A couple of months ago, we began the long process of Vernon’s naturalization. According the The UCIS website, “naturalization is the process by which U.S. citizenship is granted to a foreign citizen or national after he or she fulfills the requirements established by Congress in the Immigration and Nationality Act.” So basically…if all goes well, he’ll become an American citizen.
It may seem strange embarking on a citizenship path when he is so disabled, and we don’t even know if he will make it through the ten months it usually takes to get one’s application passed. But in a funny way, this is giving him a reason to keep going…whether he remembers it or not. We’ve talked about it enough that he seems to want this in the moments we can connect. Some of the things I’ve written down are: “I want to be an American so I can be with you, Alli. I don’t want anyone taking me away from you. I want to be an American because this country gives (jobs) and also because my daughter is American.” Ok, he may be confused as to the rights he already has or where we are in the scope of our relationship, but it is almost always tied up with a positive message. And so we’ve moved forward, even if its a complicated process and a complicated starting point.
Only once in our conversations, has he expressed a fear of losing his British citizenship, but the cool thing is that both countries allow duality (not that I expect him to ever return there.) Whenever I bring up the subject of naturalization, his responses are consistent. It is something he wants to do. It turns out also that one of my sister Cambria’s best friends is an immigration attorney in San Diego. She has been a great help in immediately responding to the tens of questions I’ve sent her. When Vernon and I decided to move to the US, it took a good ten months of processing paperwork and many visits to the consulate in London just to allow Maki and Vernon to move here, so I know how daunting the process can be. In fact, I had to go through a similar process for my Spouse Visa when we first married, and later, when I tested in for an Indefinite Leave to Remain. (If we had stayed longer, I might have opted for citizenship eventually.) Needless to say, immigration paperwork is something I have a history of working through. But every time, it is completely unique…with a different set of rules and hoops to jump through.
One thing that his struck me through the research process is that Vernon is absolutely eligible to be a US citizen despite his disability. The biggest obstacle, obviously, IS his disability. I was happy to learn that there is a medical waiver form for his doctor to sign, which allows him to forgo the written exam and swearing in ceremony. I believe that someone will be sent to him for his biometric interview once this application is reviewed, which will make things much easier for us.
I started filling out the forms about two months ago, but last Thursday (ironically the day of the EU Referendum) Vernon signed his signature on the finished packet. He knew what he was signing. This is something he wants to do.
Though I’d asked Vernon’s doctor several weeks ago to fill out Vernon’s medical waiver, he hasn’t got it back to me. So the other day, I called our beloved Dr Dan, whose number I still have tucked away for emergencies. Within two days, Dr. Kruse had it finished. They are still the best doctors we’ve ever had…even when they aren’t officially working for us, they still deliver! I picked that up today, so pending our attorney friend’s looking over all the paperwork I’ve scanned and emailed to her, we should be ready to send these forms off at last.
“As stated earlier, loss of executive function—loss of attentional control, working memory, cognitive flexibility, reasoning, problem solving and planning.”
Now, Vernon has to hold on for at least another ten months. It’s good to have a project and a plan…especially a big one!
On a semi-related note, here are old passports belonging to Vernon, Maki, and Justine. Relics from another time, if you look closely. As of last week, they will cease to become European Union citizens. But I still think of them as citizens of the world.
I can’t say enough good things about the Logie family who comes so often to play for Vernon. It’s been about a year since we met them, and they have truly ministered to Vernon and the rest of the family. I am blown away how those kids are with each other and others in the world. They all appreciate the value of serving others: the homeless, the elderly, the sick and disabled. They have been a family of angels to us, and I am so grateful and honored that they drive so far so often just to give Vernon some musical peace. We have known since even deep in his coma, that he resonates with live music, and today reminded me of this again.
When Justine and I arrived at Mesa Verde this afternoon, Vernon was sleeping. Perhaps I was too quick to wake him up and get him outside because he suddenly became terribly impatient waiting for a CNA to move him to his geri-chair. He can have strong mood swings and lash out in anger—as we know, it’s a typical symptom of TBI. But today, it was difficult to shake him out of it. I don’t know if his arm is bothering him or what causes these things. When I asked him, he told me he didn’t know, it just comes over him and then he can’t help it. It’s especially difficult when I have Justine with me and he starts yelling and swearing. But this is nothing new, its just that he couldn’t shake it today.
