A Blur

The next several days are a blur. Todd, Dad, Ann and I rotate time in the ICU. It's hard to leave Mom there every time. Not knowing if she was aware that we were there, or if she knew where she was and what had happened. She was unresponsive, and they had her on an "ice blanket" because her temperature was so high, she has tubes everywhere, for air, for food, for blood pressure and even oxygen. The staff is amazing.  They appear to be just as concerned for Mom as we are, and they allow us to be with her at all hours of the day and night. They allow and even encourage us to bring in cards and flowers and pictures for her, in case she opens her eyes, that way she'd se things that were bright and happy as well as familiar hopefully.
We all sit with baited breath, hoping and praying for a miracle. Hoping that each time she stirs that she is pulling through. That she may pull through this mess and come out on the sunny side. We all try to split up the family to make sure that everyone is aware of what is going on, and to be certain that we are taking care of ourselves, each other, Grandma (my Mom's Mom) and helping my dad with concerns around the house and such. But right now, there is no guarantee that anything will go the way we hope for it to; Mom is unstable and unconscious most of the time. In the meantime, we're praying for the silver lining to suddenly appear.