The Move

After the doctor left with the agreement that Mark’s update reports would take place in the conference room in the future, I returned to his bedside. I held his hand, hoping to feel his spirit. Where are you Mark? Are you trapped between two worlds? Am I going crazy and imagining movements just because I want to see them? A thought came to mind, or possibly his spirit answering me, all energy is going to fight the infection and blood clot. Maybe, a coma is the best place for me right now.

Intermixed with all the worries, the improving numbers in his red and white cell counts were triumphs in my mind, along with his temperature and heart rate going down. With each passing day I was getting more and more anxious to move Mark to a rehab hospital closer to home.

The therapists were getting Mark out of bed two or three times per day now. After several weeks of lying in bed it was refreshing to see him sitting in a reclining wheelchair. Sometimes when his eyes were open, there was a blank stare. Other times I could see he was focused on something. However, every time he was moved, his eyes grew wide and he looked terrified. I felt and understood his fear. He had no control over his body and where it would land. I knew he was aware of the movement; I saw it in his eyes. In a soothing voice, I tried to reassure him everything would be okay.

One day I walked from one area in his room to another and noticed his eyes followed my movement. I walked a little farther away and lost his focus. When I got closer to the bed, I knew he could see me again and as I moved from the left side of the bed to the right side, he lost focus again. As I watched him from his right side, it appeared to me he was searching the left side to find me. I tested this a few times, moving from one side of the bed to the other. I was positive he could see me on the left side, but for some reason could not focus on me when I was on his right side. Every day I read to him and we listened to his favorite music on cassette tapes.

Christopher and Katie were now out of school and my mother was with them most days, but on the morning of June 12, 1991 she came early to be with me for the doctor’s report. Quickly walking towards the conference room she said, “Hi Mark,” as she walked past his room. Mark turned his head towards the door, obviously recognizing his name and her voice. A nurse was following behind her and somehow missed seeing his reaction, or at least wouldn’t admit to seeing it. In the conference room Mom told the doctor she was sure he recognized his name and her voice and he responded. The doctor and nurse would not agree that Mark’s response was worthy of any progress notation.

I was anxious to move Mark to Western Rehab Hospital for several reasons. It had a wonderful reputation for specializing in spinal cord and traumatic brain injuries and it was close to home. They only had a few beds available at the time and I was worried they’d be full when the doctor released him from McKay-Dee Hospital. The sixty mile daily commute to and from the hospital became increasingly difficult with the kids out of school and the frustrations the doctor and I felt for each other were becoming intense.

“When will Mark be released to go to Western Rehab,” I asked again.

“I don’t feel he’s should be moved yet.”

I reiterated my reasons for being anxious to move Mark and recounted all the positive improvements we had seen in the past ten days, including the response my mom had just had.

Exasperated, he said, “Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you take him out yourself?”

Surprised by his statement, I asked, “Can I do that?”

“Yes. I don’t recommend it and you’ll have to make the arrangements yourself, but you can do it.”

“I’ll do it,” I exclaimed.

I was elated when I called Western Rehab to verify they had a bed for Mark. They helped me arrange for an ambulance to transport him there and requested the medical records from the hospital. I hadn’t been this excited since the car accident. While Mark was sitting up in the reclining wheelchair, I trimmed his beard, shaved his cheeks and gave him his first haircut since they shaved half of his head for the shunt placement, which had now been removed. All trimmed and shaved he looked better than he had in seven weeks and I was confident he was ready to move on to this next stage of his recovery. That night Dad came by the hospital and I asked him to give Mark a special blessing that all would go well with the transfer.

Saying good-bye to the Call family, whom I had shared the McDonald House with and the Peek family, who were residents of Ogden made leaving the hospital hard. These two families had become my hospital family. We spent many worrisome hours together in the waiting room while our loved ones were in ICU. We ate meals together, attended church services at the hospital and shared tears over concern for our loved ones. I knew I’d miss their love and support.

