The Daily Courier

Hilary Jordan never gave up hope for her brain-injured husband

- By DENISE RYAN

VICTORIA — On Sept. 22, 1987, when Perestroik­a was a global buzzword, laser discs were the next big thing and Whitney Houston was charting with Didn’t We Almost Have It All, Const. Ian Jordan was expected home.

The Victoria police officer, 35, had just wrapped up a busy night shift, and was finishing his report. He must have been anxious to get home to his wife, Hilary — they’d been inseparabl­e since they were both in high school — and to his 16-month-old son, Mark.

But around 2:30 a.m., when he heard a call go out about a robbery in progress, he jumped into his cruiser.

Thirty years later, Hilary Jordan still remembers that night “vividly.”

She was woken from sleep by a loud banging at the door.

When she looked out the window, she saw that one of her husband’s fellow officers was shining a flashlight on his face. “So I knew what it was about,” said Hilary. She opened the door and asked, “Is he dead?” Officers told her that Ian’s cruiser had been struck by another officer’s patrol car while responding to the same emergency call.

Both vehicles were destroyed. Her husband was unconsciou­s and the other driver, Ian’s best friend, Const. Ole Jorgensen, had injured his leg while trying desperatel­y to brake.

The 30-minute ride to the hospital was the longest half-hour of her life. In hospital, her husband was in the intensive care unit, his head bandaged.

“Other than that, he didn’t even have a bruise,” recalled Hilary. But Ian had suffered a traumatic brain injury. Although he would never fully recover, Ian would defy the odds, and live another 30 years.

For those years, Hilary shared her life with him, comforting him, playing music for him, reading to him and, most importantl­y, never abandoning him. He died on April11, 2018.

His death reopened a flood of emotions for Hilary. “I feel like I’ve gone back in time.”

The first weeks in the ICU after the accident were gruelling. She kept a vigil, sometimes changing Mark’s diapers in the hospital hallway. Ian was in a coma for six weeks. “He had a monitor that showed his brain swelling. I would just sit and stare at the monitor, watch it and watch it.”

When he emerged from the coma, there was very little perceptibl­e change. “It doesn’t play out like it does in a movie. It was so gradual that it was hardly noticeable,” said Hilary.

Doctors told her that her husband, the love of her life, was in a persistent vegetative state. He would have sleep/wake cycles, he might moan or make noises, he might open his eyes and look at someone or seem to respond to voices, but there would be no further recovery.

Although he could breathe on his own, his brain injury was so profound that, barring a miracle, he would never be the same again.

“It was awful. The medical staff almost had to be cruel to be kind to me,” said Hilary.

It was six months before she was able to grasp the situation, and much longer before she truly accepted it.

There were times when she felt Ian had more awareness than doctors suggested. He seemed to respond to voices. “I could see it in his eyes,” she said.

Wasn’t it possible he could hear or sense what was going on around him? The doctors offered no hope. “I spoke to neurologis­ts and neurosurge­ons. They sat me down and said this is how it’s going to be.”

She remembers breaking down, “just sobbing and sobbing.”

All these years later, Hilary still doesn’t like the term “vegetative state.”

“I prefer to say traumatic brain injury that rendered Ian unresponsi­ve,” she explained.

While some medical experts also prefer the kindersoun­ding “unresponsi­ve wakefulnes­s syndrome,” Dr. Mypinder Sekhon, an intensive care physician and neurointen­sivist at Vancouver General Hospital, said most physicians still use the term “vegetative.”

The level of brain function is determined by detailed clinical examinatio­n, said Sekhon.

An “unresponsi­ve wakeful” or “vegetative” patient is “in a physical and neurologic­al state in which the body systemical­ly is alive but the brain is unable to perform higher order functions.” The patient does not respond to physical stimuli and lacks cortical brain function, said Sekhon.

Sekhon, who did not treat Ian Jordan, said this is the only case he has heard of where someone in this condition has lived such a long time. Because such cases are so rare, patients in this condition are not well studied. “There’s no structured high-quality studies to delineate what patients remember, or if they remember anything, if they feel anything, if they comprehend anything.”

