Let me start off this post by apologizing to those readers who usually stop by this blog expecting a touch of politics or a bit of sarcastic humor: current circumstances dictate that this is going to be one of those personal posts folks--sorry. You see, through no fault of my own, I’ve ended up in the hospital again. Three days before Christmas, while walking in a WalMart parking lot with my children, I was struck by an inattentive motorist, breaking my tibia bone just below the knee. Now, for a "normal" person, this would not be so bad—minimal corrective surgery, ten weeks of non-weight bearing on the affected limb (loosely translated into ten weeks of laying in a recliner with the TV remote firmly in hand and having someone else at your beck and call) and you move on with your life, right? Well, for those of you who know me, and for anyone out there who has read this blog in its entirety, you know it’s not quite that simple. A prior accident has left me unable to walk properly, so instead of sitting at home relaxing, I’m back at Helen Hayes Hospital going through a grueling daily regimen of rehabilitation to try to regain what little ability I once had.
I feel compelled to recount some of the details of this particular rehab, because it has brought back so many memories of my previous stay at Helen Hayes. The people I have met here, their stories, their pain and suffering, and their triumphs; and how I have come to interact with them at this time and in this place have served to shed light on my own particular predicament since my first accident. But no discussion of my present situation would be complete without starting from the beginning; and although I have often alluded to my accident on the pages of this blog a full accounting of it and the years of recovery that followed would take a complete novel that I am not yet ready to write. But, as I said, my present story begins on a fateful night in March of 2001, and a brief history of it is required to fully appreciate my present condition. In short it is the story of a miracle—a story of courage, of faith, and hope; it is about love and kindness, a tale of strength and determination. It is my story, but I have found out there are many others like me out there…
It was about 4:00 AM on March 10, 2001. They say I was about two miles from my home. They say I was traveling somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 m.p.h. when I crossed over the double yellow line and hit the 10 ton commuter bus head on. They said it would take a miracle for me to survive the impact…I remember none of it-- you see, I was sleeping at the time.
After extricating me from the wreck with the "jaws of life" I was taken by a MedEvac helicopter to the local trauma center where it was promptly determined in triage that I definitely would not survive the night. The damage I had inflicted on my mortal coil was as follows: a fracture to the talus bone in my left ankle, a compound femur fracture in my right thigh which was compromising blood flow to the femoral artery, six broken ribs which subsequently deflated both of my lungs, a lacerated liver, a bruised heart, and a skull fracture which caused a massive subdural hematoma—threatening to kill me the quickest. Oh, and a partridge in a pear tree…
Word of my imminent demise spread rather quickly because of the NYPD shield and ID card I carried in my wallet. In such cases, there are mandatory notifications that need to be made. By the time the news reached my sleeping bride, however, it had been sufficiently watered down, taking all of the sting out of it: she was simply informed that her husband had been involved in a motor vehicle accident and had suffered a "broken leg". The revealing twist came a half hour later, when NYS Troopers arrived at the front door to escort her to the hospital. My neighbor and good friend Tom, a high ranking officer in the NYPD and thus thoroughly familiar with such protocol, was the first to become suspicious when the Troopers arrived. You see, if it was merely a broken leg, there would be no need for such an escort. He knew that the Troopers arrival at my front door signaled something much more serious, he knew it could only mean one thing: I was likely to die.
When my wife, Laureen, arrived at the hospital, she stepped into a surreal world of medical chaos. She was surrounded by a team of frantic surgeons giving her updates on my condition in a language she could not possibly comprehend at the time. She was asked to sign away permission for a life she was now completely and utterly responsible for. She literally held my fate in her hands. The only words that echoed and resonated over and over again in her head was that I had zero chance for survival. I was not going to make it out of surgery. Arrangements needed to be made. Fast. Family needed to be gathered. Now. Since I was Catholic, a priest would need to be called in to administer Last Rites. Immediately.
This is when the first miracle took place. Defying all odds, I survived the initial round of emergency surgery. The outlook was still bleak, the doctors were convinced I would not survive and were, in fact, shocked that I was still among the living. At this point I was placed into a drug-induced coma (which I would remain in for the next month and a half) to relieve pressure on my ever swelling brain. Round two of surgery was about to begin because the surgeons could not figure out the source of the swelling. What they found when they reopened my skull further dampened any chance of survival.
