Time Off...

I've been at my parent's house since late Christmas day and will probably be returning home on January 5th. I don't expect to have any opportunities to advance the narrative during my time away, so I'll get back on track during the weekend of the 6th.

Accident History: Part 8

Although I was projected to be serving at least a three to five month tenure, I cleared inpatient rehab in only a single month. During that time I was engaged in a varied assortment of physical, occupational, and speech therapies. I had to relearn an impressively basic array of both physical and cognitive skills, and things were tough going, especially at first.

Having been fed and hydrated through tubes and an IV throughout the entire ordeal, I had to be taught how to swallow whole food and liquids again. As my trache was slowly downsized and eventually removed, I also spent a substantial amount of time learning how to speak again. Through the use of some very basic visual puzzles, my speech therapist and I also played games designed to stress memory and simple associations, all in the service of spurring on my cognitive recovery.

Admittedly, I had an incredibly difficult time staying awake during the first week or two of speech therapy. In addition to the cognitive focus of the "brain games," this was where I did a variety of odd exercises to strengthen my swallowing reflex and worked on enunciating various words while coping with a bandaged hole in my throat post-trach removal.

I had to relearn basic locomotion in physical therapy, covering the spectrum of learning to sit up under my own power all the way to standing and walking around with a cane. Manual dexterity and other functional movements were the province of my occupational therapies, which tended to center on things like cooking safety or exercises designed to return my right arm to its fully-functioning and dominant role.

Suffice it to say that I managed to push through my rehabilitative tasks in extremely good time, but I would be remiss in claiming a purely personal triumph. I had an amazing support system of family and friends: my nuclear family was a near-constant presence, and my Mom actually took work off to stay with me during the day and wheel me around to my various therapies and other on-site appointments. Some extended family members and several very good personal friends also visited me, which certainly had a very uplifting effect.

An incredibly skilled and compassionate team of doctors, therapists, nurses, and orderlies tended to my ensemble of needs, and they can (along with my family and friends) lay claim to most of my inpatient success. Without them all of my personal efforts would have meant little; their caring and capable professionalism provided me with all the tools necessary to facilitate my immediate recovery and enter the next phase: outpatient rehab.

A Change of Direction

Now that I'm on break and have had some time to reflect, I've reached something of a crossroads in the narrative's direction. I have been overly preoccupied with retelling the scope of my bodily destruction thus far, and while that is certainly of incredible personal importance to me, such a focus obfuscates the true spirit and intent of my foray into the Blogosphere.

Instead, this therapeutic outlet was intended as a way for me to share some of my more meaningful introspections, and while a certain degree of context is essential to properly frame and legitimize my story and related thoughts, anything beyond that undermines my primary purpose. So, in light of this, the historical narrative is soon to be concluded, with its remainder built almost entirely on a fairly skeletal rendition of the past two or so years; more detailed, specific information will be mostly confined to the role of providing sufficient background for my various musings.

Semester's End...

As evidenced by my posting delinquency, I have been preoccupied with the triple whammy of school, work, and the gradual efforts to hammer my body back into a serviceable, injury-free state. The remainder of November and the first week or two of December will undoubtedly continue this trend, but--and this promise is ironshod--I will conclude the historical aspects of this narrative and bring my tale wholly into the present during the five weeks I'll have off for Christmas. Guaranteed.

A Great Ad Hoc Moment...

To momentarily fast-forward to modern times, as suggested (thanks, inamo) on a health and fitness forum I frequent, I've started using my old walker as a dip station. This is a total aside, but there is something immensely satisfying and positively symbolic about this conversion.

(Although I've consistently missed my established deadlines thus far, I will do my best to advance the narrative to modern times within the next couple months at the latest.)

Another Update...

Well, I obviously seem unable to make good on my posting timelines, announced or otherwise, but I'll continue the narrative when able; hopefully I'll be able to cover most of the "meat" of my solitary month in inpatient rehab in relatively short order.

