Recovery Awareness
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Recovery
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Caregiving Stories/Humor
Sustaining a BRAIN INJURY is a very tragic event in a person’s life. It will also become a very stressful issue for the primary caregiver. However, it doesn’t have to be a bleak one. Laughter can and will help in the recovery process. It is good for a person’s soul – be it the survivor or the caregiver. We want to laugh with you. Share your stories of humor with us – don’t be ashamed or afraid to smile, chuckle, and even laugh out loud at the survivor when a situation warrants it. No one should ridicule a survivor – or make fun of his or her progress, however, laughing WITH them will help them laugh at their own mistakes and realize they are after all HUMAN. Have yourself a good hearty LAUGH – and keep climbing the mountains that loom up in front of you. Your victories will become easier to recognize and your life a little less complicated if you have yourself a good old fashioned laugh! Share a story with us!
Explore this site and you will see we are not alone in our beliefs. http://www.braincenter.org/laughter.htm
A Man & A Rabbit
Forrest Gump, Sex, & The Brain Injured Child
My Story by Elaine Manning
David Missita's Story
Take the Snake by the Tail
Nathan's Christmas Victory
CHALLENGED by Daniel C Munson
Good Morning God
One morning shortly after my 22-year-old daughter came home from the hospital; she sat staring out the kitchen window. As I watched her I was over come by grief for her and the life she was missing! Everyday seemed the same for her – get her up, feed her breakfast, shower her, change her, and keep her entertained with TV and music. It seemed everyone had forsaken her, no one called to see how she was doing; none of her “friends” stopped by to offer her encouragement! My heart broke to see her looking so lost at a time in her life when she should have been enjoying the world and all it could offer her! I stood next to her and put my arm around her shoulder, speaking with a heart full of emotion I said to her, “Michele, I am so sorry you seem so bored and sad. I feel so bad for you”. She couldn’t speak at the time – but she could spell anything she wanted to say and so her step-dad fashioned a piece of white board with the alphabet printed across it in large black letters. Her dainty little thumb pointed to several letters until she succeeded in spelling her response “I am not bored, I am watching that man out in the yard”. Surprised, I looked out the window to see who might have been standing there. All I could see was the bird feeder, a rabbit, and the trees that outlined the yard. “There’s no man out there” I told her. “Yes there is!” She insisted her eyes wide with excitement and her hand moving as fast as she could move it across the board of letters! “He is sitting there on the grass” she spelled! “Well” I began “if there is a man out there I don’t see him – unless he has turned into a rabbit”! As fast as she could move her hand, it flew to the board again – her eyes were wide, and from her throat there came a kind of humming sound. She was clearly excited as her hand moved with surprising speed across the letters - “ Oh My Gosh” she began “ someone should go tell his wife!”
Needless to say with that statement my anguish over her current situation was replaced with a hearty laugh that even made her chuckle! Today, Michele is 26 and still recovering! We laugh at most everything we can find to laugh at. She will make a joke or try to make one, and I will respond with my own! It is so good to hear my daughter’s laughter! Sure, I would rather she were hanging around with her friends, I wish she had a boyfriend and plans for a future with him! But I think it is great that together we can laugh at what ever a new day brings to this exciting world of Recovery!
Forrest Gump, Sex, & The Brain Injured Child
Tonight I was reading the journal I started almost immediately following Michele’s accident. Most of the early entries made me cry. Some made me sadder then others, while some made me laugh!One of the entries I wrote after Michele had come home was of an evening we took her out for a superbowl party, that the local American Legion, Post 159 hosted that January in 96. Michele was still communicating with a board that had the alphabet printed on it in large black letters. Up to that evening we had limited our outings to the mall, to the park, for walks, or visits to relatives homes. The superbowl party would be our first outing into a public place during any type of celebration. We were afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle all the commotion and noise from the cheering that we knew would take place during touchdowns or field goals. But we wanted to try it out and see how she would handle the excitement.
I still recall that evening, and how I opened the door so my husband could push her inside. The room was full of people talking, shooting pool, and setting up tables for the expected crowd. But when we pushed her inside the entire place fell silent. People turned to look, the two men shooting pool stopped and stared, and at first I was a little annoyed. I couldn’t believe all the people in the place could be so rude as to stair at a young woman disabled by a brain injury. I almost turned to my husband and suggested we leave, when I heard the first pair of hands begin to clap. Then a second, then a third, until every person in the room stood clapping their hands at her as she made her first entry into their world! It was then that I knew they weren’t being rude – they were finally getting a chance to see for themselves that she survived the accident and she was coming back to each and everyone who knew her. All the older people who knew her as a tiny baby and had watched her grow up, all the younger people she went to school with, and all the others who had never meant her, but knew her anyway!