The surgeons had located a small tear in the sinus vein of my brain. The sinus vein is a rather large vein that serves to drain the entire blood supply from the brain back to the heart. The problem is, trying to suture it closed is next to impossible because its walls are so thin; threading a needle through it simply causes more tears. Against all accepted medical protocol, the surgeons decided to remove about a third of the damaged portion of the sinus vein and see if the blood from my brain would find another pathway back to my heart. The only reason the doctors had the nerve to try this radical, untested procedure was because they had basically given up all hope that I would live and it really didn’t matter much any more. This is when the second miracle took place. It actually worked. The bleeding into my brain stopped. I went from having no chance of living to a 50 % chance of survival almost immediately. The tide was slowly turning in my favor.
Over the next few days, I remained in critical condition with a poor chance of survival, but every day I stayed alive gave my family and friends more reason for hope. The roller coaster ride of my progress in the intensive care unit continued for over a month; I had good days and poor days, teetering between the brink of death and recovery. I cannot even imagine the emotional toll this took on my family, the totality of my reality at the time was a drug confused haze of hallucinations. They say I started speaking about a week into the ordeal, but it was mostly gibberish. I began recognizing people about two weeks into it, but I have no memory of it. All I can remember is that when people came to visit me, they became part of the hallucination. About seven weeks in the ICU, my condition finally stabilized—the miracle was complete. I had survived almost insurmountable odds to live and breathe another day.
I was to be transferred to a rehabilitation facility to repair my weak and broken body. Every muscle in my body had atrophied, and I was essentially paralyzed. I would also require extensive neuro-therapy to see how much cognitive function I could regain. At this point, I was speaking but still making no sense at all. The doctors were telling my wife that I might not ever regain any higher lever executive functions, and that she would essentially have to care for me the way one would care for an infant for the rest of my life. This is when the third miracle occurred. Three days before I was discharged to Helen Hayes, I completely "snapped out" of the cloudy funk I had been in. It was like waking from a long dream. I regained my conscious self. I could not remember the accident or any of the events in the ICU (other than my dreams) but I knew who I was and where I was and what I was doing there. I began having actual conversations with the people around me. Needless to say, my family and friends were ecstatic!
The next several months at Helen Hayes Hospital, and indeed the months that followed at home, were a whirlwind of grueling rehabilitation to return my body and mind to some sort of normalcy. As I mentioned earlier, to describe all of the events that took place during those months requires volumes that I am not yet ready to write. Suffice it to say it was the hardest thing I have ever undertaken in my 39 years. The thing I will mention here, though, is that it was not a journey I undertook alone. The selflessness, love, and patience of my wife still amazes me to this day. Without her strength, I don’t know if I could have made it through this whole ordeal. When you marry someone "for better or for worse" you never really know what you’re signing on for; I certainly gave Laureen more than her fair share of "the worse". Yet, through it all, she shouldered my burden for me unfailingly; never questioning any of my needs. I will truly honor and love this woman the rest of my life.
My friends and sisters were there for me as well. Countless favors, good deeds and acts of kindness were showered on me that I could not begin to repay if I lived a thousand lifetimes. And then there was my mother and father. Especially my mother. My father used to come up to my house to provide care for me on his days off when my wife was at work. My mother actually took time off from work (which she could ill-afford to do, although she would never admit it) to be with me. Between my parents and my wife and my friends, I had round-the-clock nursing coverage for months while I was home recuperating. No insurance policy in the world can buy that much love.
All the hard work, dedication, and loving care finally paid off in December 2001. Just 9 months after nearly dying in a devastating motor vehicle accident, after my wife was told even if I did survive I would probably be a vegetable, after being informed I would never walk again—I returned to work for the NYPD. Two months later, after performing nothing but "light duty", the NYPD’s own medical staff certified me for a return to "full duty" status as a Lieutenant.
But life can be cruel, and my roller coaster ride had more hills in store for me. In July 2002, I blacked out in front of my house (probably as the result of a seizure) hitting my head, which resulted in me losing control over the left side of my body. I ended up right back in a wheelchair, right back at square one. I have not returned to work since. Months of outpatient therapy at Helen Hayes have enabled me to regain control of most of my body again, but I continue to have trouble with my left ankle. For this reason, I am forced to wear an ankle-foot orthotic on my left leg and walk with a cane. I now take anti-seizure medication twice daily, to control the erratic electrical firings in my brain which people with traumatic brain injury are prone to. My dreams of making it back to the NYPD are but a distant memory, and as of this writing, I am going through the process of retiring on a disability.
