I am out like a light, coming to occasionally. I guess, I asked those with me at the track to pull
my helmet off. I felt like I couldn't,t breathe, since my spine was crushing my windpipe and I
had knocked the wind out of myself on impact. So, they did what I asked them to do and
pulled off my helmet. I remember a pop, pop, pop, then I was out like a light. Coming to on the
ambulance ride, I was wondering why they didn't;t take a smoother road out of there. Every
bump on the dirt road was like a jolt. It was dark and they didn't know their way around there
like I did. There are allot of buried rocks there, with one probably causing my wreck. The
back of my bike didn't slide when I came down, throwing me off in a high-side. The next thing
you know is that I am in the emergency room spitting on everyone. Why I don;t know,
because I do not even remembering doing it. I'm sorry for that attitude, but I honestly don;t
remember doing it .I remember waking up when I heard the helicopter warming up to transport
me to Missoula. Having been a plumber and doing a remodel on the building, I knew all of the
pilots. I asked, "who's flying this bird?" He told me but I don't remember his reply.
The next few days are literally a blur. There is no way to know if I was in shock, it was the
drugs they were giving me - or a combination of both. Only bits and pieces were what I
remembered later. My family said they spoke to me about a lot of things, but I don't remember
most of it until later when I read the email's my mom and sister wrote back and forth during
that time, or they tried to help me fill in the blanks. I was placed in a halo until surgery, went
through the spinal surgery ,with the skilled hands of my neurosurgeon Dr. Maack and then
spent a few days on the Neurological Unit. It was during that time that my mom, nephew, and
sister came to see me.
I remember being wheeled outside to wave at my plumbing buddies, who were doing the
remodel on that hospital, not even able to move my arms yet. I could just barely move my right
arm and that was all. I don't remember lying in the Stryker frame talking to Lisa with my halo
on. Everyone thought I was coherent, when I wasn't. I remember them tightening the screws
on my halo. I do remember watching a CNA come in and change the calendar - it was like the
12th or 13th. I crashed on the 8th. I asked her what's wrong with me? She gave me a
puzzled look,then said you're a quadriplegic and IT SUNK IN. I could not move anything.
Room 353 was going to be my new hell. The brain was still working, and the part below my
neck is dead. One mind game after another.
Besides the other injuries I had, my front teeth were loosened, with one sticking almost
straight out. It hurt, but no dentist ever came to see me. I finally worked my teeth straight with
my tongue after I got the tube out of my mouth. Quad cough not only was this necessary to
my survival to clear mucous from my airway, but also later would be necessary to help me
release food caught in my throat. Anyone who was around me, needed to know this
technique.
I had begun Physical Therapy. I would learn to hate this part and one particular terrorist . I
was sent for an MRI of my skull because I wouldn't talk to him one day. He would get right in
my face with his bad breath and say push, push, push. I had the type of determination that if I
could push myself hard enough,I would and didn't like being told to push when I couldn't.
While they were not there, I was pushing myself all the time, or trying to sleep until they came.
Later, this constant pushing from therapists would injure me further.
Speaking and breathing were becoming more and more difficult. I was filling with mucous. I
know what added to it was that I was allergic to half of the flowers in the room that people had
given me. They meant well, but it was adding to my problems. I would suggest that you don't
send flowers to anyone already in this position, and in a germ/allergy filled environment. My
muscles that controlled breathing were affected, so I couldn't breathe very well. I remember
my mom and sister talking to me about my oxygen levels were dropping and that I needed to
be put on a respirator. They also told me that my surgeon had called them and said that I had
a 50% chance of walking again. I knew that meant 100% with my determination. I decided I
didn't want to be on a respirator for longer than a month. My sister (a retired nurse) told me I
had to make the decision and could say when or if I wanted to come off of it. I weighed the
odds with what they told me.
There were couple things that still stood out in my life as unachieved goals: The fact that I
had not gotten to know my son, who's now 19 . I love having kids around and my fiancé had
two that I was looking forward helping her raise. I always wanted to be a mini-dad. Also the
fact that I wasn't a millionaire yet, and someday selling my dream project bike. So with big
dreams and hopes that the surgeon was low on his percentages, I made my choice. I knew I
could not accomplish anything being dead.
Then one day I made the mistake of saying I'm having a hard time breathing. It felt like I was
pushed back onto a hard surface like the floor, hearing rubber being stretched and not really
being able to breathe. I awoke from this experience with a tube down my nose. They also put
something down my throat which for some reason I nicknamed "Chicken Krakatoa" that gave
me something to chew on tasting like rubber bands and old plastic Christmas tree ornaments.
Very weird. This next part is something that nobody could have prepared me for. In reality,
no one could prepare me for anything that would happen after I became a quad.
