People write about these large events. I do not know if I
wrote anything, so consumed I was with the event itself. And its very long aftermath. So I write from
memory, and some things I have surely not remembered.
For instance, I don't remember what time of day it was
when I went over to St Al's, following the ambulance as best I could, because I
didn't know where the place was. It was
no longer early morning, and I am only assuming I took Alyce with me that first
day. That first day . . . the first of many I would spend in the waiting room
of the Critical Care Unit, waiting, yes, hoping I would be let in to see Wayne.
There would be many other days, and for those I called upon a friend who had
sung in the Women's Ensemble I directed for several years and who had moved
to Boise, LaRae Hemenway. What a gift she gave me.
She had a life, you know, and we were not close friends, but she was a good friend. She kept Alyce while I was at the hospital. I would go to
her house every few hours to feed my baby girl, then hurry back to St Al's. I
probably asked how my baby behaved for LaRae. Pretty sure I always got a
glowing report. Members of my ward, Caldwell 2nd, took Richard as the
days went on, so that Grandma and Grandpa Schiess could also come to the
hospital. People in the Ward also took meals to my family at home, hauled my
children to the places they had to be, and just took care of things back in
Caldwell so I could be in Boise every day. If I could remember exactly how many
days, I would say so, but I know it was more than a few.
That's because Wayne was not awake. Still
unconscious, in a coma, I believe they call it, although I never thought the
word would apply to my husband. He lay in that hospital bed--and not
peacefully. He thrashed and twisted and tried to pull out the tubes and IV lines
attached to him. They tied him down, strapped him in, however you want to say it, to keep him from tearing
those lines out and from pulling his gown up or off. Unconscious or not, he did
not respond well to being tied down.
But until he woke up, he had to stay in that bed,
restrained and hurt.
It was a serious head injury, the doctors told me, and
they could not promise me anything about Wayne's future. I suppose it was possible that Wayne not come out of that coma, but thought he would. (I was young, remember, and I could not bear to think otherwise.) In the meantime, I went in when they let me looked at
him. I probably spoke to him, which took courage. Try to imagine my fear. He wasn't quite like my husband.
I learned that he was not hurt in any other part of his
body. That's good, I thought, now if he can just wake up, everything will be
fine. I hoped. I prayed. I assumed. It had to be that way.
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