Which brings us back full circle to the present. I have learned to live with and accept my disability; but I still have trouble accepting the fact that I am indeed handicapped. In fact, as long as their is breath in my body, I will continue to fight to regain normalcy. I truly believe I will be able to walk without a cane or a brace again, and that remains my goal. The week before Christmas, I was discussing with Laureen the possibility of returning to Helen Hayes to work on this goal. Three days later, I was struck by the SUV in the WalMart parking lot, and now here I am, back in rehab at Helen Hayes…be careful what you wish for, eh?
And yet, this might be the start of the greatest miracle yet. You see, my strong leg is the one that’s broken now; forcing my weak leg to do all the work. I have no choice but to rely on a leg that I have hidden and coddled for well over a year. The therapy I am currently doing is forcing my weak left leg to get stronger and stronger with each passing day, and the physical therapists have already outlined a plan for the future (if the leg can get strong enough) to discard the brace and cane. Ultimately, this accident might have been a blessing; leading me towards the goal that has proved so elusive: walking normally again.
The other blessing I received this time around is more spiritual in nature, more personal. For a long time after my first accident, I was keenly aware of the role God had played in my life; after all, it was truly a miracle that I was alive. I was thankful every day for every breath I took; life itself seemed—sweeter the second time around. I swore to myself I would never lose this feeling, and I prayed everyday when I needed help. But after things went wrong on so many different occasions, I turned away from God and became increasingly bitter and depressed. After all, how much misery can the Lord pile upon one human being?
The answer to that question was revealed to me rather quickly upon this admission to Helen Hayes; and the answer was: a helluva lot more than I had ever dealt with. My first time at this hospital did not afford me the opportunity to interact with other patients the way I can this time. Here is a quick rundown of some of my friends. First, there’s my roommate Norman, who went in for back surgery 5 months ago and came out paralyzed from the waist down. Norm needs help getting dressed, getting in and out of bed, going to the bathroom, and just about every other normal, everyday activity you can think of. But Norm is determined to walk again. So determined, in fact, that he is spending every penny of his 401K plan that he has worked for his whole life to do it. I believe Norm will walk. Mostly because there is no bitterness in him. There is also no quit. Just quiet determination.
Then there is Rob. A 29 yr. old from Queens who went swimming one day, dove down, hit a sandbar, and could not come back up. Rob is paralyzed. Rob also believes he will walk again, and I believe him. I have never seen anyone who works so hard in therapy. When I first met Rob, he said he was "drawn to me" because he felt I had positive energy. I thought that was a nice compliment, since I have always tried to remain positive and focused while in rehab. Rob and I have talked many times since I have been here, and we seem to feed off eachother. We give one another energy and feedback which is altogether necessary when you’re going through difficult times.
Frank is a 34 yr. old diabetic who just had his leg amputated below the knee. I swear, I have never seen a more debilitating disease than diabetes. Frank was shaken up when he first got here, but like everyone else, he’s making it through with the help of those around him. Frank’s energy and positive attitude are downright contagious now, and his quiet determination to succeed is etched on his face.
The common thread among all these people is something that lives inside all of us; and that is the will, nay-- the need, to live. This undying human spirit is all around me here, and it fills me with courage and hope every day. I have been reminded that my own situation is not unique, I have not been somehow singled out for punishment by the powers that be. I am also reminded that no burden is too great if it is shared with others, and there are always people willing to help carry the load. In short, the people I have met here have restored my faith in humanity.
I still don’t know exactly why my life has taken the turns and twists it has, I may never know. But it has given me a wisdom beyond my years. And I know I definitely believe in miracles.
You may think it was the "worst" - but believe me everything about you is "good"! I Love You and need you no matter what the outcome - I realize that I cannot do this alone, everyday without you is a much harder struggle that living with you and your cane. You contribute so much of your time to the kids and me that having you home this past year has been a miracle for me. I have not had the stress that comes with kids and their schedules and work limitations and I miss you not laying besides me every night. When I think of all the times I might have lost you I am grateful you are still here to bring a smile on my face and greet me everday when I walk through the door. I sincerely hope that you have the will to walk again without your cane(but you must remember that no matter the outcome you are man and my husband) and I will love you always! I also have gained from this that love is strong and friends and family are always there to pick up the pieces no matter how big the favor. May I always remember to pass on the friendship to those in need. I love you! Keep up the faith and encourage others to do the same. I can't wait til we can go out dinner again on a Saturday night.
Posted by: Laureen | Tuesday, January 20, 2004 at 09:57 PM