Chapter Five- Those Things I Haven't forgotten

FYI - I may be repeating myself as I continue, and I'm sorry about that but I'm trying to throw in strange little happenings that have remained in my damaged brain all these years.  
TBI is traumatic brain injury.

As you know, my little boy, Harrison, was in the back seat when the accident occurred. His sister Rachel was at Ms Judy's preschool at the time, and we didn't make it to pick her up. Ms. Judy phoned my friend Linda who knew immediately that something had gone wrong. I was to retrieve both of our kids, and ferry them, along with Harrison, to Linda’s house. When she got the call from Ms Judy, Linda quickly picked up the girls and waited to hear about me. But she kept the kids busy and happy until there was news. We were fortunate that Rachel had someplace not-too-out-of-the-ordinary to be, and good people to care for her.

But, let’s go back to the scene of the accident for a minute.  The one of the highway patrolman who responded to the accident, recognized my name, and because he was acquainted with my mother-in-law (don’t ask me how) he phoned her.  That’s some crazy stuff, because Southern California is quite populated.  

A strange thing happened at the hospital too. Amid the chaos at the accident scene, my purse was left in my car and I couldn't be identified.  But my next door neighbor worked in some capacity there, and identified me. She just happened to see me arrive!  I can only imagine her shock at seeing her next door neighbor strapped to a gurney, broken jaw agape.  As neighbors we were fairly friendly; they had been to our house for dinner, and us to their home. They had 2 daughters, and the older one actually baby sat for us. I remember her obligatory welcome home/get better soon when I returned home, but I don't remember seeing her again. 

TBIs are all different, not easily understood, and the unknown is frightening.  Well wishers hesitate when they learn a family member, or friend has suffered a TBI. Most people don't even have the rudimentary knowledge needed to ask relevant questions.  But that's OK, because the majority of TBI victims, their families and good friends are clueless too!  Unfortunately, often TBI victims are simply crossed off lists; friend lists, employment lists, family-members-to-invite lists, all kind of lists.  

Like favorite coaches from the past, Kyle brought out the best in me.  One session, an afternoon late into my stay at Northridge, they filmed Kyle and I working together.  The film was to be used in training sessions for physical therapists. We went through a sequence of events that were close to routine, and It was a wrap, after one take.  I wheeled myself back to my room using my feet, and good arm to get there. Not then, but much later, I realized that my physical therapist and I were Rehab Stars, and our video contribution would help the physical therapists working with the head injured and stroke victims that came after me. Now, I can count that as the first positive thing that came from my accident.

My Ex always said that I began to realize the crappy situation I was in when I arrived at Northridge Hospital. As they rolled my wheelchair by the mirrored wall next to the door, he saw me turn to look at myself, and when what I saw registered in my not-quite-right brain, a look of shock appeared on my face.  But, it was close to 1/2 year before I comprehended the dire position I was in, and the work it would take to become even close to the person I had been.

The photo my dad had put in my therapist Kyle's hands (the one of me hurdling, and probably winning,) showed that I could work hard.  But, I was now facing  an entirely different kind of hard work.  The hard work I did back then did lead to my induction into the Univ of Oregon Hall of Fame, primarily because my 400 meter hurdle school record, set in the early 90s, still stands.  I shocked my friends and family a couple of times by saying that the induction came because they felt sorry for me, because of my TBI.

The kind of hard work I was now facing would hopefully lead to 1) utilization of my paralyzed right hemisphere so that I could walk  2)  better cognitive skills so that I could continue running my household and 3)  acceptance of the new Me. 

I could have ended up in a wheelchair, or in some kind of a group home, had I not rallied to the challenge in front of me.  But I accepted it subconsciously as I have no memories of voicing my desire to work hard, to relearn what had been lost when I hit my head, and to come out of this a complete, contributing person, but it must have been somewhere in the scrambled grey matter.

While I was at Northridge lots of things happened.  My husband saw me daily.   My sister-in-law's elementary school class wrote me get well cards that papered my hospital room's walls, and I was ready for more visitors.  One visit stands out.  My husband brought my not-quite-5 year old daughter, Rachel, to visit and he simply set her on my bed beside me.  I think he probably said something like, It'll be OK, be back soon, but then he was gone. Rachel was in an unfamiliar, strange smelling place, with a dingy mom who was neither physically, or mentally capable of caring for her.  I remember being terrified!  Looking back, I guess I may not have been as dingy as I thought because I came up with, Is he a lunatic?  I was becoming better aware of my sad predicament, but I still did not comprehend what was in store for me, and my family.

Sitting next to me on my hospital bed, Rachel simply watched TV, and her Dad quickly returned with a Happy Meal.  She enjoyed her burger and fries, and I looked on, not realizing at the time, how the accident had traumatized her.