We Interrupt This Story. . .

Last Tuesday, my husband was involved in a terrible accident. A friend suggested using the Caring Bridge website to share progress and provide medical updates, but setting up a new website feels tantamount to an Everest summit bid for my scrambled brain at this moment. I’m gonna co-opt my own blog, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. There’s my feeble stab at empowerment for the day. Did ya feel that?

If you saw the news clip about the accident, please don’t ever tell me about it. Media coverage-wise, his was a vague and minor “news story,” but a story that has changed our lives forever. I don’t need to see images of my husband’s blood in the street, thanks.

I will spare you the gory details, for they are gory, but will tell you that my husband was run over by a truck. The accident caused a broken neck, skull, ribs, and scapula along with associated injury-related and other neurological deficits. His ear was ripped from his skull, and has been reattached. All things considered, he looks pretty cute still.

On Thursday, he had surgery to fuse his broken vertebrae.

On Friday he was moved from the surgical ICU to an acute trauma floor. Head trauma is no joke, and his transfer was a challenge. He has progressed well medically, astonishingly quickly in fact, but not at a rate he’s celebrating.

Me? I have a song for everything. My drive back and forth to the hospital 2-3 times a day song is “That Would Be Enough,” from Hamilton.

Look at where you are, Look at where you started, The fact that you’re alive is a miracle, Just stay alive–That would be enough.

“Home” for the next few weeks is an intensive inpatient rehab floor, where they’ll be kicking his butt 6 days a week, 3 hours a day with physical, occupational, and speech therapy. Get in early and hard is the philosophy these days. Today feels like the first day of school. He even has a new shirt.

But he’s walking. He’s talking. His personality is beginning to peek through, and I think he may have even laughed today.

I KNEW I have incredible people when my son’s MD was handed down. But this? I can’t even type without basically sobbing about the people we have supporting us. I’ve been at the hospital nearly full time, and I miss my boys and my dog, and my normal. My husband’s many, many surgeons, physicians, therapists, nurses–all the hospital staff? Beyond compare. His family has been amazing, my parents have stayed over to make sure the kids get to school on time, our friends and neighbors and baseball family and coworkers have fed us, driven us, cut the lawn, moved furniture, ANYTHING I’ve asked. But God, I hate asking.

Just checking in to say “hey” means a great deal. I’ve had people around the globe checking in with their prayers, good energy, kind words, and positive wishes. Every keystroke means something to me. Thank you.

I will NEVER be able to thank anyone sufficiently, and I’m struggling to keep up with my communication. I’m also struggling (mostly successfully maybe???) not to completely lose it. I’m just a bit fragile these days, and I can’t always answer when you call. It’s not that I don’t care–it’s that so many do care. I will respond to you all in time, I will. Thank you for being here with me, for me, and for my sons and husband.

19 thoughts on “We Interrupt This Story. . .

  1. Glad to hear he is still as handsome as ever. Weir strong!. Continued prayers and positive vibes! Tom has to keep up with his beautiful wife. All baby steps in the right direction.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week. Your reports of Tom’s rapid progress are so encouraging and I know he’s receiving the best care. I hope you continue to find shelter from this storm through your writing and solace in your playlists. Sending you a big hug.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. When you said he was in an accident, I could never in a million years have imagined something like this. All I can do is keep sending positive thoughts and energy and love to you and as many hugs as you can handle.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Aw, thank you Suzanne. I wouldn’t in a million years have imagined something like this either, but the second you get that call. . . And then the eternity between that call and some information. . . Well, let me say that your mind does not leap to best case scenario. BUT he’s had great care so far, and shows improvement daily. We have received so many good wishes and so much love, it’s hard to believe. I have good people–I count you among them. xoxo

      Liked by 2 people

  4. Wendy, I was so sorry to read this news about Tom. Thank you for updating us with your blog. It was good to hear about the progress that he has made so far. I am keeping all of you in my thoughts and prayers.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, my friend. He’s been working his butt off to get to where he’s gotten already. He’s thinking long-term recovery and talks about what will be different when he gets home. I can’t wait to get him there.


  5. Constantly thinking of you! I know about eating 3 meals a day at the hospital cafeteria and the exhaustion of waiting around for things to happen then to be told that they aren’t going to happen that day. Maybe your hospital is better than mine. I hope so. It’s stressful and frustrating and I hope you give yourself as much positive self talk as possible. I’m thrilled with Tom’s speedy recovery and I hope it continues.


  6. Oh, Wendy — this literally took my breath away; I stopped breathing as I was reading it. I know this sounds disingenuous, since we’re only “blog friends,” but I love your family (thanks to your storytelling), and if there’s anything I can do for you, your husband, and/or your children, you have my Gmail address (attached to this comment) so please reach out and let me know.
    I’m heartsick over this. All I can tell you is I don’t know what to tell you. I wish I could give you a hug.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Sean. Breathe, breathe. It’s how I’ve managed to keep my act together the last three weeks! It does not sound disingenuous–it sounds like a friend’s concern, and I appreciate it. My goofy brood here has been through a lot these last few weeks, and I hope that the kids understand and appreciate the way Tom and I can as adults the love and support from a network of people around the globe, truly. Your concern honest “I don’t know what to tell you” is so real and much appreciated. Thank you. Tom is making gains, and the darkest days have passed. With the grace of three weeks, I can now say, “Well, he didn’t die.” And that is saying everything.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Here I sit. In a hotel restaurant. Sobbing.

    I am so very glad I read about his homecoming before I knew about this post. My heart couldn’t have handled it. I can’t imagine how you have handled all of this.

    Please know I am praying.

    Praying for healing.
    Praying for peace
    Praying for strength and sleep and kindness of others and wisdom for doctors and therapists and nurses and clarity in dealing with appointments and admin staff and so much more.

    I’m sorry. I’m sorry you are all going through this. I am grateful you are going through it together.

    Hugs and love. ♥️♥️

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hugs and love mean the world. I’m sorry to have made you cry, Kathleen. He has received expert care that’s pushed him hard (in a good way). We all have been wrapped up in a blanket of warmth, compassion, and concern from our friends and family. I would not wish his accident and injuries on anyone, but I do wish everyone could know how great people can be. I would never have dreamed we’d receive the love and support we have, and I feel deeply that when our time comes to pay it back/pay it forward, we will be more than ready and happy to do that.

      Liked by 1 person

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