Written on October 15, 2023

This second entry is not a continuation of my first. I will detail the rest of my memories from those vital 24 hours following Jenny’s accident at a future time because:

Today, October 15, was not a good day, I had to do some things I did not want to do and I learned some information that I wish I knew much earlier.

Right now all I want to do is be beside Jenny at the hospital. I want to be there for absolutely anything. I want to be there to help her, I want to to be there to keep talking to her, I want to be there if she’s itchy somewhere so I can scratch it for her. Right now she can’t even scratch anything due to her “cozy mitts”‘ – a device to stop the patients from removing things such as IV or feeding tubes. Most importantly though I want to be there to witness to any progress she makes. But today at 5:00am I received a phone call that essentially resulted in me having to go in to work for 7:30am. I am not scheduled to work and they are fully aware of my situation, so this really was an absolute last case scenario but I was obligated to do so because of my position. And because of that, I was not able to be with Jenny this morning or afternoon – I was only able to be beside her just before 7:00pm. And when I arrived, she was already moved from the Step Down ward into the normal ward.

When I entered her new room, Andrea was already there waiting for me. I was told that she was very “active” today but she had just fallen asleep. I was told that she was able to mumble “Salamat” at some point during the day which is “Thank you” in Tagalog. I was told she agreed to wanting to wear socks because her feet were cold. I was told that she is beginning to try and answer back, but it takes time. I was told many things, but I was not there to witness anything. As Andrea left, all I could do was look at her sleeping. I missed so many important moments today, all because of one phone call at 5:00am.

Eventually, 1.5 hours later around 8:30pm she began to open her left eye and then her eye noticed me.

Anything.

Literally anything.

Just anything from her, any small thing. Any sound, any acknowledgement, anything to know that there was still some part of Jenny inside that recognized me.

She looked at me for a moment,

then looked past me,

then around the room

then back to her left hand.

I was not acknowledged.

Perhaps maybe she was angry that I didn’t show up for the whole day. I was told she was very active just earlier, so I had my hopes up that I would see some progress with my own eyes but was quickly brought back to reality in a way that pains me beyond the mere physical.

As I arrived very late today, I did not manage to record any updates on her physical progress or vitals so I took a moment to ask the nurse assigned to Jenny on any news or updates. This is the moment when I found out some information I did not know before.

The nurse mentioned some small minor details such as she seemed more alert, and that she was using her left leg much more but casually said a few things that completely shook me – her left leg moving a lot more does not necessarily mean it’s recovering… it’s more so a result of brain trauma. It is not a voluntary action. Second is her right arm… it has not moved for 2 days now, and will likely never be able to fully function again. Her right arm is atrophied, meaning it will probably need a lifetime splint. Her right arm is bent and is stuck that way, and her fingers are constantly being curled in and will only curl in more and more overtime until she digs into her own hand and the nail will cut into the skin and fuse. The splint for her right hand will be uncomfortable for the rest of her life, but it prevents her from digging into herself. She will never be able to type with her right arm again, and that she will struggle to even grab objects in a reasonably ideal scenario. That’s the bar – be able to struggle to grab an object is considered “good”.

I genuinely, irrationally and blindly believed that her right arm could potentially make a full recovery. It is not the case, in fact it is the opposite. I am an absolute fool, and realizing this fact moments after the nurse casually mentioned this critical information made me break down in front of her.

All I could do was stare at Jenny in silence as she was involuntarily kicking her left leg into the air while staring up into nothingness.

I wanted to ask the nurse about Jenny’s right eye, the one I’ve been worrying so much about, the one eye that has been static for two weeks, the one that does not respond to anything. I wanted to ask because I knew this nurse would be able to tell me that which I was so afraid to know these past two weeks.

But I could not bring myself to ask.

Deep inside I already knew the answer.

The right side of her body took on so much more destruction in the accident. The brain surgery was on the right side of her brain, the first arm surgery was her right side, her right leg was in such a worse condition than her left… and her right eye, it’s the eye that has never opened or responded to anything even once.

As the nurse left, I stared at Jenny. She was now blankly looking at me as the tears streamed down my eyes.

I believed, I wanted to so blindly believe that she could make it all the way back to be as close as normal again. But as the tears kept running down my face, they reflected the truth of what was in front of them.

She will never be anything close to normal again.

I sent a short message to her closest friends in our group chat, the ones from the About Us page. Erwin wrote that he already knew what the nurse said, but that I must believe and hope. Never give up hope. All I can do now is everytime I’m with her, I need to continue whispering in her ear that she needs to fight. That she needs to be better because all the people she loves are waiting for her. We need to give her something to hold on even if it might take time. Her subconscious mind will understand what we want from her.

I do not know how long it was before I spoke again, but I did eventually speak again. As the tears were beginning to slow down I could gather myself to talk. With Erwin’s words in mind I looked at Jenny and waited for her to look back. Once she did, I slowly touched her right arm and said,

“Jenny, you are losing this arm. “

“You are going to lose this arm.”

“You need to fight. “

“You need to fight to keep this arm. “

“Jenny, I need you to fight”.

“Jenny, you need to keep fighting.”

As I held her right arm gently in my hands, I lowered my head onto the hospital bed because my tears finally broke free and were streaming down my face as I accepted the truth about her recovery.

And as my tears kept going, I finally heard something.

“Okay.”

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As I wrote down this last part of the entry, I broke down in tears multiple times from the memory. It is 3:29am on October 16 as I finish up this section, so this moment only occurred not many hours ago. This is the very first time I heard Jenny respond to me in any way or form. This is proof that her mind is in there somewhere, and that she is actually listening. She has never responded to me at all these past two weeks when I asked her if she knew who I was, or if she can remember her name, or if she can remember anything. She doesn’t even respond if I say Hi, Hello, How are you or any normal greeting. I have only heard her say that one word and nothing else. She no longer spoke again for the rest of the night. And still, it inspired everything in me including the title of my entry today. That one simple word meant so much to me and I will remember it forever. It is amazingly, the most incredibly timed response she could have given me. Now I know for sure. Jenny’s mind is still in there somewhere, and I know she is fighting hard. I have to continue spreading her story. Please, if you are able to, share her story too. She is still with us.