I'm going to break this story up into 4 parts. I've always felt like that's kinda how it took place for me...so I'll do the same for you. Choose to read the whole story, parts of it, or none at all. I just feel like I need to tell it.
{Ignorance is Bliss}
January 10, 2003. Exactly 6 years ago... tomorrow. But I can remember every detail like it was yesterday.
My cell phone was ringing. It was Friday morning and I glanced at the clock. 6:32. Ugh... it's not time to wake up for work yet, who's calling me? It was my mom and she was hysterical crying. Through her tears and gasps for air, she finally got out the words that I will never forget... "your dad was in an accident this morning." My first response was to calm her down and not worry about myself or my feelings. I was actually shocked at how I would not let myself cry. "Mom, he was in a big truck, I'm sure he's not seriously injured. I mean, how bad could it be?... I'm sure he's fine." Famous last words, right?
I get off the phone with my mom, get dressed, call my sister Kristi (she doesn't pick up), call out of work, and hop into my car and head straight to my parents house. I call Bob while I'm driving and he heads over there as well. Of course I get stuck in morning rush hour traffic and then behind a train that decides to drive 2 mph forward, stop, and then back up. Huh? If my little 2 door black Civic would have fit under that train, I swear I would have timed it perfectly so that I could make it to the other side. I call Kristi 3 more times on the drive over, but I still wasn't able to get a hold of her.
When I get to my parents house, my aunt and my mom's best friend were already there. My mom still can not stop crying. I hound her for more details... "what did dad's boss say?" {just that dad was in an accident while out delivering this morning} "where was the accident?" {West New York, NJ} "was he injured?" {possible broken femur} "what hospital is he in?" {Jersey City Medical Center}. That's all we knew... and it wasn't much. My mom, her best friend, and myself headed the 2 hours north to the hospital. We finally got a hold of Kristi and Bob was staying behind so that he could drive her to the hospital.
Where was my sister, Kacy, you may ask? She was in the middle of the Caribbean... on a cruise with her best friend, Ally.
We get to the hospital and basically run inside. After a 2 hour drive, we couldn't wait to see him. We quickly find out that my dad was in the Trauma ICU. Hmmm... for a broken leg? And then our worst fears were confirmed....
Showing posts with label The Accident. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Accident. Show all posts
09 January 2009
II of IV
{The Accident}
My dad was making a delivery to a local restaurant that shall remain nameless. The restaurant did not have a designated location for deliveries, so my dad had to park the truck out front... on the side of the road of a busy main street. It was just before 6am. My dad and his coworker, Dave, walked around the back of the truck, opened the doors, and got to work. Dave hopped into the back and started handing stuff down to my dad while he stacked it up next to the truck to be taken inside. Dave turns to hand my dad another box and sees a car speeding down the road... headed straight for their truck. He yells at my dad to jump out of the way, but it was too late. The car slammed into my dad and then into the back of the truck, pinning him. The force of the impact was so much that Dave was thrown out of the truck and into the car windshield. The man driving the car restarted it and started to back up. Dave got off the hood and pulled the guy out of the car... stopping him from leaving the scene of the accident. My dad now laid lifeless on the street.
We went from a "possible broken femur" to "with the extent of his injuries, he will not make it through the night."
Speechless. The life was literally sucked out of my body. We had to see him. Now.
We walked up to the TICU. As soon as I saw my dad, I tried not to cry... but I couldn't hold it in any more. He was wearing a neck brace and was so banged up with open wounds all over his head, face, and body. He was awake. He smiled as soon as he saw us and I just wanted to give him the biggest hug ever, but I couldn't. The doctor pulled us outside and listed his injuries. The initial tests indicated that he had bleeding in his brain, punctured lungs, and had broken his back, all of his ribs, his leg, and his ankle. The doctors told us that they were going to induce a coma and put him on a ventilator so that the bleed in his brain and his lungs could start to heal. We went back in to talk to my dad and let them know what was going on. We explained that the coma would hopefully stop the bleeding in his brain, which was their top priority at the moment. I think it's a lot easier to hear it from us, then from the doctors. He was then put into a coma sometime before noon. Honestly, I thought it was the last time I would see my dad awake.
We didn't leave the hospital until almost midnight. We knew that it would be a long night and that it was so critical that the bleeding stop. My mom called the hospital every hour throughout the night for updates. By 6am the next morning, we finally heard the news we had so desperately been waiting for: the bleeding stopped. They woke my dad up from the coma (thankfully!!!!) but he still needed to remain on the ventilator. We took a big notebook and pen up to the hospital the next day so that my dad could "talk" to us. I still have that notebook to this day.