Typically, in such cases, the medical team and family would decide — taking into considerat­ion what is known about the patient’s wishes — on the direction of care, including the option of continuing or discontinu­ing medical interventi­ons such as a feeding tube and/or commencing palliative and comfort care to alleviate symptoms.

For Hilary, there was no question. Ian was alive, he was her husband, he was Mark’s father. He was a family member. After Ian was transferre­d to a complex care facility, Hilary visited twice a day. “I was very vocal, let’s try this, let’s do that. I tried everything I could think of, from music to people reading to him.”

Ian often seemed to respond, with his eyes, or with facial grimaces, especially when she spoke about their son Mark.

“I hoped all along that I could reach him, that he was listening, that he was able to understand. But I will never know.”

Ian’s mother also visited daily until her death in 2009.

Ian required round-the-clock nursing care, with monitors and a feeding tube. Although it was very difficult to move him, Hilary was able to bring him home for several Christmase­s.

Officers, including Jorgensen, were regular visitors over the years. Victoria Police Department Chief Del Manak, who delivered Ian’s eulogy, started his career in Vancouver, moving to Victoria in 1993.

“Everyone was made aware of Ian Jordan and his story. He was part of our VicPD family.”

Officers young and old visited Ian in various care facilities, keeping him up to date on what was happening, polishing the plaques in his room, reading to him, or sitting in respectful contemplat­ion.

“Because he had a traumatic brain injury, we never really knew what he understood,” said Manak.

“I was always hopeful a part of him could hear, or understand what was said. I’ll never know, but it was very humbling to be with an officer that had been injured as a result of an on-duty incident, and in the hospital for as long as he had been there. “Ian wasn’t forgotten.” On the 30th anniversar­y of the accident in September, Manak met the family at the hospital, and took an honour guard with full fanfare to Ian’s room for a ceremony. “We really wanted to pay our respects and let him know we were thinking about him.”

Although Hilary kept up her twice-daily visits, she decided to go back to work part time to “bring some normal back to my life.”

One of the most difficult things she had to learn along the way was “how to let go a little bit.”

“[Ian] would want us to go on. It was a Catch-22. I was torn. I†had to take care of Ian, and to take care of Mark and give him a normal life.”

She threw herself into parenting Mark, determined that he would have a happy childhood, even without Ian, who had been a hands-on dad. “He did all the things that regular kids did, soccer and baseball. I was busy.”

But she never stopped the visits, giving him updates on their son, reading to him, or working to find ways to reach Ian, who had a music therapist right up until he died. She said she is at peace with the choices she made. “It’s important to support your loved one just in case there is a level of understand­ing. I can’t think of anything worse than someone being abandoned in this situation.”

Hilary said she hopes to find some way of providing more education and knowledge about head injuries and how to support impacted families.

Her advice to others dealing with a loved one in a similar situation: “Be kind to yourself.

“It’s hard to when you are so immersed in the tragedy and your loved one is in someone else’s care. I was lucky that I had my son — he brought me back to reality. I didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity.”

Although she has had years to come to terms with the accident, Ian’s death has brought a new kind of pain.

“It’s unresolved grief that has gone on for 30 years. You kind of shelve it. I grieved for the person that was, but not for the person that is. It became a different kind of relationsh­ip. He was still alive, he was still in our lives.”

Ian would have wanted her to make the choice, every day, for herself and for their son to live as fully as possible, said Hilary.

“I think he’d be proud of us.”

 ?? CHAD HIPOLITO/Victoria Times Colonist ?? Hilary Jordan’s husband, Victoria police Const. Ian Jordan, died on April 11, 2018 after 30 years of being incapacita­ted by a brain injury.
CHAD HIPOLITO/Victoria Times Colonist Hilary Jordan’s husband, Victoria police Const. Ian Jordan, died on April 11, 2018 after 30 years of being incapacita­ted by a brain injury.

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