I didn’t take my decision to move Mark from the hospital lightly. I wanted to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible and was hoping I could ride in the ambulance with Mark to Western Rehab. Mom knew of my desire and was supportive in every way, so the next morning she drove me to the hospital and waited with me for the ambulance to arrive. Two EMT’s came to the room and with a white sheet under Mark’s body, they pulled him from his hospital bed onto the stretcher. The IV bag was moved to a pole on the stretcher, while his trachea tube was attached to a portable ventilator, which was placed at his side.

“May I ride with him in the ambulance,” I asked.

“Yes,” said one of the EMT’s, “you can ride in the passenger seat.”

As excited as I was to get Mark out of this hospital and closer to home, I felt intense gratitude towards the team of doctors and nurses for saving his life. I thanked each one of them as we gathered his medical records and packed up the last few personal items before walking out the door. I was leaving the hospital a changed person, realizing Mark’s life and recovery was now my responsibility. I was confident in my decision, but the accountability weighed heavily on my mind.

Craig and Lynne’s Story

 

My ninety-one year old Grandma Rose was a neighbor of the Zabriskie family. She had heard about a boating accident their son Craig had which resulted in a traumatic brain injury (TBI) in 1990. He was progressing well in rehab at McKay-Dee Hospital at the time of our car accident. My caring grandma knew that if I could meet Craig and Lynne, their experience would be helpful and give me hope. She asked them to stop by and see me sometime when they were at the hospital. I remember our first meeting just a few weeks after our accident. I learned that Craig was in a coma for five weeks. I thought Mark will not be comatose for that long. Craig was using a walker. I thought Mark will never need a walker. One might say I was in denial; I would say I was adjusting to a shocking twist of fate which I was not prepared for.

Lynne visited with me a few times while Craig was in therapy. She had a better understanding of what I was going through than I did. She had seven months of experience with TBI at the time. She recommended helpful books for me to read. After Mark left McKay-Dee hospital we kept in touch through cards since email was not widely used at that time. We have in common a love and heartache for wonderful men who are survivors of TBI; we are close in age and have the same number of kids. For more than twenty-three years they have been our mentors and one of the few marriages I know which have endured the trials of TBI. Their story is amazing and Lynne has shared it in a book, The Lost Season. They are one of many special people we’ve gotten to know on this journey and I’m grateful for their example and willingness to share their story on Uniting Caregivers.

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KSL report written April 14, 2009

BOUNTIFUL — A former high school athlete and former high school cheerleader had it all: two beautiful children, a thriving business and a terrific marriage. One afternoon on Pineview Reservoir changed their lives forever.

Lynn Neerings and Craig Zabriskie began dating their sophomore year at Bountiful High School. Neerings was a cheerleader and Zabriskie played baseball for the Braves in the 70s.

“Craig was the all-American kind of guy and Lynn the cheerleader, so they were perfect together,” said former classmate Bob Grove.

The pair married in 1980. Over the years, they had two daughters and Craig had a thriving mortgage business.

Their life took a dramatic turn on September 11th, 1990 on Pineview Reservoir. Another boat hit Craig while he was waterskiing.

“And unable to hear our warning cries, I watched helplessly as the boat slammed into my husband,” said Lynn.

The couple estimates the boat hit Craig going 40 miles an hour, and the impact to Craig’s head was closer to 60.

Twenty minutes later at McKay-Dee Hospital, Craig had slipped into a coma.

“When the doctor came in he had x-rays and told me his brain had just shut down, but there was some activity and he probably wouldn’t make it through the night. Or if he does, he won’t remember you or the children or he’ll never walk again,” Lynn said.

After five weeks in a coma, Craig finally woke up. “They had him sitting in a wheelchair, and I knelt down and said, ‘Craig, I’m Lynn, your wife.’ Unable to speak because he had a trach, he leaned towards me and kissed me. He remembered,” said Lynn.

Craig doesn’t remember anything from the accident, but he knew right away life would be drastically different. Ironically, Craig signed up for long-term disability insurance one month before the accident.