My mom headed up to the hospital the next day with her best friend, while Kristi and I stayed behind. Kacy's boat was docking this morning and we had to attempt to call her. Before we made that horrible call, Kristi took care of Kacy's travel arrangements, switching the day, time, and location of her flight home so that she'd land right in NYC (which was just across the bridge from the hospital.) We then called Kacy. Of course, she was shocked and devastated, but we were happy that we could at least tell her that the bleeding and swelling in dad's brain had stopped and was now shrinking.
Over the next week, my dad remained on the ventilator due to his punctured lungs. He also remained in a neck brace. At the time, we were not sure why the neck brace wasn't removed, but all the doctors kept saying that it simply needed to remain on him. We wanted to transfer him to Thomas Jefferson Hospital, which is one of the best trauma hospital's in Philadelphia, but he needed to be off the ventilator first. With a lot of hard work and even more "luck", he was off by Friday (1 week after the accident) and was medivacced from Jersey City Medical Center to Jefferson. Our 2 hour commute to the hospital (one way) everyday, was now cut down to just 15 minutes. We were so happy to have him back "home."
My dad was making a delivery to a local restaurant that shall remain nameless. The restaurant did not have a designated location for deliveries, so my dad had to park the truck out front... on the side of the road of a busy main street. It was just before 6am. My dad and his coworker, Dave, walked around the back of the truck, opened the doors, and got to work. Dave hopped into the back and started handing stuff down to my dad while he stacked it up next to the truck to be taken inside. Dave turns to hand my dad another box and sees a car speeding down the road... headed straight for their truck. He yells at my dad to jump out of the way, but it was too late. The car slammed into my dad and then into the back of the truck, pinning him. The force of the impact was so much that Dave was thrown out of the truck and into the car windshield. The man driving the car restarted it and started to back up. Dave got off the hood and pulled the guy out of the car... stopping him from leaving the scene of the accident. My dad now laid lifeless on the street.
We went from a "possible broken femur" to "with the extent of his injuries, he will not make it through the night."
Speechless. The life was literally sucked out of my body. We had to see him. Now.
We walked up to the TICU. As soon as I saw my dad, I tried not to cry... but I couldn't hold it in any more. He was wearing a neck brace and was so banged up with open wounds all over his head, face, and body. He was awake. He smiled as soon as he saw us and I just wanted to give him the biggest hug ever, but I couldn't. The doctor pulled us outside and listed his injuries. The initial tests indicated that he had bleeding in his brain, punctured lungs, and had broken his back, all of his ribs, his leg, and his ankle. The doctors told us that they were going to induce a coma and put him on a ventilator so that the bleed in his brain and his lungs could start to heal. We went back in to talk to my dad and let them know what was going on. We explained that the coma would hopefully stop the bleeding in his brain, which was their top priority at the moment. I think it's a lot easier to hear it from us, then from the doctors. He was then put into a coma sometime before noon. Honestly, I thought it was the last time I would see my dad awake.
We didn't leave the hospital until almost midnight. We knew that it would be a long night and that it was so critical that the bleeding stop. My mom called the hospital every hour throughout the night for updates. By 6am the next morning, we finally heard the news we had so desperately been waiting for: the bleeding stopped. They woke my dad up from the coma (thankfully!!!!) but he still needed to remain on the ventilator. We took a big notebook and pen up to the hospital the next day so that my dad could "talk" to us. I still have that notebook to this day.
My mom headed up to the hospital the next day with her best friend, while Kristi and I stayed behind. Kacy's boat was docking this morning and we had to attempt to call her. Before we made that horrible call, Kristi took care of Kacy's travel arrangements, switching the day, time, and location of her flight home so that she'd land right in NYC (which was just across the bridge from the hospital.) We then called Kacy. Of course, she was shocked and devastated, but we were happy that we could at least tell her that the bleeding and swelling in dad's brain had stopped and was now shrinking.
Over the next week, my dad remained on the ventilator due to his punctured lungs. He also remained in a neck brace. At the time, we were not sure why the neck brace wasn't removed, but all the doctors kept saying that it simply needed to remain on him. We wanted to transfer him to Thomas Jefferson Hospital, which is one of the best trauma hospital's in Philadelphia, but he needed to be off the ventilator first. With a lot of hard work and even more "luck", he was off by Friday (1 week after the accident) and was medivacced from Jersey City Medical Center to Jefferson. Our 2 hour commute to the hospital (one way) everyday, was now cut down to just 15 minutes. We were so happy to have him back "home."
III of IV
{Back to Square One}
Thomas Jefferson University Hospital ran their own tests on my dad, but we were confident that they would yield the same results. We've never been more wrong.