Accident History: Part 7

And speaking of relapses, I neglected to mention another set of respiratory hurdles during my hospitalization. Due to the lung punctures and bronchial tearing, I was afflicted with an extreme bout of pneumonia and the initial doubt over whether or not my right lung could even be saved. My thoracic surgeon (who would require two attempts at reattaching my torn right bronchus and succeed on the second try primarily through the creative use of surrounding fibrous tissue to wrap the bronchus in place) cautioned my parents that the prospects of saving the lung were grim, and although he may be forced to remove it if the procedure went badly, he would do his damnedest to save it.

As I indicated earlier, the reattachment was successful, and despite the concern over my right lung's survival, shortly thereafter it began circulating blood once again and began to heal itself. (My chronology might be a bit off on this one: as I understand it now, the right lung began showing tangible signs of regeneration within a fairly short time after the bronchial reattachment, but its ultimate fate remained in doubt for some time.)

Aesthetics

In addition to continuing the narrative, I'll also be experimenting with the general look of the blog. Just bear with me.

Accident History: Part 6

Before I could begin my surprisingly short stint in inpatient rehab, I had to actually get there. For the first time in nearly two months, I was actually outdoors, but only long enough to move me into the loading area and onto an ambulance. (I had at least one window in my hospital room, but the flat of my back was an inopportune position for seeing anything but passing clouds.)

After the artificially lit and largely sterile hospital interior, being outside for even a brief time was almost surreal. Being mostly disconnected from my menagerie of tubes, sensors, and other apparatuses was a very liberating experience, but actually being outside, if only for a few minutes, was definitely a hallmark achievement. (Because I was largely--if not entirely--cognizant at the time, I remember the nurses being very emotional at my departure; it wouldn't dawn on me until much later, but their understandable skepticism at me even surviving, much less recovering, made my leaving the hospital seem to be a nearly unprecedented accomplishment and triumph. It was a victory that they had facilitated, but I believe the gravity of the outcome of their hard work and diligence was only truly realized when I was actually cleared to leave and on my way out.)

My trip was fairly unremarkable; my dad rode with me in the ambulance, along with the requisite paramedic, and after staring at an entirely new ceiling for an hour or so, we arrived. I was then slowly taken out of the ambulance and carted into the facility. Now, much like any hospital or rehabilitative center, my new surroundings were not particularly remarkable, but the fact that they were at all different from the hospital was a rather stark change for me.

The center was divided into several "wings," with each one corresponding to different types of injuries: stroke, spinal, etc. I was wheeled into the brain injury area, which was actually sealed off from the rest of the facility via a coded door to prevent any of the patients from wandering outside the section and hurting themselves or others. (Although I was bed-bound, many of the other patients were not afflicted with such comprehensive, whole-body injuries, so they were able to come and go from their rooms, at least to a certain degree, when they were not eating or in therapy.)

Because I was still afflicted with a MRSA infection, I was the sole occupant of a two-person room; this certainly allowed me a degree of spaciousness and freedom that I would not truly appreciate until a later procedure, but that fact was largely lost on me at the time because I was boarded in a single at the hospital as well.

I may only have advanced a day thus far, but there's quite a bit more to come. As I said before, I'll try to gain positive ground this week. I'm sure I'll reflect back on times in both the hospital and inpatient rehab even after the narrative has moved beyond those times, but you'll just have to bear with my periodic chronological relapses.

Update...

I've been woefully delinquent in posting of late, but work/school/life have made it difficult to make time. Once again, in the next week or so I'll try to gain a good deal of ground; I won't be able to bring the account up to the present day, but I'll try to make a significant advance nonetheless. I have time today, though, so I'll advance the history a month or so.