He said, “I just had a great life, and after the accident, it was like everything was taken from me.”

To get back, Craig would endure grueling rehabilitation. He had to re-learn to walk and re-learn the alphabet. He even had to teach himself how to write with his left hand after being right-handed his entire life.

“They put a pen in my hand and said, ‘Write your feelings, write everything.’ So to this day I write down everything,” he said.

Lynn became a writer, as well. She put their story into a book called, “The Lost Season.”

“Our goal is to help everyone out there know that life is not easy, but you can overcome no matter what life brings you,” Lynn said.

Life for Craig, now 52, includes continual therapy. One of the first things his therapist recommended was racquetball, a game Craig played for years before his accident.

“I play with two rackets, one in each hand. I serve with my right and kill with my left,” said Craig.

Craig is also a regular at Gold’s Gym where Lynn teaches aerobics. Though he can no longer work, he says life is great, despite what happened.

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I’m grateful Grandma had the foresight to ask the Zabriskie’s to visit me.Their friendship has enriched my life. For more information or to order their book go to  www.TheLostSeason.net.

 

 

 

 

 

You Raise Me Up

April 27, 1991

Shortly after the dreaded phone calls, my brother, Don, and sister, Rosanne, arrived at the hospital carrying a folding chaise lounge. Always thinking ahead and being the protective big sister, Rosanne came prepared with something for me to sleep on if needed. Appreciating how lucky I am to have all my family live close by me and able to rearrange their Saturday evening plans to be with me, I felt loved, supported and secure with them uniting around me.

We got permission for all seven of us to go into Mark’s room together that evening. Tears were shed by each family member at the sight of a young man, who at the beginning of the day was full of life and excitement for a new job and the adventure of moving to a different city. Now he lay comatose, entangled in tubes that were connected to the equipment keeping him alive. Dad and my three brothers laid their hands on Mark’s head and gave him a blessing. Dad’s words were soothing and the spirit I felt was calming. I remember many of the words spoken, but most vividly I recall the love, concern and the comfort I felt. With Mark’s rotating bed stilled for the blessing, the pumping noises of the other equipment and strange I.C.U. smells seemed to disappear from the room.  In the midst of my darkest hours arose tender mercies. Surrounded by my family, the room became my sanctuary.

McKay-Dee Hospital was wonderful to us. They offered a room for us to sleep in at the Ronald McDonald House close by the hospital. My parents and I stayed in a room with a queen size bed and recliner chair. With my broken collarbone I couldn’t breathe lying down anyway so I slept in the recliner. My sister took back her chaise lounge realizing we had adequate sleeping arrangements and my siblings went home for the evening.

Like a wild fire, the word was spreading, leaving a painful scorch on all of our loved one’s hearts. The next day, being Sunday, many neighbors, friends, cousins, aunts and uncles gathered at the hospital. They were not allowed in the Intensive Care Unit so they shared their love and support with me in the waiting room. Mark’s Mom and Uncle Glynn flew in from Arkansas on Monday and his sister’s, Karen and Jerrie, flew in from Washington. They stayed a few days at the Ronald McDonald house with us. I was in awe at the number of people who came. Each person’s love and support lifted me up and added light to my days. They helped bring me out of the dark and deep hole I had fallen into, which gave me purpose and encouragement to move on and look upward.

I thought Mark would want me to go to his new employer, Robertson Electric, personally to let them know about the car accident and his condition. Dad and Steve went to the junkyard on Sunday to retrieve Mark’s tools and clipboard from the car. I looked in the clipboard to find his time card and the address of the office. Early Monday morning Dad drove me there and I met Mark’s employer for the first time. I explained that due to Mark’s condition, I didn’t know when he would be back to this new job he was so excited about. Mr. Robertson was kind and compassionate about the situation and told me not to worry. The job would still be there whenever Mark was well enough to work. I handed him Mark’s clipboard and he told me if there was anything he could do to help not to hesitate to call. For the next several weeks they called the hospital to check on Mark’s condition and sent him flowers.