We pushed her wheel chair over to a table near the television set so she would have a good view of the game. I removed her coat, placed a soda in front of her, and gave her the board she used to communicate with me. At first one person at a time would stop at our table to pat her on the back and to tell her how happy they were to see her. It seemed everyone was thrilled to see her and so anxious to watch her communicate. They all wanted to ask her questions so they could marvel at how well she responded. Each time someone would greet her and tell how glad they were to see her, she would spell out the words "Thank-You". However, it wasn’t long before a large group had gathered around the table to watch her spell her answers to questions they would ask. Some of them didn’t realize they had to keep their questions short and simple – so occasionally when someone would ask her how she was, and continue to speak before she could answer – she would reply "I wasn’t" or "I am hungry", or she would just hang her head.
As the game started with the first kick of the ball, it became apparent to me that most of the people were more interested in her then they were the football game. Then someone said to her "I am so glad you are here"! She got very excited and her hand began to move with that lighting speed she had learned when she was in a hurry to reply or say something that was very important.
I looked over my shoulder and saw all the anxious faces – their eyes were all glued on her board, and they were watching with great interest as she spelled out her reply. I heard a voice begin to speak, and another voice say, "Shh – she wants to say something". I immediately thought of the scene in the movie "Forrest Gump" when he ran all the way to the mountains of Arizona from South Carolina. Along the way he collected a cluster of followers. They ran behind him, waiting for him to make a special move, or run in another direction, or to simply say something to them. When he suddenly stopped running, his followers stopped running as well. They each fell silent, waiting in anticipation for what ever it was Forrest was about to do or say. When he turned to face the crowd., someone began to speak, and another person said, "Shh – he is going to say something" and the entire crowd fell silent, waiting to hear what Forrest Gump had to say. At that moment while the crowd of people stood around our table waited in anticipation for her to "Speak" I thought of that scene in the movie Forrest Gump.
"Tell us what’s she’s saying" someone said from behind me as they nudged my shoulder. "Okay" I replied and I looked down at the board sitting on my daughter’s lap.
"I" was the first letter she spelled, "Am" - "So" - "Happy", she wrote, "That"– "My" – Mom" - "Had" - "Sex" – "With" – "Dad" – "So" – "I" – "Could" – "Be" – "Here"! Then she looked up and smiled that smile that tells everyone she is pleased with herself for being able to convey her thoughts! Me on the other hand wanted to crawl under the table and hide! I knew she was trying to tell everyone that she was glad she had been born. To all the others standing around (mostly men) it sounded as if she was telling them that Bill and I had a "therapy" session before going to the American Legion that night!
The laughter filled the room, and it was shared by Michele’s! She was so proud of herself for that accomplishment! I was so embarrassed I wanted to hide! But I was proud as well! She had managed to spell and entire thought, even if it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to convey!
In the movie "Forrest Gump" someone in the crowed of his followers asked him what he wanted to say – his reply was "I am through Running Now". I knew how he felt! At least for that evening "I was through spelling" her thoughts to a bunch of men who kept laughing and for some reason kept slapping Bill on the back!
Story Index
While Elaine Manning wrote the following story about her brother Chris, Marjorie Conner, founder of Hope United in Giving (HUG), submitted it. Marjorie is also the mother of BI Survivor.
My Story
by Elaine Manning
When my brother, Chris was hit by a truck while riding his bike I never realized how much things were going to change. I was a senior in high school looking forward to graduation when the accident happened. I then found myself waiting and praying for Chris to wake up. He is in a coma due to the trauma to his brain.
When Chris came back from boot camp he told me how excited he was about me graduating and how he was looking forward to being there to see me graduate.
It was the last day of his leave and he was to be gone again for another three months. Little did we know that day would change our lives forever. Chris was on his way to the store when he was hit. It was around 4:00 in the afternoon when we were told. By the time my mom and I got to the scene he and my father were already on their way to the hospital. I don't really remember much from that day except being told that because he was in such good physical shape things were in his favor.
After a month of being in a hosptial here he was taken to James A. Haley Veteran's Hospital in Tampa, Florida for coma therapy. It was really hard on me. I no longer looked forward to graduation because I knew Chris wasn't going to be there to see me walk across that stage to receive my diploma.
At Easter I went to Florida with my family to see Chris and visit with him. I couldn't believe it. He didn't look like my brother. He had lost so much weight. His eyes were open a little and I could see his beautiful brown eyes some. How I missed seeing them and his smile with the dimple on his right cheek. But all I had was his eyes to look at. I spent as much time with him as possible and made sure he knew that I loved him and missed him.