Accident History: Part 5

That largely sums up my major surgical moments, at least initially. Although I had a variety of other minor procedures during my 55-day tenure in the neural ICU, I was unaware of or am simply unable to remember them. (That's not to say that I "remember" any of my tangible procedures from my time spent in the ICU. I have a vague remembrance of several minor, non-surgical procedures, but the vast majority of my hospital time is forever lost to me. I do remember several nurses, especially those who spent time with me towards the end, but much of my time-served is only remembered in the hallucinatory shades of ICU psychosis.)

I've also lost vision in my left eye as a direct byproduct of my traumatic head injury, and because my optic nerve itself was damaged and beyond self-regeneration, my only plausible hope of restoring binocular vision is through embryonic stem cell therapy, which is, to say the least, in an embattled state here in the U.S. (I don't think I need to rant about my position on embryonic stem cell research and the ethics of its implementation here. Suffice it to say that I am a major proponent and scorn the effort's of this current administration and its associates to undermine its advancement here in the United States.)

The long and short of my hospitalization is this: after spending nearly two months in a hospital bed and embodying the fallible nature of probability, I was discharged to an inpatient rehabilitation facility to begin my next step on the "road to recovery."

Accident History: Part 4

In addition to my flailed chest, my nose, jaw, and right clavicle (collarbone) were broken. Because moving or thrashing about would have exacerbated these (and other) injuries, I was placed in a drug-induced coma for several weeks to allow for the aforementioned to heal "naturally."

Both of my eye orbits and right humerus were also fractured, but my left-side orbit was allowed to set and heal during the coma stage. However, my right-eye orbit and right humerus both required surgery: reconstructive plastic surgery for the former, titanium plating for the latter. My left femur met with a similar fate. It was compound fractured and needed to be rodded to restore the bone's structural integrity. (Both the arm and leg required titanium pins and screws, respectively, in order to hold their hardware in place. Titanium screws will have another role in another leg, but not for over a year.)

Accident History: Part 3

My other injuries were many, but several screamed for precedence. Cue triage.

In conjunction with my bronchial tear, both of my lungs had been punctured. This necessitated the surgical implantation of an array of chest tubes for both re-inflation and stabilization and a tracheostomy to facilitate the continuous usage of a respirator. (According to my family, the respirator was a major irritant, and, when conscious, I would constantly pull it off of my trach in frustration.) The crash had literally flailed my chest, resulting in a ribcage riddled with breaks and fractures and forming a clear basis for my extensive respiratory damage.

The closed-head trauma I sustained during the crash became another issue of immediate importance. I had major swelling of the brain, but because I hadn't actually split my head open, it was swelling into a dangerously finite amount of space. This injury was my greatest initial hurdle beyond surviving the crash itself. Until the swelling could be checked, the risk of permanent brain damage rose alarmingly, and an advanced brain monitoring utility called a LICOX machine was "installed" into the top of my head to monitor my intracranial pressure (ICP) and act as a "brain catheter" to help siphon off excess fluids and relieve pressure.

Although my ICP was eventually brought within safe limits, the traumatic brain injury that I had sustained coupled with my narcotics regimen and an inability to verbally express myself due to the trach's aspiration-preventing, speech-impeding "balloon" would cause my true mental state to remain in doubt until much later.

Brief Hiatus...

Life has been rather busy of late, so I haven't had/made the time recently to continue the "history." If it's any consolation, a large part of what has kept me busy will eventually be integrated into this so-called chronicle. Until then, I'll try to gain some ground by this coming weekend.

Accident History: Part 2

I was told later that one of the first-responders at the scene spoke to me briefly, and that I attempted to respond but began choking on my own blood and quickly lost consciousness again. I remained pinned inside my mangled car for an hour before being freed from the wreckage. After being extricated, I was airlifted to a major medical center and immediately rushed into surgery. I was given six pints of blood during the initial surgery and defibrillated three times, and an exploratory abdominal surgery was conducted to determine why my chest cavity was filling up with air.