However…when the Logie family arrived and started playing music under the shade of the big umbrella, he was able to finally relax and enjoy. He wasn’t very talkative, he seemed especially tired, but he was no longer strung up in his anger and impatience. It was like two different personalities, instead of just sides of his personality. So, do I believe in the healing power of music? Absolutely…it’s proving itself yet again.
At one point, were joined by a couple of other ladies who requested Amazing Grace. The more, the merrier indeed! (I don’t have a video of my own, so this one is one from Susan’s phone.)
A few of the other locals who benefited from the music. For some reason, most of the mobile patients prefer to stay inside and play Bingo every Sunday when there is a free concert out on the patio. But there are always a few stragglers who get to enjoy it!
I came across this entry, posted two years ago yesterday. Vernon’s eyes were finally open after a month of coma, but it would be another couple of months before he could really get his eyes to track. He would come up and down from the surface, like a whale (I believe I wrote about that analogy as well.) I had no idea how far we would have to go still. Little steps forward, little steps back. Coming up for the view before submerging again.
Here is another entry, nearly two months later, that I felt must finally be the real thing. He was finally waking up! Or wait, was it two months later than that, when the lights came on.
I wrote all the above this morning, while collecting thoughts and dates, going through old blog posts to find specific information on Vernon’s residential history (more on that another time.) I’d been thinking about how when things are good, they seem great, like real breakthroughs. But when things shift backward, it’s harder to remember how to be hopeful that day. The past week, Vernon has been slumping, in my opinion…both with those people who watch him and check in with their observations and my own experience with him. He’s been okay lately: not highly agitated, but also not very communicative, not as present as he has been in the past month.
There have been whole sessions of dialysis where he doesn’t want to chat at all. Even with me, he has opted to listen to music on headphones and quietly chill out for much of the session. He’s rediscovered Beach House, a band that he initially turned me on to years ago. Who can resist relaxing to that dream-pop goodness? The nurses report him sleeping more than usual…this makes me nervous, of course, just because its not the norm I want.
So I didn’t expect much today. But he was great, maybe better than I’d seen him yet. There are layers of recovery…you don’t get the best of everything all at once. You do get good parts though—and if there were a graph, it would have shown him leaping forward today. The graph in my mind lit up when he spoke of missing his father, whom he has been speaking of more and more. His eyes were clear and his communication was connected. A nurse asked him about his arm and he said it was an old wound from when he’d broken it years ago and that they would be fixing it soon. He couldn’t remember where he had first broken it, but the recent information was correct.
At his request, I read him one of his old letters to me. He lit up, and when I suggested that his younger self was reaching out by letter to his current, older self, he understood.
“What do you think of this younger you, Vernon?” I asked.
“I feel like that person. I felt like him then and I feel like him now. I really, really like him. I would like to walk up to him, shake his hand, hug him. (After a pause…) He needed someone to hug him and that person would have been me. That would have meant so much to him.”
Well, who needs a therapist, right? Isn’t this the whole point? To speak love into your younger self? Superpowers are being witnessed.
Vernon also managed a Skype phone-call with his sister, Vanessa. There wasn’t a lot of time, but this was good day to nab his attention. I overheard a little on how they would each vote on the British Referendum tomorrow. He retained enough (that either we had discussed together or he had heard on the TV news in his room) to claim the opposing view to hers. He would prefer that England would stay in Europe, as he had mostly always known things to be. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but I imagine she was relieved to hear that politically, he remains true to his Labor-leaning heart. Shades of the old Vernon are still prevalent. He still votes with his heart, even if he’s not in his home country anymore. I find that endearing. (That said, he is not able to officially cast a vote.)
(Note to future Allison: If in a year from now, you do an update post of the high points, I hope you include this post. This was a good day.)