When it came time for us to leave Tampa to return to our home in Texas I did not want to say, "Good bye." I met a lot of people there that were in the same situation, but caused by different circumstances. Their support group was great. They all listened to how I felt and for the first time I let all my anger and feelings out. It felt good to release it all.
The night of my graduation I held my head high as I walked across the stage to receive my diploma. My parents made sure that I knew how proud Chris would be of me and they assured me he was there in spirit. Mom even made a picture frame pin with Chris' picture in it for me to wear. That night I really felt as though he was there cheering me on.
Later on, in June, Chris was sent back here and put in a nursing home. It was nice being able to see him everyday and this time his eyes were all the way open and he had put on some weight, but it still was not the Chris I once knew. I would get mad and tell him he had to get better and he had to wake up so that he could come home. Well, Chris is home now, not awake, but that will come in time.
I have never stopped praying for him, and I even made a promise to God that I will do whatever it takes to become a nurse if he will heal Chris. I've almost finished my nursing assisting program and I'm already certified.
Chris improves a little each day, and we have our ups and downs. He has come a long way, but there is still a long road ahead of him. And to think that a year ago we almost lost him. But God was not ready for him. He has a different plan for him. At least Chris will be at one of my graduations.
With Chris being home things have changed a lot. Our living room has pretty much turned into a bedroom and my parents and I are his caregivers. We have pretty much no outside help except for the visits he makes to his doctor. We're in the process of getting a van so he can be transported to and from his doctor's office, but until then he is taken by ambulance.
Chris was always there when I needed him, and now it is my turn to be there for him. I'll be there as long as he needs me to be. I now know what it is like to have someone depend on you for everything. I help my parents roll him to prevent him from getting bed sores, give him meds, change his diapers, feed him, help shower him. I help get him in and out of bed. I've learned first hand exactly what a nurse does each day.
I can tell you what times Chris must get rolled, what time he gets his med's, the names of each and how much he gets. I've grown up a lot since the accident and I've realized that I took a lot for granted, including my brother. I thought he would always be there and I never really told him how much I loved him or how much it meant to me that he was always there for me. Now, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't tell him or the rest of my family how much they mean to me. After all, life is so short and you never know what tomorrow will bring.
There's a song that Garth Brooks sings that always reminds me how short life is. It's "IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES."
I know Chris will come through this. I have a lot of faith in God and I will continue to pray for the day that I hear his voice and his laughter.
Elaine said she wrote this letter because she wanted other to know what her life is like now and how she grew up and wanted to be strong. She said she takes responsibility in helping her parents with the care Chris needs because she wants to and knows he would do the same for her if the roll were reversed.
Marjorie Conner
Founder
Hope United in Giving (HUG)
"David Missita's Story"
as told by his mother, Sonja Missita
Early on the morning of September 19, 1998, 3 Marines arrived at our home with the news of David's accident. We were in shock and disbelief! I ran around, trying to pack, and think, both of which seemed pretty futile. Our Pastor came by and prayed with us. We stood in a circle, holding David's picture, and prayed, believing that David would be okay. I felt better, and more certain of a good outcome.
As I was trying to get things together, the commanding officer in charge of the base Medical Services at Iwakuni, Japan called with the following report: " David was hit by a car in Hiroshima. It was not a hit and run. He is on a ventilator, stable, but unresponsive. Bleeding in the brain has stopped; he has liver and lung contusions, but no broken bones. He is at the trauma center in Hiroshima." He told me that a Marine had been, and would be stationed outside the room around the clock. He thoughtfully asked if I had a request. I asked that they tell David that his Mom and brother were on the way, and please, no negative talk around him. I learned later that my request had been honored.
The 1st Sgt., who had come to our home with the news, returned to Greenville, S.C. to make flight arrangements. David's brother Brett said he would go with me. What a blessing! I don't know how I would have managed without him! My husband, who is self-employed, agreed to stay home and keep the home fires burning. The 1st Sargent called when he got to Greenville to say that with no passport, and the State Department closed, we would have to wait until Monday to travel. My husband, George called Strom Thurmond's Office, and his office called Washington. Within 15 minutes, a representative from the Passport Agency in Washington, called. Her name was Mrs. Williams, and she told us that if we could get there she would keep the agency open for us. We left on a 2:30 flight for Washington. After getting our passports, we flew to the Atlanta Airport and waited for morning.
Our plane to Tokyo left at 10:30 the next morning. I believe it was about 13 1/2 hours later that we arrived in Tokyo, where David's Gunny Sgt. met us at the airport. We turned $100.00 into Yen, and took a bus to another airport in Tokyo. From there we flew to Hiroshima. Upon arriving there, we found a government van waiting to pick us up and take us to the hospital. The Marine Corps had coordinated everything perfectly from Greenville to Japan and back again.
