“Well?”

That was the only word the physiatrist said after entering Matt’s room for the first time. The doctor stood at the foot of his bed, arms across his chest, and silently rolled his eyes in disbelief. His mannerisms conveyed the unspoken, “What were you thinking?” and emanated his professional assessment that there was no hope for recovery. Little else was said: no greeting, no words of introduction, no questions, no attempt to understand, no reassurances.

Like a mamma bear, I bristled and wanted to lash out to defend my cub. But in this strange place, invaded by foreigners and the unknown, I was simply too vulnerable, insecure, and unable to make a stand. So, the doctor’s judgment hung in the air between us. That was it: no balm, no hope, no plans for heroic rehab, no nothing. And then he left without a second thought. My heart fought to find perch and not spiral out of control.  Meanwhile, Matt, tired from the long ambulance ride and the process of being admitted, slept contently, unaware of the doctor’s pessimistic outlook.

His rest was short-lived. No time was allocated to recuperate or acclimate to his new environment. His room was busy the remainder of the afternoon as a steady stream of nurses, OT, PT, Speech, and the Care Manager all vied to screen him for services. It was easy to see that Matt was distraught by all the activity and stimulation, but that didn’t stop the parade of people. Regulations dictated the day’s events. But alas, the evening brought quiet, and I was alone with Matt.

Matt had been placed on the Pulmonary wing to be weaned off the ventilator. It was a culture shock. He went from a private, spacious room in the St. Luke’s ICU to a cramped, too-small, double occupancy room with too much equipment and furniture everywhere. It disoriented me. It wasn't easy to even wiggle my way next to his bed. The left side was congested with the nightstand and ventilator. The chair on the other side of the bed was partially covered by the curtain that divided the room, and I felt like an intruder in his roommate’s personal space.