"He has a mild, a very mild Diffuse Axonal Injury, DAI. It's similar to Baby Shaking Syndrome..." Dr. Fylde started to explain outside of Justin's room. He had insisted on leaving the room to talk about his injury. I agreed. While he was in a heavy medicated sleep, he could still hear the people talking around him. Justin needed to rest and heal and not be trying to understand what we were discussing.

"What's that?" Charlie cut in, his voicing demanding, trying to take control of the situation.

"Let me explain... When Justin flew off his motorcycle and hit the road, his brain kept moving. The acceleration and deceleration caused the brain to move within the skull; the axons, the parts of the nerve cells that allow neurons to send messages between them, are disrupted. As tissue slides over tissue, a shearing injury occurs," Dr. Fylde explained, slow enough for us to follow along.

"He got a CT scan when he got brought in? Why wasn't this seen then?" Charlie questioned him, confusion shining in his eyes the same as mine. I also wanted to know why this wasn't caught yesterday.

"DAI is difficult to detect with a CT. MRI'S are more sensitive than CT's are. An MRI is more capable of telling us where the brain has been damaged, but unfortunately, it can't tell if other areas of the brain will be able to take over some of the tasks previously performed by the damaged area," he continued. I could see that he was attempting to help us understand Justin's injury. Explaining medical information to non-medical people was possibly the least liked job duty Dr. Flyde had to do.

"What is the treatment?" Susan asked. It amazed me that I could hear the fear in the two people I had hoped would make everything better. I had fooled myself again. These were his parents; naturally, they were fearful for their son.

"Immediate treatment for Justin's injury will consist of monitoring and controlling any intracranial pressure, if he happens to get any. He hasn't yet so we are hopeful he won't. An inadequate blood flow to the brain will cause the injury to get worse. We will also be treating his other injuries and making sure he doesn't get any infections. I believe the surgeon will be casting his arm either later today or tomorrow." Dr. Flyde shrugged and flipped through Justin's medical record. I was surprised they still had paper records; most nurses were importing most of his information onto an iPad.

"We will continue administering morphine, antibiotics and start a round of steroids to help reduce any inflammation and swelling he may have or may get. He will remain in the ICU to be monitored for a few days, just to make sure there are no changes. We are starting to back off on the morphine. I want to see him more awake so we can get a mental state when he's not fully medicated. Once we can see his mental state, we can get a better view of what damage may have occurred."

"What is his prognosis?" Charlie asked, his voice breaking. I spotted a sheen of sweat on top of his pale skin on his forehead. I watched him wipe his forehead, his hand shaking a little. I had never seen him look so nervous and venerable before. My heart went out to him. I couldn't imagine the fear and worry he felt. Justin was after all his child. I prayed I would never have to feel such fear for my children.

Thinking of them, I longed to hold them in my arms, to rock them and give their heads kisses. I missed them. Tonight, I will bring them home.

"Medically my answer is: the outcome of any Traumatic Brain Injury, or TBI, depends on the cause of the injury and on the location, severity of damage, and the patients' health before the TBI occurred. Honestly, I can't give you an answer; the medical world knows very little about the brain. He could stand up tomorrow and be perfectly fine, or he could never stand up again. We just don't know. Do I think he will have a positive outcome? Yes, I do. Like I said, his injury is very minimal. But also, like I said, we don't understand the brain. His injury could affect many different parts of his life."

"Will he have any side effects from the injury?" I asked, my voice quivering. All I could hear was the doctor saying Justin may never walk again. What would happen if he never left that bed? That option had never entered my brain until that moment.

We would learn to deal with it; we would all learn to live our lives loving him the way he was. Life would be different in so many ways, but we would be together as a family and find a way to carry on, I answered myself.

"There are many impairments that may result from a brain injury. Justin is a healthy young man. I would guess any impairments will be minimal, and in case there is, his TBI is mild so I would bet he won't have any major functional disabilities. There may be some long-term impacts, but they are typically small things like headaches or memory problems. Common disabilities are problems with cognition, sensory processing, communication, and behavior or mental health. I have a large handout I'll get for you. Remember his injury is very minimal, so most of what you will read online is for patients that have severe forms of DAI," Dr. Flyde answered, while writing in Justin's file. His pen clicked off loudly, jolting me back to attention.

"What happens after he gets released from the ICU? When will he be able to come home? Go back to work?" Susan asked, her face paler.

"Justin has a long path to recovery. Full recovery can take years. Once I think he is stable enough to leave ICU, he will go to the Neuro ICU, on the ninth floor. Then once the nurses and doctors on that floor think he's ready for the rehabilitation center, he'll be transferred to our facility or your counselor will help you find him one to go to."

"Rehabilitation Center?" I squeaked. Rehab centers were for drug addicts, alcoholics, celebrities that couldn't handle real life, not my husband. The hair on my neck raised, sending chills down my spine.

"He'll eventually need intensive therapy to help him relearn abilities he may have problems doing and develop techniques to deal with any other remaining deficiencies. He isn't there yet, don't worry about the next steps. Just be there for him now. I have given you a ton of information. Don't go home and Google this, it will give you all kinds of misinformation."

"Thank you, doctor" Charlie stated for the three of us. My voice was frozen in my throat. I had not thought of any of this before. His condition was a lot worse than I had wanted to believe.

Dr. Fylde patted Susan on the shoulder and left to talk to the nurse. Susan grabbed my hand, squeezing it as tightly as I was squeezing hers in return.

"He'll be okay. Just believe that God has a plan and it's not a bad plan. He'll get all of us through this," Susan whispered into my ear as we returned to the sterile room.

I was thankful Susan had not seen Justin the day before. The blood that once covered his face had been washed away. The left side of his face was almost unrecognizable with swelling and stitches that covered the injured side of his face. Slowly walking up to the bed, I took in the severity of bruising on his face; blue and purple bruises masked his handsomeness. His lips had doubled in size and crusty with scabs, small dried blood crusted over the stitches that held together the once gashing lacerations. His face resembled a horrifying Halloween mask. Curiously, I wondered if it would always haunt my dreams at night.

"Remember Travis, the neighbor, didn't he have a brain injury after his accident?" Susan asked quietly in the background, so quiet that I could barely hear her.

Travis, I thought back, my brain slowly flipping through memories of people I'd met. Then I remembered. Travis Whitman – now an inmate at the Colorado State Prison for murdering his wife and young daughter, two years after his brain injury.

"Makes me wonder if one day he'll snap like Travis did," Charlie responded thoughtfully as he watched his firstborn son sleep in a drug-induced slumber, his groans quiet and painful.

Something more than fear swept through me; a determination to believe that Justin would not end up like Travis. Was that what God planned for Travis and his family... death?

A tremor ran through my body, leaving me cold. Silently, as I watched my husband breathing, counting each breath like I did every time I stepped into his glass room, I wondered what God had planned for us.