On January 19th, exactly 1 week and 2 days after the accident, we heard the worst news ever. My dad's neck was broken. I actually think this news would have been easier to handle if we'd heard it in the original list of injuries, but no. It came a week later when we felt that he was "out of the woods." It brought us right back to January 10th. Back to square one.
The neurologist explained that my dad had a C1, C2 sublux. What does that mean? It means that the first too Cervical Vertebrae in my dad's spine were dislocated. Huh? Yeah, we were confused too so the doctor put it in laments terms for us and I will never, ever forget what he said: my dad was basically decapitated and the only thing holding his head on his body was his skin. That's how he explained it. Thankfully, his spinal cord looked to be in good condition, which the doctor still didn't understand. He called it a miracle, actually. Now, there were 2 options: do nothing and hope that any slight bump or fall wouldn't cause immediate paralysis or death (yeah, not an option)... or... surgery. The doctor told us that he had the "chance of quarters" after surgery- 25% chance of death, 25% chance of becoming a quadriplegic, 25% chance of becoming a paraplegic, or 25% chance of coming out "fine." What we heard: 75% chance that something could go wrong. But what choice did we have?
January 21, 2003 was the second longest day of my life. We sat in the surgical waiting room hour after hour grasping on any signs of hope that we could find that meant things we're going to be okay. They had the show ER on in the waiting room. Who ever is in charge of selecting television shows for the families in the surgical waiting room has a delusional sense of humor. Sometime in the late afternoon we finally got an update... my dad made it through the surgery. No paralysis. Thank God. The doctors placed a metal plate in the back of my dad's head, fusing his skull to the top of his spinal column. Because the C1 and C2 vertebrae control head movement, the surgical fusion meant that my dad would no longer be able to turn his head from side to side, or up and down.
Over the next month, my dad remained in the hospital and on the ventilator. Every time they tried to wean him off, something would happen and he would need to go back on. "One step forward. Two steps back." became our moto. He had a tracheotomy put in but he was still unable to speak. He continued to use the notebook so that he could "talk" to us. By this time, he had several notebooks filled with one-sided conversations that were barely legible due to my dad's inability to look down to write. My family and I got very good at decoding his writing and using his body language and "signs" to figure out what he was trying to say.
When the ventilator was finally removed, they discovered that my dad could no longer eat by himself. The initial trauma of the accident coupled with the tracheatomy severely damaged his throat. He was put on a feeding tube.
My dad continued to beat the odds throughout his time at Jefferson. He moved from the Neurological ICU, to the step-down unit a few weeks after his surgery. He then moved to a long-term care floor, and then, finally, to the therapy floor. We all absolutely loved all of his doctors and nurses... and they were so supportive of his goals. He is a very determined man, if you haven't picked that up by now. :)
Thomas Jefferson University Hospital ran their own tests on my dad, but we were confident that they would yield the same results. We've never been more wrong.
On January 19th, exactly 1 week and 2 days after the accident, we heard the worst news ever. My dad's neck was broken. I actually think this news would have been easier to handle if we'd heard it in the original list of injuries, but no. It came a week later when we felt that he was "out of the woods." It brought us right back to January 10th. Back to square one.
The neurologist explained that my dad had a C1, C2 sublux. What does that mean? It means that the first too Cervical Vertebrae in my dad's spine were dislocated. Huh? Yeah, we were confused too so the doctor put it in laments terms for us and I will never, ever forget what he said: my dad was basically decapitated and the only thing holding his head on his body was his skin. That's how he explained it. Thankfully, his spinal cord looked to be in good condition, which the doctor still didn't understand. He called it a miracle, actually. Now, there were 2 options: do nothing and hope that any slight bump or fall wouldn't cause immediate paralysis or death (yeah, not an option)... or... surgery. The doctor told us that he had the "chance of quarters" after surgery- 25% chance of death, 25% chance of becoming a quadriplegic, 25% chance of becoming a paraplegic, or 25% chance of coming out "fine." What we heard: 75% chance that something could go wrong. But what choice did we have?
January 21, 2003 was the second longest day of my life. We sat in the surgical waiting room hour after hour grasping on any signs of hope that we could find that meant things we're going to be okay. They had the show ER on in the waiting room. Who ever is in charge of selecting television shows for the families in the surgical waiting room has a delusional sense of humor. Sometime in the late afternoon we finally got an update... my dad made it through the surgery. No paralysis. Thank God. The doctors placed a metal plate in the back of my dad's head, fusing his skull to the top of his spinal column. Because the C1 and C2 vertebrae control head movement, the surgical fusion meant that my dad would no longer be able to turn his head from side to side, or up and down.
