seemingly tracking but not really following commands yet.

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When this initially happened the docs after about 2 weeks were trying to get us to let him go, we refused.. They want to move him to a nursing home but we rather he come home since the quality of care will likely be poor.. I will update this post next month. I m in same situation like you. Can you please let me know how your dad is recovering.

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Hoping for the best for you. My father who is 77yr old going through same situation now. I can completely relate to your situation and would like to know any latest developments. How is your father now? Has he recovered? The cancer did not spread to other organs but the entire pancreas had to be removed and was deemed a successful surgery.

They gradually stopped the anesthesia drugs and took the ventilator off to attempt to get her to breath on her own. It took about seconds according to the nurses to notice she stopped breathing. They intubated her and placed her back on the ventilator. Prior to removing the ventilator, she was responsive and coming in and out of consciousness.. The following day she declined and fell into a deeper state of unconsciousness. We are awaiting additional tests to find out the extent of the brain damage and causes. I will continue to update. Thanks to all that have shared their difficult stories.

Hi everyone, My Aunt had an asthma attack followed which she had an cardiac arrest we reached hospital in 4mins and to revive the hearth it took them 5 to 6mins, doctors tell she has an hypoxic brain injury due to cardiac arrest, we are hoping she will recovery from it but she is still in deep coma she has little bit of senses and eyeball movement she doesn't open eyes. I would like to know the view of the survivor of hypoxic brain injury or there families to reply or email me so that i would guide my family and relatives not to pull the ventilator support from my Aunt.

Please email : meershahif gmail. I'm praying for your family please pray for mine my sister has been in this state for 3weeks because the amniotic fluid after birth poisoned her body may God be with us. My healthy vibrant 82 year old mother fell three weeks ago this Saturday.

She slammed her head on the floor - it sounded like a weight hit the hardwood floor. I ran to her side and she was wincing in pain for approx 25 seconds then suddenly she had a massive stroke right before my eyes and died. Needless to say, I am devastated and I can't help replaying the happening and looking for clues as to why she fell. I can only imagine that hitting her head so hard caused a brain bleed which then caused the stroke.

I would really appreciate an understanding of what may have happened to her. Mom took a low dose med. She took no other Rx meds, just vitamins. Her GP recently told her she had A-Fib but did not provide her any information, did not prescribe any RX to minimize stroke possibilities, or send her to a cardiologist for care. What could possibly have caused her to fall? I know knowing doesn't change that she is gone and I know I should be grateful that at least she isn't lingering in the hospital with brain damage but I feel learning what happened would help me cope with the loss of her.

I am not sleeping thinking about the happening constantly. What happened????? I can't make sense of it. Can any of you help? Unfortunately, intermittent dizziness upon standing is common among all age groups at certain levels of fitness or the lack thereof. Coupled with a medication that lowers the blood pressure, it is likely that she momentarily lost her balance from sudden dizziness, as you noted.

Life Goes By In The Blink Of An Eye

What you witnessed after was unlikely to have been experienced consciously in any capacity, as the likelihood of a woman her age retaining full consciousness after such a blow to the back of the head is very slim. The brainstem is where breathing and other vital functions are maintained, so it's likely she was knocked unconscious and her body, for lack of a better word, simply turned itself off due to the trauma.

Painless, though it may not have looked as such. She has found peace now, and I hope that you are able to find peace in the future. Loss of such magnitude is impossible to erase, but the grief will lessen. Be well. Hello, My husband had a ischemic stroke right side. Reading this article has helped me to understand the process he is going. He now can open his eyes and follow you around the room by looking at you but no facial expression.

I just hope he be able to pass the minimal consciousness stage which I think is were he is at right now. I really hope he remember our children. Thank you for the article. Does anyone have a experience with this type of injury? This is an update for this post. My husband was 40 days in coma. While in coma his lungs collapse, had pneumonia, kidney and liver failure.

I decide to took him out of life support in day I decided to lessen medical advice, his prognosis wasn't favorable. I said my goodbye to my husband and told him that it was on him to continue or let go, wherever he decide. His body fight back and recover slowly. Unfortunately I was obligated to place my husband into a SNF skilled nurse facility 3 days later my husband told me that he did not feel safe.

Having a loved one at home after a brain injury is very stressful. Fortunately I was told to claim my husband benefits at the VA. It was the best advice I had during this tragedy. The physical and occupational therapy he received helped my husband to gain confidence, to walk again. Two years after my husband stroke he is able to walk with a cane, go up and down the stairs, he have difficulty with balance. My husband left arm is paralyzed, his vision is ok sometimes he needs to be reminded to scan to the left, his speech is different it have a monotone voice.

