Day 15, morning Other than to report that, as

Day 15, morning

 Other than to report that, as of 6:00 am this morning Kathy spent another manageable night, and that I anxiously await today’s TCP readings, I have asked my loving and loveable niece Anna if she would care to write a post. Here is her beautiful, tender, and humbling reply:

Dearest Kathy Blog fans, this is Anna, Kathy’s niece, writing a guest post.  Do not fear!  Kathy is doing well.  Uncle Dick (Richard to most of you, and the brother of my late father, Fred) asked me to write my thoughts following a lovely visit in Santa Barbara this weekend.  I was surprised, but willing to do anything that might bring Dick a smile, an ounce of peace, or a moment of respite. I also thought that this would be a chance to provide information that I know so many of you are craving.  An update not just of our beautiful, powerful, angelic Kathy, but also the man who cares for her endlessly, whom so many of you are worried about.

 Many of you, like me, wait each morning to get the notification that Dick has posted another beautiful update to the blog.  We blog devotees drop whatever we are doing to read his powerful words, and we feel warmer and closer to both Kathy and Dick each day.  We may cry or cringe, but always feel the dazzling power of their love.  It is Dick’s unbelievable writing that intimidates me now, but I will do my best to provide you a different perspective about the bubble that exists in Santa Barbara, protecting our dear Kathy.

 I first visited Kathy last Sunday.  It was 7 days after her stroke, and I travelled to Santa Barbara with no other purpose than to give Dick a hug.  What I received was an incredibly powerful sense of peace.  A little background is needed.  Dick and Kathy for me have always been providers of celebration and escape.  When I was little, getting to visit Dick, Kathy, and “the twins” was a treat. Kathy was always fabulous—pointing out delightful things in nature, or offering her amazing baked goods.  A visit to their home was always a little bit magical.  Once Dick & Kathy moved to the Central Coast, soon followed by my grandparents, visits usually meant larger family weekends—always with great food, laughs, and fun.  Then while I was at UCSB, Kathy and Dick would allow me to escape to their house for term paper writing marathons, and finals cramming sessions.  My work always improved under their care.  Again, magical.  In recent years visits have included my children, who think Dick and Kathy are beyond fabulous.   They are so warm and loving with the kids, no one seems to want the visits to end.  My kids also feel the magic.

 I write all of this to help you understand my mixed emotions when I visited last week.  Dick and Kathy represent security, love, support, and warmth.  Yet one lay in an ICU bed with the other standing vigil.  The world seemed so topsy turvy.  And then I walked into SICU Room 18, and I was at peace.  Through the dozens of tubes, 8 monitors (at least) and the subtle hum of what seem like millions of machines, Kathy was still able to exude peace.  Always a little bit magical.

 After receiving good news from the doctor last week, Dick visibly relaxed a great deal during the course of our visit, and his smile and laughter seemed genuine. This week (Sunday morning), I arrived with my kids to learn that Kathy had had a bad night.  The nurses would not allow Dick to visit her that morning, and he was obviously shaken.   His positive nature was being pushed to its limit.  Luckily there were many friends there to distract him—especially after Kathy was wheeled into a very important surgery.  One of the worst parts of Kathy’s ordeal seems to be the waiting.  Waiting with Dick, and having a glimpse into the strain he deals with every day, is difficult to bear.  I am worried that the waiting is taking its toll.  However, the reward for his patience was the news that the surgery went extraordinarily well.  The collective sense of relief and joy was palpable—especially from Dick.

 A little more about Dick. It is obvious when you are with him that Kathy is ever-present in his thoughts.  Sometimes he is distracted, and clearly feels the need to see her.  He walks the two (lovely and peaceful) blocks for a visit, and returns much more at ease.  Don’t worry, he eats regularly, and it is always healthy, but he tells me that he is not sleeping well.  Obviously, his sleep is much better when there is good news about Kathy.  Everything is about her—at every moment.  And that seems to be a good thing for now.

 Back to Kathy… As Dick always posts, there is nothing “usual” in the SICU.  For that reason, families rely on every cue from the medical team—intentional or not—to understand a patient’s status.  Today we had two wonderful, unintentional messages.  First, during breakfast in the cafeteria (yes, it really is very nice), Dick slipped away for a visit.  He returned after just a few minutes.  Last night had been difficult for Kathy, but when he approached the room there were 5 people attending to her.  They all turned to look at him…and SMILED!  Kathy was doing well, and her medical team was happy.  Joy!

 The second “message” was during lunch (yes, back at the cafeteria, which my kids love as much as Dick).  I snuck upstairs for my own visit with Kathy.  I was struck by the change in her appearance.  Last week she appeared to be peacefully sleeping.  This week she looked like a tired warrior at the end of a battle, but one that is on her way to victory.  There is no doubt that Kathy’s beautiful body and mind are fighting hard, hand-in-hand with a medical team that is more vigilant than any I have ever seen. When I arrived today, the primary nurse attending to Kathy went to lunch.  She left the room, and the relieving nurse did not come into the room for several minutes.  Having been in SICU last week, I realized this was monumental.  The nurses were always, ALWAYS, by Kathy’s side, or leaning in the doorway reading her monitors.  They do not step away, not even for a moment.  Until today.  Hooray!  Another unintentional sign that Kathy the Warrior is moving closer to victory.  Our girl is working her magic.  I feel it.  I know it.  She is winning the battle, and will soon win the war.

 Come on, Kathy!