David's doctor met me when I arrived at the hospital trauma center. He explained David's condition as best he could. Communication was a challenge. He and his assistant could speak some English. The nurses could not. But David was very well taken care of while he was there.
When David was stable, they were ready to fly him from Hiroshima to Yokota, Japan but the typhoon weather made it unsafe, so they waited until Thursday, the 24th. We flew to Yokota, where we spent 2 nights at the Air Force Base Hospital there. Next, we flew to Travis AFB, California, where we spent 2 nights at the David Grant Hospital. From there, we flew to Scott AFB, Illinois, where we also spent 2 nights. We arrived in Washington on September 30th. Brett could not stay away from home any longer, so when we stopped at Fort Benning, Georgia, en route to Washington, he disembarked from the plan, and got a ride into Atlanta, where his fiancée picked him up. I went on to Washington, somewhat apprehensively without Brett; his presence with me provided great support! I couldn't wait to get to Washington, but it turned into my worst nightmare, or at least it felt that way at the time. We were in Washington from September 30th through October 24th.
David developed an infection from the catheter and the feeding tube in his nose. It became apparent that his left side was impaired. He was fitted for "boots," which were given to prevent "foot drop." He was given leg wraps with a "pump," and heparin shots daily to prevent blood clots. pretty routine, but of course not for me.
On October 7th, David had surgery for the peg placement in his stomach. It was next reported that he had developed an infection called MRSA. It is highly resistant to antibiotics. To go in his room, one had to wear a gown, gloves, and mask.
A fever, which was always present, rose significantly one day. The C.A.T. scan showed that his stomach was full of infection. David's arms began to look like pincushions from the IV's which were changed every 3rd day. They said that the antibiotics were so strong that they were corrosive to the veins. I questioned the nurse about the red streaks appearing on each arm above the IV and she said it was phlebitis, which is inflammation of the veins. We hot packed his arms.
On Sunday morning, October 11, the doctors decided to operate. The surgeon told me prior to surgery that for one thing, he thought the colon might have been damaged in the peg placement, and said that if that were the case, they would have to do a temporary colostomy. It turned out that the colon was fine, but they had to remove the peg, and put a drain in his stomach for the infection. They put a new peg in the small intestine. Two days following the surgery, his kidneys didn't operate, as they should so they did an ultra-sound to see if there was a blockage. There wasn't, but David suffered an allergic reaction to the IV Dye used in the ultra-sound, and the penicillin. They announced that both had caused acute renal kidney failure.
Three doctors (kidney specialists) came to David's room to tell me that his kidneys were badly damaged, and that it was quite possible that they would NEVER be normal. They would give it 3 days. If the "count" didn't improve, they would have to use dialysis. By the third day, the count changed enough that dialysis wasn't necessary. A check on his kidneys in early April showed that his kidneys are NORMAL! David's recovery has been amazing in so many ways. God has continuously intervened, and taken care of him. I am confident of God's continuing intervention in the days ahead as well.
One night a student nurse came in to spend the evening. She detected an irregular heartbeat. She called the doctor and after listening to David, he too became concerned enough to order an EKG. They did 3 before they were satisfied that everything was OK.
The Social Worker came to tell me that David didn't meet the criteria for the hospital in Richmond, which is one of 5 VA Hospitals in the country implementing the Defense Department's traumatic brain injury program and Study. She said they would arrange for him to go to a VA Nursing Home where he would stay until the day that he would awaken out of the coma and be in the position to receive rehabilitation. I had to respond with "NO WAY!!!" I just couldn't conceive of our 21 year old David in a Nursing Home! I have since come to understand that this isn't uncommon, when a comatose, head injured patient is unresponsive, and no longer requiring acute care. However, a Nursing Home would not be mentioned again, as David came out of the coma THE SAME NIGHT in which the social worker shared that with me! We decided to send him to Tampa instead of Richmond, and that was the best decision we could have ever made.
The two Scripture verses which continually kept me through David's recovery were, "For we walk by faith, not by sight" (2Cor.5: 7). Another was "While we look not at the things, which are seen, but at the things, which are not seen, for the things that are seen are temporal (or subject to change); but the things, which are not seen, are eternal." (2Cor.4: 18) I encouraged myself constantly with these truths, and ordered my conversation and conduct accordingly. Coming out of the coma was gradual. It began with head nods in response to questions. Then the doctor said that he whispered "David" in response to the doctor asking his name on the 26th day, following the accident. Next, he spoke in a whisper to the Speech Pathologist, on day 31. On Day 35, when I told David that I loved him, he whispered back, "I love you." David has no recollection of his days at Walter Reid Hospital. His first memories begin toward the end of the first week at Tampa, (probably around the 53rd day). We left Washington on Saturday, October 24th and spent the night at the Keesler AFB hospital in Mississippi, arriving in Tampa on October 25th.