Being on a respirator is a very challenging experience. One minute you are fighting to breathe
and the next time you wake up, you have a machine breathing for you and forcing air into your
lungs when your brain still wants to control it. I woke up panicked. I couldn't breathe anymore.
I couldn't write down what I needed to ask because I couldn't move my body to write. My body
was fighting this whole machine, and I couldn't get it across to anyone that I felt like I was
suffocating. They finally brought in a board with letters on it and told me to blink if they
pointed to the right letter. That wasn't much more help because I would get about two or three
letters done and they would guess at what I was trying to say and I had no more chance to
communicate. Meanwhile, I'm needing their help and no way to tell them. None of the people
taking care of me had been on a respirator before so they couldn't and didn't explain to me
what was going on. It was a nightmare. Even when I felt relaxed, there was anxiety when my
body would try to fight the respirator. Surprisingly, my body never really adapted to this
machine breathing for me. Once my body fought it I couldn't stop it. They gave me Ativan to
help, but once that started to wear off, it was the same thing over again.
Now I entered the world of not moving, not communicating. I was trapped by machines and
my own body not being able to move. If I was having pain, I couldn't tell anyone. If I wanted to
understand something, I couldn't ask. If I didn't like the way I was being treated, I couldn't
complain. I was at the total and complete mercy of whoever was in the room with me.
Although most of my nurses and therapists seemed okay, there were also many that I would
not feel safe with. I had no means to protect myself at all. I felt victimized. For someone who
had always taken the bull by the horns, this was a totally new experience for me. I;d never
been dependent on anyone and now my life depended on others knowing what to do. One
thing that also happened was that after I said I was having trouble breathing and put on the
ventilator, the experience was so traumatic, that I would not tell anyone again if I was having
problems. I was scared of what might happen if I did.
I listened to my sister and mom, never forgetting the look in my mom and sister;s eyes, when
they said goodbye. Never knowing if it would be their last time seeing me alive again. My
mom was diagnosed with having a rare fast spreading cancer a day after my injury, so there
was enough going on in her mind already. She had put off her immediate care to come see
me. Kinda crazy how they get cancer by killing off the immune system until you,re almost
dead, then nursing you back to life. That,s a whole other topic there. Sure seems like
strange protocol. But lets you know who runs modern medicine line of thought the
pharmaceutical companies.
my helmet off. I felt like I couldn't,t breathe, since my spine was crushing my windpipe and I
had knocked the wind out of myself on impact. So, they did what I asked them to do and
pulled off my helmet. I remember a pop, pop, pop, then I was out like a light. Coming to on the
ambulance ride, I was wondering why they didn't;t take a smoother road out of there. Every
bump on the dirt road was like a jolt. It was dark and they didn't know their way around there
like I did. There are allot of buried rocks there, with one probably causing my wreck. The
back of my bike didn't slide when I came down, throwing me off in a high-side. The next thing
you know is that I am in the emergency room spitting on everyone. Why I don;t know,
because I do not even remembering doing it. I'm sorry for that attitude, but I honestly don;t
remember doing it .I remember waking up when I heard the helicopter warming up to transport
me to Missoula. Having been a plumber and doing a remodel on the building, I knew all of the
pilots. I asked, "who's flying this bird?" He told me but I don't remember his reply.
The next few days are literally a blur. There is no way to know if I was in shock, it was the
drugs they were giving me - or a combination of both. Only bits and pieces were what I
remembered later. My family said they spoke to me about a lot of things, but I don't remember
most of it until later when I read the email's my mom and sister wrote back and forth during
that time, or they tried to help me fill in the blanks. I was placed in a halo until surgery, went
through the spinal surgery ,with the skilled hands of my neurosurgeon Dr. Maack and then
spent a few days on the Neurological Unit. It was during that time that my mom, nephew, and
sister came to see me.
I remember being wheeled outside to wave at my plumbing buddies, who were doing the
remodel on that hospital, not even able to move my arms yet. I could just barely move my right
arm and that was all. I don't remember lying in the Stryker frame talking to Lisa with my halo
on. Everyone thought I was coherent, when I wasn't. I remember them tightening the screws
on my halo. I do remember watching a CNA come in and change the calendar - it was like the
12th or 13th. I crashed on the 8th. I asked her what's wrong with me? She gave me a
puzzled look,then said you're a quadriplegic and IT SUNK IN. I could not move anything.
Room 353 was going to be my new hell. The brain was still working, and the part below my
neck is dead. One mind game after another.
