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.