The Doctor in Tampa and the brain injury team saw David first thing on Monday. I can't speak Admirably enough of them. The care in Tampa was excellent! His therapists were great, very caring and devoted. A weeklong evaluation began. David's treatment began on week two, from the team using the cognitive approach. The other team was the neuro-functional. Those on David's team were 1st rate! We really appreciated his doctor, therapists, social worker, nurses, and Steve Klemz, who worked with the patients and their families, providing a support group where people in similar circumstances could meet and encourage one another.
On Nov. 4th, David was fitted for a wheelchair, which replaced the one used to transport quickly from here to there. This chair helped to improve posture, and was so much more comfortable for David. Not comfortable enough to cause him to feel that he wanted to spend the rest of his days in it however. He was determined to park it as soon as possible. On November 12, he had his first opportunity to get out of it, and begin practicing with the rails in Physical Therapy. On November 16, he had his feeding tube Surgically removed.
The first Sunday we were there, I wheeled David to the Chapel. Then later that week I took David to Carpenter's Home Church in Lakeland. His wheelchair packed easily in the trunk. They have a room set aside for those who need physical healing. They have "healing teams" that minister to those who request it, just as the hospital had their healing team. There was and is room for both. They prayed for David, and that weekend we saw a marked improvement.
In their staff meeting on November 24, the doctor and therapy team decided that David's stay should be extended until the 18th of December because of his outstanding progress. They believed that he would make considerable more progress during the extended stay, and really benefit from the therapy they offered. We agreed.
He took antibiotics for a urinary infection, and it was thought that this infection was the reason for increasing discomfort and difficulty. However, an exam by the urologist revealed that he had a urethane stricture, which was treated by dilation. This procedure has been repeated twice since David's hospital discharge. Nerve trauma produced painful spasms on one side, which occur periodically, and last a few minutes. David's vision has improved and is greatly helped with the glasses ordered by the Neuro Opthamalogist. They have a prism ground into one lens. These are for distance only, and are corrective. To read or do anything up close, he has to use a patch. We have no reason to believe that this won't improve just as everything else has.
David was discharged from the James A. Haley VA Hospital on December 18th, 1998, three months from the day of his accident. We would be home for Christmas! David will return to Tampa at 6, 12 and 18-month intervals for evaluations.
In conclusion, I will add that we did not ask for grace and strength to accept the initial prognosis for recovery. I feel that if we had, the outcome may have been different. We have prayed for the grace to believe the many promises in God's Word, and to be able to stand on these promises in the face of every report that has suggested that David would not be well. I have found God's grace to be available and sufficient. David will not only be well but he will be better than he was before the accident. He already is. He values life, and all of the many things that people so often overlook. He is grateful for each new day that he is alive, and wants his life to count, and to be a blessing to others. What began on September 18th as a devastating blow, truly became a very positive turning point.
Finally, I would like to add that it was a very proud and happy moment for David to again dress in his Utility Cammies, and go to Greenville, South Carolina on April 8, 1999 for his promotion to Corporal. David's story is not over, but has just begun.
Story Index
Take the
Snake by the Tail
by
Capt. David Knecht (Ret. US Army)
"And the Lord said unto him, What is that in thine hand? And he said A rod. And he said, cast it on the ground. And he cast it on the ground, and it became a serpent, and Moses fled from before it. And the Lord said unto Moses, Put forth thine hand, and take it by the tail. And he put forth his hand, and caught it, and it became a rod in his hand." -Exodus 4:2-4
Friends, in this brief passage, we find rich analogies for us TBI survivors. When a Christian suffers a traumatic brain injury, he is likely to see the fingerprints of God all over the event. After all, if neither a sparrow nor a hair of my head can fall without his knowledge and consent, is it probable that something as catastrophic as TBI can befall without His involvement? I submit that TBI is, as a rod, and becomes a serpent. The rod represents our routine, ordinary, pre-TBI lives. The serpent represents the new and frightening post-TBI realities. Haven't you encountered frightening "serpents" in the course of recovering from and living with traumatic brain injury? I know I have.
A "serpent" frightened me in the early months of rehabilitation when I practiced walking with a cane. I was gripped with fear of falling. I can describe it only as a disabling, almost irrational fear. I discovered that the only way to conquer it was to "take it by the tail," that is, to confront it head-on: to discipline myself to walk in spite of the fear. It helped to "count the cost." When I calculated that the worst consequences of falling were really quite limited, it helped. A fall would imperil none of the eternal things I really valued.
