There was a year full of shock and horror, a hope-against-hope that this might all just have been a bad dream, a slow realisation that this was not a piece of news but our reality, Pádraig’s fight for survival. The next year was about becoming stable physically, no more big scares, starting to breath through the mouth and not through a tube, beginning to eat, to drink, to smell, to taste, to make sounds again. The third year is about starting to live a life, about starting to communicate much better, about starting to make decisions again.
We will mark the end of the third year with a cycle from Boston to Brewster via Hyannis. We will be in Brewster at the spot of the accident at 10am.
After that, there could be a chance that our lives will slowly move from feeling extra-ordinary to ordinary with some everyday routine. Only that this will never happen. I know this sounds crazy and like a stupid dream. But once we know that Pádraig can fly, or I find a boat that could get us there, I will start planning this trip to Alaska in earnest.
Yesterday, Pádraig had been really unsettled. It was a reminder of how vulnerable he still is. So we did not go out this afternoon. But a really good friend passed by nonetheless and we had a really lovely honest to God afternoon in the house, with Pádraig pedalling several kilometres on the viva el MOTOMed.
There was a article in today’s Irish Times about a man from Navan who could be discharged to the NRH, but cannot because of the enormous waiting times there. Meanwhile, people are desperately waiting for his hospital bed. Made me think of Pádraig occupying one of these priceless beds in the NRH for almost four month – to be assessed for a home care package.