Reality Crash . . .

It's been awhile since I've posted on this blog, and I've neglected the other blogs as well. I blame it on a busy life, and my inability to avoid committing to too many projects at one time.

Today's blog is the ending of one life and the beginning of another. My husband, Jim, loves cycling with a passion. Every "Tour de France" or "Tour de 'something'" has him avidly watching the screen after a TIVO, and getting on his bike with gusto afterward. He tries to ride almost every day, and sometimes he grosses 50 to 80 (or even 100) miles on a Saturday, and then goes after it all over again on Sunday.

July 28th. I'm at home writing when the call comes in. It's my daughter, who wants to know if I've heard about her Dad. "No," I said, and punched a few more letters in while she relayed a quick string of words I wasn't sure I comprehended. Something about "Dad," and "crashing the bike," and "being flown to the hospital." I hung up the phone and realized I didn't have the slightest idea what she'd just told me.

3:30 PM: My husband's cycling friend Kenny calls to tell me that my husband was medivac'd to Ventura County Hospital. I'd already pulled on clothes, and prepared to leave the house with my son. "He's okay," was what I'd been told. That's all I clung to. After going to the wrong hospital, and finally finding the right one, I rounded the curtain in the ER and he looked anything but "okay." His face was scrapped horribly, and his head was encased in a full neck brace.

Every five minutes or so, he'd look at me very confused and ask the same question. "Where am I? What happened?" I'd patiently explain, over and over again, that he'd crashed on his bike, that he had a major concussion and had trauma to his head, and that he was in the Ventura County Medical Center (VCMC). His eyes remained confused. He'd tell me he was sorry. Sorry he crashed his bike. Sorry he couldn't remember. I felt so bad for my son, Sean. Fifteen years old, going on 16 in a few months, and watching his dad suffer and go through such confusion.

July 29th:  Jim was moved to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) a few hours later. They did tons of tests on him, including an MRI of his brain, some vascular studies and an echocardiogram. The neurosurgeon showed me his MRI, and where the left vertebral artery seemed to have suffered trauma, as well as the small blood clots in the left parietal side of his brain and the frontal portion. Six clots, all small, but in different areas. The doctor said he thought perhaps the trauma to the artery caused a 'shower' of clots in the brain. Regardless, the effect was like that of having mini-strokes.

Jim's speech was garbled and his words were slurred. His right side of the body was weaker and it was more difficult for him to grasp objects with his right hand. I thanked the maker of Bell Helmets that day. If it weren't for their design, and superior fit on his head, he wouldn't be with me today. That much I know. 

 August 1st (Jim's B-Day):  We sneak in a helium balloon only to find out he's being moved to 2 West, a regular medical floor. That is cause for a little celebration. He's graduated to a regular floor. Kira makes him Banana bread for his birthday cake, and we give him our gift: Football tickets to the San Diego Chargers/ Dallas Cowboys game. A REAL game. I found myself wondering if he'd be able to make it.

August 4th (Sunday): After dinner and a shower, Jim and I went outside to look at the sunset. He recognized "Two Trees," but wasn't sure why he recognized them. While we sat there, the kids arrived with Paris, and as soon as Paris sniffed and saw who was ahead of her, she ran like mad to try to get to her human! I think there was tongue in that kiss! :)

August 6th (Tuesday): Jim has received phone-calls from Andy, Mike, Kenny and many others. The phonecalls really help him. They jog his memory, and get his brain cells firing. The bruise on his arm has turned the lovely shades of yellow and purple.