I notice that in the Bible passage, Moses has no advance assurance that grasping the serpent by the tail would turn out okay. He had only God's command to do it. It's much the same with us. There's a line in West Point's Cadet Prayer which reads, "Help us to choose the harder right over the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole can be won." Often, God gives no assurance of a satisfactory outcome, only that a certain course of action is the right thing to do. We face such moral choices frequently in the course of our recovery from TBI, and our adjustment to new limitations.
One chronic "serpent" that dogs me is a deficiency in recognizing people. I sometimes will not recognize even members of my own family if I encounter them suddenly in an unexpected context. Of course this deficiency puts me at risk for big-time embarrassment in social situations. I'd rather do without this "serpent," and God gives no assurance that I'll never be embarrassed, but it sure helps to remember what God is really after. God hates pride and loves humility. It's pretty hard to get too cocky when you can't attach a name to a face after a few minutes of conversation. What is God really after? Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time. (1 Peter 5:6) God seeks also to develop the quality of attentiveness. I am motivated to attend closely to others so that I don't slip into a lapse of recognition.
So, how shall we survivors "take the snake by the tail" in the course of recovering from and living with TBI? First, we must have the moral courage to do the right thing for its own sake, without any assurance of a favorable outcome. Then, we should identify God's goals and act in harmony with them. God's goals will involve things such as developing faith and virtue, and conquering pride. May God help us to "take the snake by the tail."
The Christmas Victory story below was written and posted on the TBI Caregivers list by Paulette Keeney. Mother of Nathan Keeney who sustained a severe BRAIN INJURY on June 19, 1998. Her story is truly an inspirational one! It speaks volumes of the slow recovery process, and how we can see victories in our loved ones recovery in very small doses! We join Paulette in her celebration of her son’s victories and send to Nathan our "Good Job" praise for a job well done!
Nathan was unconscious on the scene not breathing real well. He was brought in by life flight and rushed into surgery. He was in a coma, had a ruptured bladder, torn urithria, knicked bowel and a very badly fractured pelvis. He also had a broken right tib-fib. The internal bleeding was massive. He actually died in surgery and had to be resuscitated. He ended up getting a total of 81 units of plasma, platelets, and red blood cells. They didn't expect him to live ten days. The next ten days were up and down. ICP's went very high, over 60. Emergency surgery was done and said to be "unsuccessful". He had a fifty-fifty chance to be something more than a vegetable. The next few months were full of complications, infections, reactions to meds., much tone, not to mention bed sores. He woke up slowly, no big earth moving actions. He was on a vent for 23 days in ICU for 37 days, moved to intermediate care and finally a room. Rehab evaluated him several times, but there was no response, we were advised to put him in a nursing home. After looking at two homes, we decided this wasn't what was best for our almost 18 yr. old son. So against everyone's better judgment we brought him home after a 115 days in the hospital. There have been small positive steps ever since and you can see him fighting for more. It started with him tracking to one side only; then later on to the other. A few weeks later, he would turn his head to follow you.
Today, December 25th, we experienced a real Christmas Miracle in Nathan’s struggle to recover. As a Christmas gift, we got him a mini basketball set for his bed. As I stood by his bed, he took the ball from me, lifted it up, and very slowly, yet deliberately, he put it in the hoop and let go!!!! Everyone in the room thought that maybe we were are all dreaming. But then he did it two more times...the last I caught on film! LOOK OUT REHAB – HERE WE COME!!!
Nathan is truly amazing! I pray his story, and the victories we have witnessed, will give someone the strength and encouragement we all need so much during this challenge. Nate still has a trachea, a supra pubic urine catheter, g-tube, J-tube, and he gets medicines to control his blood pressure, seizures, and tone. But he knows what's going on around him, and he understands what you say. So things are only going to get better. Hang onto every little thing your loved one accomplishes. It’s all the little things that add up to their recovery!
Merry Christmas to us all!!!
Paulette Keeney
Nathan’s Mom
18 years old - MVA 6-19-98
Some say I am disabled,
But you know that isn't true.
I simply have a challenge
A little different from you.
My slight inconvenience, has taught me
Things they could not know.
Each obstacle is a victory,
Enabling me to grow.
I'm not really any different,
I cry, I laugh, I snore.
I don't want to be treated
As if I'm not a person anymore.
Out of good intentions,
People are afraid to let me try.
But sometimes I have to fall,
And sometimes I need to cry.
God gives me strength and dignity,
And the courage to be all I can be.
For He doesn't see me as disabled,
He just sees me as me.