He have hard time connecting emotionally, also he can not multitask anymore. He is now receiving SSD. I'm grateful to have him with us. He had share his memories and experiences while in coma. Thank you for reading our experience and wish everyone that is going through the same situation good luck. My wife is in the ICU right now and I believe she is in the vegetative state.

It has been less than a week. She was weened from sedation, approximately 48 hours later she had very small of eye movement and some response that our doctors and nurses describe as reflexes but has only begun to open her eyes. She holds eyes wider and seems to be progressing rapidly. My advice for you is to pray for healing. Speak and think only in positive outlook. Do not use terms like "I hope" or "need" or "can't" only speak as if you already have or the situation you want already is.

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You don't any more need because you already have and can't. Cause can't never could. You can do what you believe you can do. And read the article again so you can absorb the info and comply as much as possible. My brother-in-law is going through the same at the moment.. But i am looking for answers.. My BIL had brain haemorrhage two weeks ago and he was sedated all this time or call it induced coma.

He has been weaned from the sedation but as yet hasn't opened his eyes. I haven't asked too many questions with his wife who is already so disturbed but is there a time limit within which time they are supposed to open their eyes after weaning or do we know exactly when they are supposed to be doing this or do we wait forever for him to open his eyes. I am wondering what would be the quality of life he would be having after all what he has been through after all it was his brain but the rest of the organs are in perfect condition.

Just very worried and concerned for him and his family. Thank you. So glad for you. My prayers are with you and your family. We are having a similar situation. My mom who is 67 had brain injury due to hypoxia and is in Coma for the last 24 days. She is having very small eye movement and some response, but doctors are saying those are reflexes.

The doctors are saying there is no possibility of a meaningful recovery. At her age, it is impossible. Would you mind sharing your wife's age and what you can say about my mom's condition from your experience what you went through. Thank you for posting this valuable resource. I found myself in a minimally conscious state following a massive cerebellar stroke.

I was aware of the comforting presence of my wife and children. I found this in my search to understand what was going on with my mind. There was one thing that brought me back. For my entire life I have been compelled to arrange things; in my childhood, my Dad brought me hardware to arrange and containers and drawers to put it in. That is how it started In rehab I had received many cards, some signed by whole groups of people, and I asked a visitor to arrange the cards on a shelf in my private room.

They did that, but the cards were not arranged right. It was my compulsion to arrange those get well cards correctly that returned me to the present. BTW, I'm stumbling around without assistance following my stroke. I can do everything I did before, but some things are very hard.

I'm looking forward to a long life. I'm My mother is 62 and has been on medication that makes her fatigued and dizzy. My father came home three days ago and found her laying in the hallway, covered in blood, asking for my grandfather to help her who has long been deceased.

They have taken her St. Vincents here in Birmingham, AL. It appears she had hit her head, probably due to a fall, causing bleeding in the back of her brain and head. The bleeding has stopped, but she is in a vegetative state. She moans, randomly smiles, and moves without purpose but can not follow commands.

She does not react to sounds, but does open her eyes here and there, although she does not follow movement or lights. This is the third day, but there has been no improvement. The two neurologists assisting us told us that they are simply waiting for her body to naturally absorb the blood, that surgery would be too risky for her age and that it is unnecessary. They said that she should regain consciousness in the next week or so.

I'll leave important updates as they come. It's heartbreaking to see a loved one like this, but this article has helped us understand what stage she is in and how her recovery process will look like, thank you so much for this resource, God bless. Besides, the nature of the crime is of no moral concern to me; I am interested only in winning the legal game.

When I was at one law firm, I was assigned to work for a senior associate named Jane. I was based in one of the firm's satellite offices, so I saw her once every few weeks. In law firms, you are supposed to treat your senior associate as if she is the ultimate authority, and Jane took this hierarchy seriously. You could tell that she never enjoyed such power in any other social sphere. Her pale skin mottled with age, poor diet, and middling hygiene was evidence of a lifetime spent outside the social elite.

She wanted to wear her power well, but she was clumsy with it—heavy-handed in certain circumstances and a pushover in others. She was an entertaining blend of power and self-doubt. I was not her best associate, and Jane believed that I was undeserving of all that I had accomplished.

She put much effort into dressing appropriately, while I wore flip-flops and T-shirts at every semi-reasonable opportunity. While she billed as many hours as humanly possible, I exploited the nonexistent vacation policy by taking three-day weekends and weeks-long holidays. One day we got into the elevator together. There were two tall, handsome men already inside. They both worked at the venture capital firm in the building. You could tell that they received multimillion dollar bonuses and likely arrived in one of the Maseratis regularly parked downstairs.

The men were discussing the symphony that they had attended the night before—I also had attended it, though I didn't normally go to the symphony. I casually asked them about it. They lit up. Perhaps you can settle a disagreement; my friend thinks that it was Rachmaninoff's second piano concerto that was performed last night, but I think it was his third. The men thanked me and left the elevator, leaving Jane and me to travel to her office in enough silence for her to contemplate the dimensions of my intellectual and social superiority. She was jittery by the time we got to her office where we were supposed to talk about our work project.

