Day 1

Saturday is often a Game Day in Athens, and Dad is known to many as one of the biggest UGA fans. I guess in a way, it was good that he was admitted to St. Mary's ... the official hospital of the University of Georgia Athletic Association.

The CT scan conducted around 5 a.m. showed signs of additional swelling, pushing on some of the open areas deep inside the brain. While not uncommon, we were hoping the swelling would be minimal. The other spots of blood that had been dotted about the brain scans had dissapated, which was good. But one mass had "coagulated" or concentrated itself in the left frontal lobe, the area opposite the impact. This (and any other signs of swelling or edema) would be what we were watching for. At this stage, the doctor suggested we just keep an eye out and reassess with the CT scan the following morning.

Dad continued to answer questions when asked, but never seemed quite awake. But he continued to show signs of "George" that we all know and love. He would yawn every now and then with the trademark yawn, which you'll have to hear sometime if you're not familiar with it. We had actually put his hearing aids back in his ears, and those frequently give out a squeal if they get in a tight spot, such as between the ear and a pillow. Dad would respond, even with his eyes closed, by raising up and tapping his ear with his finger and readjusting the hearing aid to stop the squealing. At one point, Mom said he even opened his eyes, took it out of his ear, looked at the pads on it, opened the battery compartment, then closed it back and put it back in his ear. All great signs of fine motor skills that were still intact.

At one point in time during one of his Q&A sessions with the nurse, she asked him, "Who is the president of the United States?" We were confident he would get this one! But he responded, "Jimmy." We looked at each other. "Jimmy who?" she asked. He paused a second, eyes still closed, and said, "Jimmy Escoe." We could only grin at each other ... Jimmy Escoe is Mom's brother. We concluded that when we called him with the news about Dad, that we would have to also let him know he had been promoted to president. But the nurse reassured us that getting the answers totally correct was not the big goal ... the fact that he could be aroused to answer questions was a good sign, and what they were looking for. They kept him on oxygen, a saline IV for fluids, and the blood pressure medication. They also gave him some Pepcid via IV to help control the acid in his empty stomach.

Dad was primarily groggy the majority of the day ... letting out a sigh or a "Mercy" every now and then. Sometimes he would roll to one side or the other, then finally settle on his back and fold his hands together on his chest, as if he was giving in to being uncomfortable. We would put his glasses on when he opened his eyes so he could see, and we encouraged the nurses to call him "Irvin" as a way to offer something familiar to him from his family and friends who called him that for a number of years.

The bed would inflate every now and then to encourage him to roll one way or the other. At one point, the entire side of the bed looked like one big bubble and he was all the way against the opposite rail, looking less than appreciative of the mattress encouragement to move. The nurse felt that he was moving around enough on his own to warrant taking the air mattress off the "rotation" function.

Here's a good spot to comment on Mom ... she's been a solid rock throughout the entire process. She listens intently to the doctor and nurses, taking action based on recommendations, always commenting that we need to do what's best for "Irv," and comes across as calm as can be ... finding all the positive steps and signs along the way. Skeeter and I are both in amazement at our Mom for her strength and faith, and we just follow her lead.