Daniel C Munson
Survivor
Good Morning
God
by Joan Landon
Last night I went to bed wondering what this life was all about. I thought about the day that had just passed and felt the ache in my back from the many times I had lifted my 27-year-old daughter from her wheel chair to her bed and back to her wheel chair again. I thought about the struggles I had to endure as I worked to get her into my car so I could drive her fifty miles to keep a doctor’s appointment. I wearily thought of the meals I had prepared for her during the day, and the amount of food that went on the floor opposed to the amount she actually ate. I recalled the shower I had given her that morning, and how she had made the job so much harder because she fought me every step of the way. She didn’t understand what I was doing; didn’t want a shower; resented me for giving her one? Who knows why she fought me? I just knew it was a hard job made harder because she refused to help me, and she wanted to fight me the entire time. My back hurt even more by the time I completed the job than it did before we started.
My eye’s filled with tears when I recalled how I had been forced to tell my friends I could not go shopping with them because their car wouldn’t accommodate everyone who had to go, and a wheel chair. Then my eyes spilled over when I admitted to myself, that of course they already knew I couldn’t go, and their kind offer to ask me had been just a courteous one because they already knew I couldn’t!
I sighed softly to myself when I thought of the many times that morning when Michele had asked me the same question over and over. "Are you going to be with me all day?" She would ask as I prepared her breakfast. "Yes Michele" I would tell her, knowing full well it was a lie but not wanting to hear her cries of frustration if I told her the truth; that the personal aide would be coming to stay with her so I could go to work. I felt ashamed as I thought about how irritated and annoyed I had become at her constant repetition and repeating herself. I knew she couldn’t help it because of her short term memory loss, but it was just so darn annoying to have to answer the same questions over, and over again, or respond to the same statements she would make every five or ten seconds.
I raised my hand to my brow when I recalled how she had treated the personal aide when she arrived. Tonya was a good, sweet, decent person, and she had the patients of jobe! She arrived every morning at eight sharp with a smile on her face only to be greeted by Michele’s yelling and demanding that she leave. "Get Out Of My House!" she had yelled at her. "You are Black, and I only Liked Black people in School"! She told her. I lay there thinking of how embarrassing it was to hear those awful words come out of her mouth. Michele was not prejudice, she wasn’t raised to be prejudice, yet she used that as an excuse to try and keep Tonya from coming. I knew she didn’t really hate her because of her skin color. The truth was she resented having someone sit with her because it made her feel as if she was being treated like a baby. In her mind she was just as normal now as she was prior to the accident that had left her with a severe brain injury. She resented being treated as if she was an invalid, and as far as she was concerned, she was just as normal now as she was before. "But of course she isn't normal" I sighed, and oh how I wished she was. I wished with all my heart that she could sit up by herself, walk without her dad or I holding her up. How I wished she could feed herself, bathe herself, and never need a personal aide again. But that is not how is was. I knew her feeling towards the personal aide and the fact that Tonya was black was just an excuse to keep me from leaving her, and I was so thankful that the personal aide understood that as well. But is was so stressful to hear her demeaning such a sweet person, and it was stressful to leave home with her screams and pleas for me not to leave her ringing in my ears.
I began to cry a little harder when I thought of the all the happy days my daughter was missing because of a brain injury that robbed her of her future. I cried for all the dances she was missing, all the dates she would never go on, all the wonderful memories she had made with her sisters and had forgotten, and all the wonderful memories she wouldn’t be making with them now! I felt such heavy sorrow when I thought of the man she would never marry, and the grandchildren she would never give me. I cried harder still, when I thought of the grandchildren I already had and the precious moments I missed with them, and the "mother-daughter" moments I missed with all three of my girls!
I lay next to my sleeping husband and recalled the many times throughout the lost day that he yelled out in frustration "I hate this house"! "I hate that dog"! "I hate my life"! I wondered as I lay beside him if he knew how each time he used the word "hate" it made me wonder if he hated
my child and me as well. I wondered during those moments as I waited for sleep to over come me if he knew how I hated to hear him complain. Did he know that I loved him, and just wanted him to be happy? He was Michele’s stepfather, yet he had lovingly helped me take of her for five years. He had put more into her recovery then her own father had. Did he know that I would understand if he decided to leave and go search out some happiness that would replace his feelings of hate? I wondered as I lay there if he knew how I wished he would go!
I felt anger when I thought of the night that she decided to drink and drive. I was so mad at her as I lay in the dark remembering the early morning hour’s five years before when my sister had knocked on my bedroom door to give us the news that Michele had been in an accident and not expected to live. I was so grateful to God for allowing her to live, and I had told him I would take her anyway he saw fit to give her back to me. But at that very moment I wanted to yell at her, at her friends, at the bartender who served her. "WHY?" "Why did you have to do this to us?" "Why did you have to suffer a brain injury and change all our lives for ever?" I wanted to scream at them, and ask them all "WHY?" But I knew as I lay there that no one would ever be able to give me the answer I so desperately wanted.