Instead, we talked about her life choices from the age of 18, her worries and insecurities about her job and her body, her attraction to women despite her being engaged to a man. After that, I knew that whenever she saw me, her heart would flutter; she would worry about the secret vulnerabilities she had exposed to me, and she would wonder what it would be like to undress me or to slap me across the face.

I know that for a long time I haunted her dreams. Power is its own reward, but with this particular dynamic established, I leveraged a brief cancer scare and outpatient procedure into a three-week paid vacation—another form of reward. I like to imagine that I have "ruined people" or seduced someone to the point of being irreparably mine. I dated Cass for a while, but I ultimately lost interest. He, though, did not lose interest. So I tried to find other uses for him. One night he and I went to a party where we met Lucy. She was striking, particularly in her similarity to me, which made me want to ruin her.

I did the calculations—Lucy is smitten with Cass, Cass is smitten with me, I had unexpected power over Lucy. At my direction, Cass began pursuing Lucy. I found out everything I could about Lucy from her well-meaning friends: Lucy and I were born hours apart on the same day; we had the same predilections, the same pet peeves, and the same style of distracted, quasi-formal communication. In my mind she was my alter ego.

For as long as Lucy dated Cass, I kept him as my sidepiece: I would induce him to make and then break dates with her in favor of being with me. He knew I was using him to mess with her. When he started to feel pangs of conscience, I broke it off with him. I waited until he focused all his attention on Lucy, waited until she got her hopes up, then I called him again.

I told him we were meant for each other and I was just testing him. Lucy made things worse for herself—she had no sense of keeping personal things private, particularly from people like me who could use the information against her. Meanwhile, her friends sometimes thought I was her. Things could not have gone more perfectly.

The thing that kept it interesting was my genuine fondness for Lucy. I almost wanted to be a true friend. Just thinking about this makes me salivate. But when she became a dessert too rich, I began to avoid her. I made Cass break it off with her for good. What did I actually do to Lucy? She grabbed a boy and kissed him. She liked this boy.

She saw him a couple of times a week, sometimes with his creepy friend—me. After a while, it didn't work out.

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The end. I didn't ruin anything about her. She's married now and has a good job. The worst thing I did was propagate a romance that she believed was sincere, one that I staged as best as I could to break her heart. I know my heart is blacker and colder than most people's; maybe that's why it's tempting to break theirs. Mormons believe that everyone has the potential to be godlike—I believe this includes me. Every being is capable of salvation; my actions are what matters, not my ruthless thoughts, not my nefarious motivations. Everyone is a sinner, and I never felt that I was outside this norm.

When I attended Brigham Young—where students were even more trusting than the average Mormon—there were myriad opportunities for scamming. I stole from the lost and found, saying I lost a book, but then I would take the "found" book to the bookstore and sell it. Or, I'd take an unlocked bike that sat in the same place for days. Finders, keepers. I love my family and friends. Yet I am not motivated or constrained by the same things that most good people are. I don't mean to give the impression that you shouldn't worry about sociopaths. Just because I'm high-functioning and nonviolent doesn't mean there aren't a lot of stupid, uninhibited, or dangerous sociopaths out there.

I myself try to escape people like that; after all, it's not like all sociopaths give each other hall passes to avoid harassment. Despite having imagined it many times, I've never slit anyone's throat. I wonder, though, had I been raised in a more abusive home, whether I would have blood on my hands. People who commit heinous crimes—sociopath or empath—are not more damaged than everyone else, but they seem to have less to lose. It's easy to imagine a year-old version of myself being handcuffed in an orange jumpsuit. If I had no one to love or nothing to achieve, perhaps.

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Would she make me forever miserable? Would the decision to kill my daughter haunt me forever? Would the birth of this baby mark the end of happiness for my lovely little Luca? And one day when we die, would he then be burdened with caring for Nadia? I could have clung to this last thought to make it simple. But, cruelly, my mind took another twist: if our first child had been very sick, given the chance to have a healthy second child, I would have had one in a heartbeat.

Fuck you, logic. In normal circumstances we joke about how he tries to micromanage me, yet in the coming days he would support me completely to make the decisions for us, putting me in a place of both power and vulnerability. I knew without asking that he thought we should not have this baby. His preparedness to support my decision, whatever it would be, showed me how deeply I am loved. But the enormity of that decision! I asked if we could go home to think about this.

They told us we had until the morning; she had very little time left. T hat night we sat on the couch, clinging to each other. At some point we started leafing through the medical folder. But there was something new here. I was a bit confused. I had asked whether we could simply do nothing, let nature run its course, and the doctors told us that this was not an option. It looked like we had to take aggressive measures once we knew, by pure chance, that her heart was failing.

