One week

Hard to believe today marks the seventh day since my Dad suffered his stroke. This room has become a sanctuary and a prison all at once. A place where we have celebrated small victories and sobbed over setbacks. Nevertheless, my Dad continues to fight for his life. His handlebar mustache and head of "brown" hair was shaved last night, making him appear more sterile and fragile somehow. I have been sitting here for a very long time wondering if I have ever seen him with a freshly shaven face. I'm thinking no. As many of you know, that handlebar was his trademark. That being said, I am actually relieved to see it go as it was becoming overgrown and out of place with his tubes, tape and ventilator. He wouldn't have stood for that anyway.

He is on less sedation than he was yesterday. Still on Propofol and Ativan yet unlike yesterday, I have seen no signs of tremors. I stare at his right shoulder constantly waiting for the familiar shiver, but nothing yet. Overall, he is stable. The pressures in his brain remain below 20 (although he is still dependent on the drain) and all of his vitals look promising. It's strange really, this man is healthy as a horse. Except he can't or won't wake up. Brain injury is cruel. It's one question after another, and just like days 1-6 we continue to pray for a miracle. Join us.