It was determined (via exploratory abdominal surgery) that my right main bronchus had been completely torn from its connection to the trachea due to the concussive force of the crash, and I was essentially leaking air into the rest of my body. My thoracic surgeon attempted to reconnect the torn bronchus, but the sutures quickly fell apart, forcing him to perform a second, far more inventive surgery. Reusing the incision, he affixed my bronchus to its original location and wrapped it in place using the surrounding fibrous tissues. This improvisational wrap, being far stronger than any type of suturing, successfully held everything together but would later cause right-side bronchial constriction due to the scar tissue that would be created during the healing process.

Two-Year Anniversary

I wanted to briefly adjourn my narrative to point out that this is the second anniversary of my auto accident. I am incredibly thankful for the love and support that my family and friends have provided for me, and I truly appreciate the exceptional, skilled care that I have received from a literal host of doctors, nurses, therapists, and other medical professionals. Despite the praise I have received for my "miraculous" survival and recovery, the credit rests squarely on the shoulders of those who have helped me to reach this point.

Accident History: Part 1

A fair amount of background is necessary to bring my audience up to speed. While the names of my family, my friends, and the institutions that I associate with are important, I am electing to keep certain specific information confidential for the sake of protecting their privacy.

I have been a student at one of the Midwest's state colleges since the Fall of 2003. Shortly after enrolling, I became a practicing member of a local martial arts club and Chinese historical society. Although the club is not directly associated with the college, it is allowed the limited use of the school's facilities. Since the club's practices were primarily held on campus, I was forced to commute from my hometown during the summer semester. The drive was roughly an hour each way, and because practices were held in the evenings, my return trip was almost invariably accomplished in total darkness.

On June 8th, 2004, after a delayed departure from practice, I set out for home. Towards the end of my drive, anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes away from my house, I met what would become a rather fateful deer. According to secondhand accounts (see: the driver of the truck I careened into), a number of deer had crossed the road in front of my car. As I'm sure you've deduced, I hit one of those deer, and that deer was not only pregnant, but also carrying a full-term fawn.

If you've read this far and believe me to be bluffing about the graphic nature of my accident, I advise you to stop reading now.

The deer was sliced in half on impact. The bottom half of the mother and her fawn were strewn across the road and an adjacent field, but the top half of the animal--the section with which I am most intimately acquainted--slid up the hood of my four-door sedan (which was admittedly incapable of gracefully deflecting a deer at 55+ mph) and came crashing through my windshield, slamming into me and literally pinning me to my seat.

Regrettably, the impact of the crash was not enough to stop the forward momentum of my car. I continued in a more-or-less forward direction but began drifting into oncoming traffic. The accelerator of my car remained depressed to a seemingly greater extent, judging by the damage done both to and by the Chevrolet 3500 which I eventually hit head-on. Not only was the "crew cab" truck itself quite a monster, but it was also pulling a sports car (I imagine it was some type of restored show car or even a race car) housed inside a thirty-something foot long trailer. Suffice it to say, I hit one of the biggest trucks commercially available to your average citizen, although doing so at least finally brought me to a complete stop.

Despite the vehicular mayhem, I was still extremely fortunate: the driver of the truck I hit saw me slowly veering into his lane and had come to a complete stop by the time of impact, so I ended up colliding with a stationary object rather than a moving one. Thankfully, the driver and his family were uninjured, and I was made to understand later that they received a brand new truck shortly thereafter. Without their unintentional intervention, there are any number of less desirable objects that I could have careened into, including but not limited to trees, houses, and farm equipment.

A Brief Introduction

I understand that a great degree of skepticism may follow what I have to say here, especially considering the graphic beginnings of my story. But to commemorate the second anniversary of my automobile accident, I will attempt to chronicle and explain the events that have, despite my constant efforts, defined my existence for nearly two years. I will do this to the best of my ability and memory, but precise accounts will sometimes be difficult (if not impossible) to recreate. This is ongoing history, not a static event, and I will present it as such.