I assumed there were some legal barriers to withholding action. Now it appeared we could simply let her die in peace. People reacted to the news in a myriad of ways. Some hoped she would make it despite the prognosis. They hoped the diagnosis was a mistake. They suggested doctors around the world that we could consult. They told us of other couples who went on to have healthy children afterwards. The problem was, hope was the last thing we needed. We needed to brace ourselves for what was coming, and we needed our friends and family to accept that reality.

Frankly, I took most comfort from people who just swore liberally — that summed up my opinion of our situation perfectly. As for Luca, we sat him down on the couch between us and told him that the doctor had informed us that Nadia was very, very sick, and that she was going to die. He asked if he was going to die. I drew so much sanity and comfort from his presence. I hated not knowing whether she would move again whenever she calmed down. Or I would panic that it must have been hours since the last kick.

Oblivious to her prognosis, she continued to kick up a storm every few hours. I t was an appointment with a couple of palliative care paediatricians that changed everything. I realised only later that they must have known, probably better than us, what was going on. They were asking to get a sense of us, of what information we might be able to take in. I choked up in tears. I knew exactly what I would like: I would like her to survive until the day I went into labour. I would like her to survive the delivery. I would like to meet her. And I would like to hold her as she died.

But what could my wishes possibly matter? And if she makes it through the delivery, she might not be able to breathe, so they would wait before cutting the umbilical cord, to give us a few minutes with her. The other paediatrician told us that parents experience this short time with their terminally ill infants as meaningful and important — and that my wish was common. That was good to hear, because I was dreading watching Nadia die as much as I wanted to be there for her.

I liked the precision of those statements as well. The two of them wanted to hear how we were handling Luca. They asked us about our beliefs. They gently probed to see how we would feel about a post-mortem. They took us through a number of themes while letting us do most of the talking. This signalled their stable, anchoring presence, but also their willingness to hold back and let it be about our decisions, our needs. They would echo our words back to us before responding, sometimes rephrasing our confused questions first. This allowed us to see that they understood us, and it allowed them to steer the conversation.

We could all come to Helen House in Oxford, a charity for parents and children in our situation, where we would be cared for both medically and emotionally, during her short life and just after her death. In the space of a couple of hours, they transformed what we were going through from something purely dreadful to something potentially meaningful.


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I could hear the rush of blood in my ears. Her name is It! The Baby! Say it. The name. Her name. He understands. About her name. Up to that point, her role in my life was ambiguous, and she could have taken on one of two identities. In one scenario, she could be a baby we never had, just like the ones we lost in the first trimester. We could wait for her to die, I could deliver her, and we could ask never to see her. In the alternative scenario she could be a person, a person whom we might not have the chance to meet properly, but a someone nevertheless.

Whether she would become one thing or the other depended on the story we would adopt about her life. By asking for her name, the decision about her story was tipped to one side, and if I said it I would be committing to a far more painful loss — but a far more meaningful one. I tried to say her name again, but it got stuck in my throat. And he did. Her name is Nadia. I n one of those scenarios where the universe conspires against us, the delivery turned out to be difficult. Was everything all right with her little shoulders?

I could still feel her kicking. There was a flash of sharp pain. I felt my body jerk before it hit me, and it seemed as if the snip of the closing scissors reached my ears much later. Just as these disjointed sensations were about to assemble into a unified percept, I heard a scream before realising that it came from me. Then two pairs of hands pressed down on my belly.

They handed her to me. She was dead. Nadia was dead. Her face was too dark and her eyes were closed and I saw it immediately. I thought I caught a flicker of relief around the bed: nobody would have to tell me. She was warm. And she felt nice. And she was big! The transition from a foetus to a newborn is usually the transition from something huge, taking up all the space in the belly, to something tiny once it escapes into the outside world.

But she was fully formed and her head was nice and round, and her weight felt pleasant on my body. In the days building up to this moment, I was often there, trapped inside my body with all the torment, but sometimes without meaning to I would simultaneously exit to be an outside observer, detached and impassive. But when Nadia was placed in my arms, the rest of the world faded away and I was there with every fibre of my being.

Fully present, and eerily calm. My baby.

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Events were still unfolding around me, with time strangely dilated while the universe consisting of myself and Nadia was brought into sharp relief. In all likelihood, that doctor is right most of the time. I still had no idea what death would look like. But I had some time to get to know her warm little body before that. They gave me a towel to wrap her and I used it to remove from her some of the sticky mess that comes with being born.

Then I kissed her on the temple, the way I kiss Luca every day. I ran my hand down her back, feeling her spine. I looked at her sharp, long nails, held each of her tiny hands. I touched her shoulders they were all right , her elbows and knees.