In the darkness of my bedroom, and silently so no one could hear me… I cried from despair!
As the tears rolled silently from my eyes, and dampened the pillow I lay my head on, I cried out to God for strength.
"Dear God" I prayed, "Please fill me with your strength!"
"Please God, tell me how your son endured the pain when his back hurt so bad as he struggled to lift the cross that he would die on."
"Please God, tell me how you overcame those who fought against your cleansing as you washed away their sins (or the dirt if you will) that collected on them during a long hot summers day?"
"Please God, tell me how you dealt with the hate you heard from those who didn’t understand you, or didn’t know how to deal with the total honesty of your love"
As I finished my prayer, I asked God for one more favor. "Please God, when I wake up in the morning, let me know that the day is going to be better; please give me a sign that you are with me."
And then I went to sleep.
In the very early hours of the morning, that part of the day when dawn is just beginning to peep over the horizon and the coming day has that brand new look to it, I opened my eyes. I was alone in bed, as my husband had already escaped the prison that my daughter’s injury had placed us in five years before. Something had awakened me, and as my mind began to clear the sleep from the weary corners of my brain, it dawned on me that there was a beautiful lark sitting on the windowsill of the open window next to my bed. The beautiful sound it made as it greeted the cool morning had been what had awakened me. I lay in my bed watching the bird for a few minutes, and it seemed as if the feathery songdress was greeting me personally. She sat there looking into my bedroom; her head tilted slightly when she began to sing her sweet summer song. It was almost as if I could hear the words she sang "Get up sweet child, the day is new, God is here and he wants to visit with you." I was fearful that as I reached for my glasses the beautiful bird would fly away, but she didn’t. She sat quietly on the sill as I put my glasses on, threw the covers away, and swung my already tired legs over the side of the bed. I stood up, stretched my sore back and as I prepared to walk from the room, it was then that the beautiful bird flew away. As I passed by the window she had been perched on, I noticed a nest. "So you have your babies to take care of too" I said aloud. I knew she had flown away in search of breakfast for her little children that so helplessly depended on her. I thought of my own child laying in her bed (nest) down stairs, and I knew she too was waiting for me to go in search of her breakfast.
I reached the bottom of the steps and opened the two front doors in the vestibule that shielded us from the night. "What a beautiful morning" I thought to myself as I looked out across the fields and noticed the beautiful pink and blue of the morning sky. "Good Morning God" I said. "Are we ready to face another day of the same thing we faced yesterday"? "Yes, my child" I heard a voice say and a feeling of warmth spread over me as I thought about how wonderful it would feel if God did indeed pay me a visit.
I turned from the door and entered my daughter’s bedroom. I stopped short as I noticed her sitting on the side of her bed. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, and her hands were folded across one another resting in her lap. I hadn’t seen her sit like that in years, and the picture her pose made took my breath away. I was dumbfounded as I stood there looking at her, so surprised to see her already sitting on the edge of the bed! For every morning during the last five years, with the exception of Saturdays and Sundays when her step-dad took over the morning duties to give me a break, it had been I who had swung her legs over the side of the bed. It had been I who had stood her up and held onto her as I sat her down in her wheel chair. "Hola" she said to me with a big grin on her beautiful face, and she raised her hand in a salute when I entered the room. I was speechless as I stared at her sitting there, and my emotions over came me as I heard her voice for the first time in five years say "Hello" to me in Spanish! My eyes began to water, and the pleasant memory of the bird sitting on my window rushed back to me. I realized in those few moments as I stood staring at my daughter looking so normal and happy, that God had indeed sent me the sign I had asked him for the night before. He had sent a tiny little bird to wake me and tell me he was coming, and she had flown off when I was on my feet to tell him "Okay – your daughter is awake, and you can go see her now." His voice had greeted me as I stared out gazing at the beautiful morning, and He had told me "yes, we are going to face today together and you will not be alone!" I turned from my daughter’s happy grin and quickly rushed back up the stairs and to the window beside my bed. I knelt down to get closer to the beautiful bird that had awoken me with her beautiful song. "Please" I whispered so I would not scare her "Please go tell God I love him, tell God I have felt him near me. Tell God I have heard him, and tell him I will sing his praise with each breath I take."
There as I knelt beside my window I began to laugh… I laughed out of joy!
Joan Landon Michele’ Mom (Brain Injury sustained on Chincoteague Causeway, August 18, 1994) Written August 24, 1999
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