September 26, 2011

An Introduction Worth Remembing

My first official job duty, other than sitting through a Trips for Kids (TFK) board meeting teaming with friendlies a few weeks back, was to attend an event, a fundraising deal last weekend neatly served by a true friend of the program in Boulder. Before arriving, while brushing the stink from my breath with a toothbrush wielded in my right hand, I though about my early teary emotional spats and, in particular, a passed emotional incident crying from my wheelchair in front of friends and their trio of young boys during a hospital visit. Crap! The kids and their mom and dad were being just lovely to me. Then, the middle boy, maybe 8 or 9, after his mom saying "he wants to give you something," pulls a biking metal from his pocket and, with my head bowed and lip quivering, slips the blue and red ribbon around my neck. As father to three boys who's time I was missing dearly, I lost it.  So, as I stowed the toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, I though about how the reviving health of my brain over the last month or so seemed to have ended these weepy episodes. I though with a smirk and a shudder about my lost emotional footing weeks ago and laughed to myself, "Jesus, I'll never do that shit again."

We arrived at the fundraising event saying hellos and hugging the TFK greeters and donation collection team, good folk, a bubbly board member and her mountain biker husband. We admired the turn out, the party was clearly well attended. Then, as we entered, we found the party's main host to tell him, honestly, that we truly value his support and, shit, despite the fact I'm going by doctors orders and remaining "beerless" for this "ProAm Craft Beer Fest," the timing of his shindig could not be better. Thank you. We met his girl and he shifts off, yelling to some friends, into the party.

We grab food from the taco cart guy and spend awhile just enjoying the festivities. We've been there  close to an hour, so I'm thinking about doing one more thank you spin to the party planning committee and hitting the road when my board member reappears shepherding two young women my way. She says this is some name and some name my mind just will not remember today - this is the brain injury working against me - and they want to meet you. We shake hands and say hellos. The small red head then says, "I wanted to meet you because I was actually one of the first...."
And I'm thinking, "One of the first Trips for Kids volunteers? Could be, that was eight years ago but she doesn't look familiar. First what, I wonder.

"I was actually one of the first rescue patrolers on the scene of your crash."

Oh, holy shit. Not what I was expecting my first night out on the town.
She said clearly, "Great to meet you and wow it's great to see you are doing ok.  I wasn't sure that was you. We were all impressed by how you were fighting and trying to stay with us."

With a welling of tears in her eyes she continued, "You were....."  And she launched into my specific actions, basically, of me trying to stay alive and their team's efforts to keep me alive. I tried to stick with her as long as possible, but, at first stopped up in my throat, almost a cough, I started crying. As she finished her brief account of that afternoon, I turned away, overcome by what she told me, sobbing. 

I wanted to know more about this time that has vanished from my life.  I knew little to nothing about this faithful time a few hours after my crash. I wanted to find out more about the 45 minutes of my life when I was scraped off the trail and packed out on a headboard by her team of Winter Park patrollers. I wanted to know more about their decision to transport me to Denver via Flight for Life but I could only cry, moved by her story of my fucked up day racing my mountain bike and how I struggled hard for life.  I didn't expect her story to paint my end so perilous , so uncertain.

After I regained my composure, her friend engaged me in lighter conversation about her involvement in a urban biking program in another city and her willingness to serve as a volunteer or, as a follow nonprofiteer, help TFK shine in other ways. It was a conversation I could handle - right up my ally, really. Then she said, "Your injury will get better with time. I know I was a pro biker once and had a bad crash, a car.  I found it difficult to speak clearly for about four months." Still stuggling with my speech, just a touch now compared to five or six weeks ago when I would end conversations routinely by admitting, "I don't remember what I was trying to say," I cried again for her, for me.

Before the girls found a less intense person to hang with at the Craft Beer Fest, I gathered myself and first admitted my name difficulties with the head injury - nice to speak with you Emma and Rachel, the patroller. I generously thanked Rachel for her work rescuing me and promised to stay in touch with each. I have learned much about life in my journey though this mishap and I will keep my promise to Emma and Rachel, for certain.

They undoutably taught me people face all stripes of adversity and survive.  They taught me there are folks like Rachel and my team at Craig who do everything they can to help people fight back from these situations and live meaningful lives.  I'm working on writing down other purposeful lessons I've learned from my accident, eight weeks of dedicated work on my recovery, and now, three weeks post my vital time in the hospital which has made other lessons become starkly apparent. Like my writing about our life with three young sons, I'm writing this to recall and record the certain challenges of my recent life.  I choose to post it on this blog not necessarly for others to read (tho I dont mind if you do) but to help myself figure out, maybe correctly, how to wage this new battle against my wayward limbs and solve this crazy puzzle of nerve damage testing my right flank. 
One important note, we celebrated Kelly's 5th birthday yesterday with a crowd of kids and a jumpy castle, with slide per Kelly's firm wishes.  During the three hour long party, I spotted Kelly twice.  The kid got an epic jump on yesterday.  Happy birthday son.

If you like to start at the beginning of my difficult days, go here and then here.

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