The critical twenty-four hours turned into forty-eight and then seventy-two. As the days turned into weeks, my family devised a plan to encourage and enable me to go home on weeknights to be with our children, Christopher and Katie. Each brother and my brother-in-law, Klint, took an assigned night Monday through Thursday to stay overnight with Mark. They drove over sixty miles to go to the hospital right after work and in the morning they’d drive right back to their various workplaces. After I got the kids off to school, Mom would drive me to the hospital. She spent nearly every day there with me and then drove me home in the afternoon. Friday through Sunday I spent the days and nights there alone with Mark while the kids stayed at my parent’s home. Sunday Mom and Dad would bring the kids to the hospital for a visit then Sunday night, Dad stayed with Mark while Mom drove the kids and I home. Without a car and because of my broken collarbone I wasn’t able to drive for six weeks so I was totally dependent on my parents for transportation.

Every family member pitched in to help me as well as the children through this strenuous time. Friends and extended family drove many miles to see us while others flew from places too far to drive. People from different churches prayed for us. I felt the love and support of many and learned how caring and kind even strangers are. “You raised me up: to more than I can be” and I am forever grateful for you.

My Angel Mother

Abraham Lincoln said it perfectly and I couldn’t agree more about my own mother. Her example and unconditional love has brought me to where I am today, and I definitely know that everything I am or ever will be I owe to her. May is the month we honor our mothers and today just happens to be my mother’s birthday. She is also the world’s best caregiver so it’s triple fitting that I write about her today.

I’ve always known my mother loved me, but since the car accident it has become even more evident. She has been by my side nearly every day since then.

When I was eighteen I was anxious to be independent and to experience life as an adult so I moved out to be on my own. I was going to the community college, which was no reason for leaving home. I knew it broke my mother’s heart, but she loved and supported my endeavors even though she didn’t agree with them. They knew I would have been better off financially if I stayed home a few more years. We talked on the phone often and had Sunday dinner together nearly every week until I was married. I will be forever grateful to them for not giving up and for loving me even though I know I disappointed them.

My mother knows and understands me better than I do myself sometimes. When the car accident happened she knew just what I needed and gave me the love and support that carried me through some very hard days. I remember she even had to help me in the bathroom until my broken collarbone (in two places) healed enough that I could manage by myself with one hand. My mother would do anything for her children no matter their age. As I get older, I realize she would still do anything for her children no matter her age.

Since our car was totaled in the car accident and I was unable to drive with a broken collarbone, my mother drove me 120 miles every weekday so I could be with Mark during the day and our children at night while Mark was at McKay Dee Hospital in Ogden, UT . Weekends she took care our kids, Christopher and Katie so I could stay overnight at the hospital with Mark.

When Mark was transferred to Western Rehab in Sandy, which was located not far from my parent’s home, my mother was able and made it a priority to visit nearly every day. She was either watching the kids or visiting at the hospital. Because of her daily visits and Mark’s mother living out of state, many doctors, nurses and therapist thought she was Mark’s mother and was often called her Mrs. Wilson. My mother loves all her in-law children and treats them as her own. She calls each one a bonus child.

In 1996, five years after our car accident, we built a home together which is wheelchair accessible for Mark, so for the past eighteen years we have lived together. It’s brought some challenges with health issues, raising two teenagers and differences in how things should be done, but it’s been a great blessing for both Mark and I and we hope it’s been for them too. I can’t imagine how we would’ve gotten along without them.

My mother is a great example to me and some of my favorite traits about her are that she is:

Insightful – aware of others needs

 

Loving – unconditionally to all

Obedient – to God’s commandments

Virtuous – honorable and trustworthy

Educated – always seeking to learn new things

 

Youthful – care in her beautiful appearance

Organized – everything is always in its place

Unique – to me, for she is the best mom ever

 

And I’m so lucky that she’s mine! My world is a better place because of her.