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
― Søren Kierkegaard
The first official week of summer has come to an end…and I’m exhausted. I think I took about three or four naps this week, slipping them in when I could. Thank you to all those kid-sitters who bailed us out in a busy week on the Vernon front. I found by the middle of the week, I didn’t even know what day it was…there is something to be said for the daily routine of the school day and after-school activities. I realize how much the kids are my anchor to the calendar.
And yet, after just a week, I’m starting to get into the flow. I’ll call my tiredness the jet-lag of summer. I’m sure I’ll experience it again on the other end. We’re already enjoying the luxury of waking up earlier, not having to leave the house till after nine, longer snuggles in the morning, coffee in the suddenly-bright backyard. Outside of swimming lessons, Justine has been in someone’s pool every other day. And whenever possible, we have gone down to the beach in the evenings for a walk. We hunt for sea glass—which we find every time. I love the honing in, the quest, the finding those bright spots of green in the zillion grains of sand. Beauty is like that. It can be a challenge to find it sometimes: but suddenly, its the only thing you see. The key is to keep looking.
But often we find other things…tuna crabs washed up in a crooked tide-line of red and pink (some still moving, at Justine’s shock/delight), blue valella (little wind-sailing non-stinging jellyfish), tiny sand crab skeletons…the sea is always offering new gifts from below the surface. For me, just to feel the wet sand in my toes and absorb those negative ions is a revelation at the end of the long day. No matter how annoyed I was at life throughout the day, I can feel the weight lifting. Both of us are better people by the time we come home. These tools for happiness are at our disposal and we love to use them. The gratitude comes in waves, refreshing us again.
“To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour.” — William Blake
Today was the day…I met Vernon and his wonderful EMT team, who rolled him via gurney to the Newport Orthopedic Institute in Irvine. The waiting room was busy, filled with patients, but the young woman at the desk was more helpful than any receptionist I’ve met on this journey yet. She told me not to worry about his being late, but that he could immediately go wait in a room down the hall. I make a point of saying this because it can be terribly awkward at these consultations, having to wait with Vernon with everyone else, especially if its a very long wait—or as has happened before, he’s turned away. We had a private place to wait and chat and were attended to pretty quickly after his arrival.
This was the first time I’d seen the x-rays from last week. I knew a plate had broken in his arm, but I couldn’t understand how it had happened or even where it was, exactly. Here’s a phone photo I took of the screen. That’s not just a broken plate—that’s a broken BONE.
So even after his initial surgery in May 2014, Vernon’s arm never completely healed. The ulna healed but not the radius (if I’ve got my anatomy in order.) It’s been fractured for two years, held together by tiny metal brace, which recently broke, apparently from simple wear and tear. The surgeon, Dr. Leiber, told me that the brace is really just like a paper clip holding it together, its not meant to do it for long. Twist it a couple times and it holds up, but you can only do that so many times before it snaps. I can hardly believe after all this time, we find that bone never healed.
Dr. Leiber told us the options. Surgery would be somewhat risky, due to Vernon’s need for dialysis and the shunt in his upper arm. For the bone to have a chance to heal, a bone graft would be required. He said it would probably be taken from the pelvis, and that the pain from that would likely be worse than from the arm surgery. I asked what the other option was, and he said, “you can leave it as is.” Really? I can’t imagine that leaving it like this for long wouldn’t make things worse.
My immediate response was to say yes to the surgery. Is there really another option? Vernon’s been showing such cognitive improvement lately (he’s remembering my name every day now and has for a few weeks straight) so I asked him what he thought. This was the first time that we’ve been dealing with doctors and surgeons that he could speak for himself. This was indeed the silver lining today.
“I’ll have the surgery, I’d like my arm fixed.”
“Even if it hurts, Vernon?” I asked.
“What’s a little more pain?” he answered.
I told the doctor it was worth the risk because after all, Vernon’s right arm is withered and of very little use, and he’s a painter.
“This is my painting arm,” he said, waving it at the doctor.
He’s booked for surgery on July 7. There are a lot of pre-ops to be considered, including his history of MRSA. I’d like it to be much earlier, but I’ve done everything in my power, so I’ll choose to trust that the timing is right.
I saw this on the way out…what a marker for our path.
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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