Guest blogger Patty Horan
By Patty Horan
Patty Horan serves on the Military Officers Association of America (MOAA) Currently Serving Spouse Advisory Council. This four-part series about her family’s journey following her husband’s serious injury in Iraq, originally appeared on the MOAA Spouse Blog, “Making it in the MilLife.” Horan has been married to her husband, Capt. Pat Horan, for 11 years. Three years ago he was shot in the head while serving in Iraq. Patty is his full time caregiver, and also serves on a caregiver focus group and contributed to the creation of the Department of Defense TBI caregiver manual.This is her story. Read Part I of Patty’s journey – The Call
There were five of us in the car including my father-in-law. The conversation started with small talk and slowly transformed into a hospital briefing. I really cannot remember anything that was said. I was completely sleep deprived and so nervous and sick to my stomach all I could focus on was what I was about to see.
The car finally stopped on base at the Navy Lodge. The entourage checked me in and helped with my bags. I was exhausted, I wanted to sleep but my father-in-law insisted we go see Pat. Well, I couldn’t deny him that. He’d been waiting anxiously for days. So, off we went. I remember the hospital doors swinging open, a semi-circle of flags and a little coffee shop on the right. The Army Family Liaison, Jeannie, approached as we entered the building. She welcomed us to NNMC and assured us that she and the entire hospital staff would do everything in their power to care for and support my husband and his family.
It was worse than I thought
We said our farewells to the escorts and proceeded deeper into the hospital with Jeannie.
She brought us up to the 3rd Floor ICU. The minute the elevator doors opened, a harsh antiseptic odor overwhelmed us. It permeated the entire floor. At the doors to the ICU we were introduced to one of Pat’s neurosurgeons whom, Pat’s family later nicked named Dr. Doomsday. He’d been called down to update us on Pat’s condition. I can assure you, I was in no shape to hear the words that were about to be uttered.
Pat’s injury was much more catastrophic than I had ever imagined. The doctor explained because of where the bullet entered the skull/brain, the left temple, he would most likely suffer from the following: Total weakness on the right side of his body with little possibility of walking again, severe language impairment with a strong possibility he might never speak again and profound memory loss to the point he might not recognize either of us.
The doctor impressed upon us that Pat was not out of the woods; a seizure, bleed, stroke or serious infection could cost him his life. I was totally baffled by all of this. I cannot believe how little I knew about the human brain. I just couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t be able to walk when there were no physical injuries to his body. In many ways denial had already set-in and I just couldn’t accept what the doctor was telling us.
Bed after bed of wounded men
Moments later we were buzzed into the ICU. There were two sides and Pat was in the very last bay on the left, which was “the dirty side” of the unit. We were asked to don yellow gowns, gloves and a mask for our protection.
Many injured service members pick up dangerous bacteria such as MRSA, Meningitis and Acinetobacter in Iraq. When Pat arrived they tested him for everything imaginable. He remained in the back of the ICU for a good week until he, thankfully, was cleared.
Walking through the unit was chilling. Bed after bed was filled with young men in grave condition. It was dark, cold and all I could hear were high-pitched beeps and hissing ventilators assisting many to breathe.
I was looking at a stranger
At Pat’s bay we found a nurse stationed at the foot of his bed. My father-in-law and I froze about five feet from the bedside.
Pat’s head was wrapped in gauze. His left eye was severely bruised and swollen shut. He had two large tubes coming out of his mouth. He was hooked up to every machine imaginable and he lay there unresponsive.
My heart sank, it was Pat, this was really happening. Neither of us said a word. I hadn’t seen my husband in nine months; in many ways I felt very disconnected from him. He’d been gone so long I almost felt as if I was looking at a stranger.
After a few minutes went by, Pat’s dad, visibly overwhelmed, abruptly turned to me and said, “Let’s go.” We walked in silence until we reached his wife at the front of the hospital.
They dropped me off at the Navy Lodge so I could rest up from my travels. Rest up? I couldn’t rest; my head was spinning and within minutes I was hysterical. I dialed Pat’s brother, Chris, in Atlanta. Between gasps and sobs all I could say was, “Chris I can’t do this alone. Where is everyone?”
Chris said, “Patty, I will be there tonight, don’t worry we can do this together.”
And so the road to recovery began.
Making it in the MilLife The Military Officers Association of America. Copyright © 2011 All Rights Reserved.
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