Besides the other injuries I had, my front teeth were loosened, with one sticking almost
straight out. It hurt, but no dentist ever came to see me. I finally worked my teeth straight with
my tongue after I got the tube out of my mouth. Quad cough not only was this necessary to
my survival to clear mucous from my airway, but also later would be necessary to help me
release food caught in my throat. Anyone who was around me, needed to know this
technique.
I had begun Physical Therapy. I would learn to hate this part and one particular terrorist . I
was sent for an MRI of my skull because I wouldn't talk to him one day. He would get right in
my face with his bad breath and say push, push, push. I had the type of determination that if I
could push myself hard enough,I would and didn't like being told to push when I couldn't.
While they were not there, I was pushing myself all the time, or trying to sleep until they came.
Later, this constant pushing from therapists would injure me further.
Speaking and breathing were becoming more and more difficult. I was filling with mucous. I
know what added to it was that I was allergic to half of the flowers in the room that people had
given me. They meant well, but it was adding to my problems. I would suggest that you don't
send flowers to anyone already in this position, and in a germ/allergy filled environment. My
muscles that controlled breathing were affected, so I couldn't breathe very well. I remember
my mom and sister talking to me about my oxygen levels were dropping and that I needed to
be put on a respirator. They also told me that my surgeon had called them and said that I had
a 50% chance of walking again. I knew that meant 100% with my determination. I decided I
didn't want to be on a respirator for longer than a month. My sister (a retired nurse) told me I
had to make the decision and could say when or if I wanted to come off of it. I weighed the
odds with what they told me.
There were couple things that still stood out in my life as unachieved goals: The fact that I
had not gotten to know my son, who's now 19 . I love having kids around and my fiancé had
two that I was looking forward helping her raise. I always wanted to be a mini-dad. Also the
fact that I wasn't a millionaire yet, and someday selling my dream project bike. So with big
dreams and hopes that the surgeon was low on his percentages, I made my choice. I knew I
could not accomplish anything being dead.
Then one day I made the mistake of saying I'm having a hard time breathing. It felt like I was
pushed back onto a hard surface like the floor, hearing rubber being stretched and not really
being able to breathe. I awoke from this experience with a tube down my nose. They also put
something down my throat which for some reason I nicknamed "Chicken Krakatoa" that gave
me something to chew on tasting like rubber bands and old plastic Christmas tree ornaments.
Very weird. This next part is something that nobody could have prepared me for. In reality,
no one could prepare me for anything that would happen after I became a quad.
Being on a respirator is a very challenging experience. One minute you are fighting to breathe
and the next time you wake up, you have a machine breathing for you and forcing air into your
lungs when your brain still wants to control it. I woke up panicked. I couldn't breathe anymore.
I couldn't write down what I needed to ask because I couldn't move my body to write. My body
was fighting this whole machine, and I couldn't get it across to anyone that I felt like I was
suffocating. They finally brought in a board with letters on it and told me to blink if they
pointed to the right letter. That wasn't much more help because I would get about two or three
letters done and they would guess at what I was trying to say and I had no more chance to
communicate. Meanwhile, I'm needing their help and no way to tell them. None of the people
taking care of me had been on a respirator before so they couldn't and didn't explain to me
what was going on. It was a nightmare. Even when I felt relaxed, there was anxiety when my
body would try to fight the respirator. Surprisingly, my body never really adapted to this
machine breathing for me. Once my body fought it I couldn't stop it. They gave me Ativan to
help, but once that started to wear off, it was the same thing over again.
Now I entered the world of not moving, not communicating. I was trapped by machines and
my own body not being able to move. If I was having pain, I couldn't tell anyone. If I wanted to
understand something, I couldn't ask. If I didn't like the way I was being treated, I couldn't
complain. I was at the total and complete mercy of whoever was in the room with me.
Although most of my nurses and therapists seemed okay, there were also many that I would
not feel safe with. I had no means to protect myself at all. I felt victimized. For someone who
had always taken the bull by the horns, this was a totally new experience for me. I;d never
been dependent on anyone and now my life depended on others knowing what to do. One
thing that also happened was that after I said I was having trouble breathing and put on the
ventilator, the experience was so traumatic, that I would not tell anyone again if I was having
problems. I was scared of what might happen if I did.
I listened to my sister and mom, never forgetting the look in my mom and sister;s eyes, when
they said goodbye. Never knowing if it would be their last time seeing me alive again. My
mom was diagnosed with having a rare fast spreading cancer a day after my injury, so there
was enough going on in her mind already. She had put off her immediate care to come see
me. Kinda crazy how they get cancer by killing off the immune system until you,re almost
dead, then nursing you back to life. That,s a whole other topic there. Sure seems like
strange protocol. But lets you know who runs modern medicine line of thought the
pharmaceutical companies.
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