Sunday afternoon, Henry had series of seizures and was airlifted to a hospital in Miami. It seems unreal to me. Here I am, not yet completely unpacked from my trip to visit him, and he's out of it, in a sterile hospital room in Mt. Sinai Medical Center.
Reg explained it all to me over the phone. Henry had a tempestuous phone call with his younger brother. The details aren't clear, but apparently Albert made Henry feel like a bad son, a bad brother, because Henry has made no plans to come home to Puerto Rico and see their ailing mother. Albert knows Henry can't fly because he's at risk for seizures; Reg believes Albert was just being cruel. The stress seems to have triggered the seizure series.
The doctors have led Reg to believe that these seizures will not cause Henry to lose any ground in his recovery, that they aren't unexpected in traumatic brain injury cases.
One step up, two steps back.
My poor, darling Henry.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
Oh--this is so sad! Sending much love to Henry & Reg!
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