Over the next month, my dad remained in the hospital and on the ventilator. Every time they tried to wean him off, something would happen and he would need to go back on. "One step forward. Two steps back." became our moto. He had a tracheotomy put in but he was still unable to speak. He continued to use the notebook so that he could "talk" to us. By this time, he had several notebooks filled with one-sided conversations that were barely legible due to my dad's inability to look down to write. My family and I got very good at decoding his writing and using his body language and "signs" to figure out what he was trying to say.
When the ventilator was finally removed, they discovered that my dad could no longer eat by himself. The initial trauma of the accident coupled with the tracheatomy severely damaged his throat. He was put on a feeding tube.
My dad continued to beat the odds throughout his time at Jefferson. He moved from the Neurological ICU, to the step-down unit a few weeks after his surgery. He then moved to a long-term care floor, and then, finally, to the therapy floor. We all absolutely loved all of his doctors and nurses... and they were so supportive of his goals. He is a very determined man, if you haven't picked that up by now. :)
IV of IV
{Recovery}
Those that spend an extended amount of time in the hospital know that it's like clock work there. You see the same people day after day. We knew who would be in the waiting room area each day and we knew their stories. We knew who would be working at the hospital cafeteria and we knew them by name. We knew the parking attendant, the security guard, the front desk worker.... we knew everyone. But we have never been more excited to leave a place where we felt like we knew so many people.
A few months after the accident, we were able to take my dad home. He left the hospital in a wheelchair and had a cane for support when he felt he could walk... but he was going home. He had a hospital bed set up in the foyer at my parents house and in-home medical care for several weeks, but he was going home. He was still unable to eat and had a feeding tube, but he was going home. After beating all the odds, my dad was going home.
Throughout the months and years that followed the accident, my dad continued with physical therapy and doctor's appointment after doctor's appointment. He learned how to walk again and is able to eat. To this day he is unable to work and scars from the accident can be seen if you know where to look. But he is a true miracle man. He is a fighter. He is an inspiration to many. He is my hero.
You may be wondering what happened to the guy that hit my dad. He was an 18-year-old illegal immigrant that was driving over 50mph in a 25mph zone. He was drunk and coming home from a party (yes, at 6am.) He also had traces of (several) drugs in his toxicology report. Did I see this kid? Yes. He was in the Jersey City Trauma ICU across the hall from my dad. He was released (to prison) just a few short days after the accident. He was then released on bail and fled the country. I didn't purposely leave him out of the story... the truth is, I just don't think about him. I only care that I have my dad and for that I am unconditionally grateful.
People often ask my dad what got him through it. Through the initial accident and then the bleed in his brain, the coma, all the broken bones, the broken neck, the surgeries, and the recovery. All of it. He always replies: "I wanted to walk my girls down the aisle."
Those that spend an extended amount of time in the hospital know that it's like clock work there. You see the same people day after day. We knew who would be in the waiting room area each day and we knew their stories. We knew who would be working at the hospital cafeteria and we knew them by name. We knew the parking attendant, the security guard, the front desk worker.... we knew everyone. But we have never been more excited to leave a place where we felt like we knew so many people.
A few months after the accident, we were able to take my dad home. He left the hospital in a wheelchair and had a cane for support when he felt he could walk... but he was going home. He had a hospital bed set up in the foyer at my parents house and in-home medical care for several weeks, but he was going home. He was still unable to eat and had a feeding tube, but he was going home. After beating all the odds, my dad was going home.
Throughout the months and years that followed the accident, my dad continued with physical therapy and doctor's appointment after doctor's appointment. He learned how to walk again and is able to eat. To this day he is unable to work and scars from the accident can be seen if you know where to look. But he is a true miracle man. He is a fighter. He is an inspiration to many. He is my hero.
You may be wondering what happened to the guy that hit my dad. He was an 18-year-old illegal immigrant that was driving over 50mph in a 25mph zone. He was drunk and coming home from a party (yes, at 6am.) He also had traces of (several) drugs in his toxicology report. Did I see this kid? Yes. He was in the Jersey City Trauma ICU across the hall from my dad. He was released (to prison) just a few short days after the accident. He was then released on bail and fled the country. I didn't purposely leave him out of the story... the truth is, I just don't think about him. I only care that I have my dad and for that I am unconditionally grateful.
People often ask my dad what got him through it. Through the initial accident and then the bleed in his brain, the coma, all the broken bones, the broken neck, the surgeries, and the recovery. All of it. He always replies: "I wanted to walk my girls down the aisle."
Way to go dad, way to go. We're all so very proud of you.
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