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.

I'm Lucky

I slept last night.  I felt, almost, normal the next day.  When I sleep, unlike the nonsensical nights sleep I endured most nights at Craig, I feel normal, almost.  When I sleep I don't feel like I'm the slow kid not keeping up with pleasant conversation or even a completely broken man.  I still have a hitch in my gitty-up caused by a right leg that still isn't wired correctly.   Maybe it's because I still hang with some very broken folks during my Craig sessions, but I'm starting to believe my hitch is hardly perceptual, if your not getting paid to study my gait like my PT.  And my right arm, (I'm a natural left hander which has made my situation a leap and bound easier to manage.) especially my right hand, is still a weak sissy that can't do fine motor skills with any amount of speed but my right wing is now serving for light duty tasks. I can now manage, right handed, to zip and button my pants, hold open a newspaper, remove the stopper from a gallon of milk, among other right handed jobs. I have, as a fun form of physical therapy, been playing right handed catch with my boys.  We exchange bouncing underhanded tosses with a heavy gel filled ball, it's weight perfect for adding strength to my hand.   Kelly (4) and even Rhys (3) can catch my awkward looking but fairly accurate servings about 80% of the time. I, using my weakened right hand and with their poor tossing technique, only mange to grab half of their balls but its fun weather I snatch one or whiff.

I slept last night, I feel almost normal, and just plain lucky.   Even though I'm not physically right, yet, I feel lucky every day.  As I mentioned before, my most quantifiable reason I feel lucky is the array of broken people I encounter and I am friends with at Craig.  The friends I know who departed around the same time as I or are on track to depart in the next weeks are, frankly, going to need the aid of other people for quite sometime, if not for a lifetime. My injuries, beyond my healing brain, are simply superficial. I sustained road rash on my knees, right shoulder, and chin - not even a broken collar bone for me.  Because the intensity of injury to their body's (think how you might end up crashing your drag racer at 200 mph, crashing your motorcycle into a u-turning car and getting dragged for a block trapped under the engine block, or suffering a land mind attack in Iraqi - a horror) some of my fellow Craig residents are there three months before the start even considering a move home after four or five months hard time.

I'm lucky, I only did two weeks at Denver Health and three weeks at Craig and was sent home one week ago, Friday.  It's been six weeks since my troubling head first crash and I still visit Craig for out patient therapy several times a week, visiting friends and the therapeutic staff, to further the healing of my body and mind but I receive the gift of time with my boys during off hours now. Playing a card game with Kelly, listening to Rhys' rascally laugh, or cuddling and singing a lullaby with Beck before bed are my joyous cues while not doing structured therapy. Now, even in the midst of a three year old fit or a two year old tantrum, truly, the boys make me smile every second I spend with them.

I'm lucky that I didn't die, leaving a harsh wake of death for my dear family to grapple.   I can't imagine Cathrine telling the boys their daddy is dead.  I had a dear friend die of a head injury four years ago - it's painful and sickening process.  I'm lucky Catherine wasn't picked to call deaths end for a father of three impossibly small.  I'm lucky she was stubbornly fit and tenderly able to direct my care, first at Denver Health and then at Craig's.  Each facility has wonderful, dedicated staff but ultimately Cath faced, especially at the beginning, hard decisions regarding my care or would hardily fight for me when I was faced by dunces who where occasionally assigned to managed my care.  I am lucky to have a wife so caring, so relentless to make the last six weeks what every doctor I've met claims to be, with a level of measured caution, a somewhat miraculous recovery.  I am lucky to have Catherine on my team and I want everyone, everyone to know she has helped me during this difficult time using every fiber in her body.  I am lucky to have Catherine as my wife.

I was still in Craig but made it to the final stage of the pro race.

Gram Mary has been amazing!

We went for a hike in the mts last weekend.

Rhys celebrating his first day of school with dad. 

I'm riding again (stationary) these days.