 

Survivor—Nich’s Story

Written by, Jamie Sorensen

Our story began more than fifteen years ago. I met my husband, Nicholas, in high school; we were just acquaintances in our junior year. Nich sat behind me in our history class; he usually slept, or doodled on his homework, and then asked to copy my notes. He was very outgoing, social, and flirtatious. We were complete opposites and after high school, we went our separate ways.

On Saturday July 24^th, 1999, at age eighteen, Nicholas was involved in a horrific rollover car accident. After spending a week at the Sand Dunes, Nich, his friends and family, were driving home in three separate cars. Nich’s family was in front, followed by Nich and his two best friends Melissa and Sean, and bringing up the rear was Melissa’s family. Nich’s Mom, Dad, and sister, in the lead car, lost sight of Nich and his friends, so they pulled into a rest stop to wait for them to catch up. That unfortunately never happened.

At approximately 6:34 p.m. near Tremonton, Utah, the Highway Patrol received multiple phone calls from witnesses, saying that a white Jeep hit the center median, swerved, over corrected, and rolled two or three times end over end. Nich and his friends were thrown from the vehicle. The driver, Sean, had the least extensive injuries; he was awake and talking. Nich, unconscious was taken by ambulance to the local hospital in Tremonton. Melissa, suffered the most serious injuries, and was life lighted to the University of Utah hospital. Tragically, she did not survive.

Nich was at the Tremonton hospital for a short time. He had difficulty breathing, because his lungs were filling with fluid. They transported him immediately by ambulance, to the McKay-Dee hospital in Ogden, Utah for two days, and then another transfer to Cottonwood hospital, for the next three days. Upon his release, he was referred to a neurologist (for the brain injury), and attended rehab three times a week for six weeks. He had to re-learn how to walk, talk, eat, and do all the everyday functions we take for granted. With the Traumatic Brain Injury, he began having multiple seizures.

In 2007, I stumbled upon Nich’s name online, through our high schools web page on MySpace. We were both coming out of unhappy and unhealthy marriages. I sent him a message saying “Hello do you remember me?” Surprisingly he did! We started talking a lot; learning everything about each other since our junior year of high school. We dated for a year and were married, February 17, 2008.

I knew, about Nich’s horrible accident before we got married, but I couldn’t have fully known what my responsibilities would be as the wife of a TBI survivor. You can’t prepare for things you’re going to have to deal with until you’re actually living with that person on a daily basis.

Nich has had two major grand mall seizures since the accident, but he suffers from petite mal seizures almost daily. He’s currently on three different seizure medications, all at maximum dosages, which keep the seizures at bay for the most part. A year and a half ago, Nich blacked out, fell and hit his head in the shower, causing another concussion. Two days later a golf ball size hematoma showed up on his head, and he started throwing up. The concussion caused his seizures to become more prevalent again. His driver’s license was taken away and since then, he’s had some major setbacks. He often forgets how he got from upstairs to downstairs. He has fallen down our staircase due to another black out.

I could’ve never expected many of the things we’ve had to deal with the past six years, but I don’t regret a single second of it. It’s taken a lot of patience and understanding. I’ve had to learn how my husband’s brain works. I’ve had to change my expectations and how I do and say things to him.  Nich is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.  He is loving, kind and compassionate. He says what he’s thinking, when he is thinking it. He is romantic, sensitive, and takes great care of me and our three kids. He constantly puts our needs before his own, and is always seeking ways to make others happy. I feel so lucky to have my husband at home with our kids every day; he’s a tremendous father. I feel so blessed to be married to my best friend who helps me appreciate the little things in life. I try to be thankful for what we have, and try not to stress about the things we don’t. My husband and I look forward to every day we get to spend together.

It’s true, I wouldn’t have married that “boy” I knew back in High School, but the man I know now (post TBI, and accident), is the love of my life.

Jamie will share more of their story next Sunday, with Survivor—Nich’s Story, Part 2. Thank you for sharing your heartfelt story.