Some of you, if you know me in person (or if you've watched my videos all the way to the credits--"Thank you very much!") know that one of my brothers was involved in a serious crash several years ago. (Notice how I say crash, not accident; there is no such thing as an accident when it comes to a vehicular collision...there is always, always, ALWAYS some reason--a.k.a. 'fault'--for a crash.) What most of you don't know is what really happened.
Chris is not dead. Thank God and the guy who came up with that crazy little thing we call a seatbelt for that. To make a long story short, the rainy weather made for a slick interstate drive, and he was late for work and ended up hydroplaning, crossing the median and smashing face-first into the grill of an 18-wheeler...needless to say, his Honda turned into a green metal pancake.
Photo courtesy Anderson Independent-Mail
Chris literally had to be cut out of the mangled metal with the Jaws of Life and lifted from the wreckage and tiny shards of glass stained with his blood, only to be put in an ambulance, where he died twice en route to the hospital. The paramedics (if you're reading this, I thank you so much, beyond words) saved him, put a thud back into his chest, kept his lungs moving long enough to get him into a hospital bed, and from there, it was up to the doctors and God.
To be honest, this part is a little foggy to me. I've tried to block out most of the images...I was 10 years old at the time, so it was almost like a horror movie coming to life for me. But what I do remember is that the first time I saw my brother, I thought it was a cruel joke. I couldn't see his face because it was so mangled--bruised, bandaged...a cut on the right side that nearly severed his eyelid from his scalp...purple-colored....that was not my brother, it couldn't be. Chris always smiled...this man was not smiling--his lips were blue and swollen. He had various tubes and needles, wires, hanging from what seemed like every inch of his body...I couldn't hear myself think for the sound of numerous monitors beeping and buzzing all around him, measuring what signs of life he had. (I would say I couldn't hear him breathe, but it wasn't actually him breathing; rather, it was the ventilator tube stuck down his throat, a pump that pushed air into his lungs, that breathed for him.)
There was one other tube though, one I didn't quite understand. It was drilled into his skull, about two or three inches of pipe sticking straight out of his head...later, I learned that this tube was there to slow the bleeding in his brain. Just the thought of that...that he was there, unknowingly (and unwillingly) asleep, bleeding in his brain and nobody could do anything but wait and hope that he would get better...can you imagine?
Photo courtesy Anderson Independent-Mail
I remember touching his cold, swollen hand, telling him I loved him, then breaking into tears because I knew he couldn't hear me.
The next few weeks were tormenting. Chris was in a coma for nearly a month...during that time, he couldn't move or talk--he couldn't even breathe on his own. There were times when his doctors told us that there was absolutely no way he would pull through the night--that the next time I saw my brother, he would be in a box.
When he finally did wake up though, Chris found himself covered in bruises and bandages, stitched together, casts on all four limbs and metal rods in his legs to keep the shattered bones in place. I can't even begin to imagine the physical and mental anguish Chris must have suffered in that time--being unable to remember names, events...having to relearn how to walk...not being able to feed himself with a spoon, even though he was starving, because he couldn't remember how to hold it.
Perhaps the hardest thing for me, during Chris's recovery, was the first time I walked into his hospital room. He looked into my eyes, my small hand in his, and asked who I was--my own brother, my oldest brother, who had known me my entire life--couldn't remember who I was.
I'm lucky, however, that I'm able to complain about things like this. For some people, that question--that quiet, "Who are you?"--never comes. For some people, there is no second chance. The doctors never get to give a prognosis or be "amazed with a miraculous recovery", as they were in Chris's case. For those people, the story ends with the smoke and crushed metal. For those people, that is the end.
I'm not telling this story because I want anyone to feel sorry for Chris or for me. I'm telling this story to make a point (cue the mother voice). The police said the only thing that saved Chris was his seatbelt and the pure Grace of God. He was only 19 years old at the time, a licensed driver with a few years of experience behind him. However, the decision he made as a young driver to go too fast for conditions is one that has stuck with him, even to this day. He still walks with a limp, and he has brain damage that still hasn't healed--and probably never will. But at least I can say that my brother is alive. Some little sisters aren't so lucky.
Three things:
- Always wear your seatbelt.
- Never drive too fast (and this doesn't just mean drive the speed limit; if you see that conditions are bad for driving--weather, construction, kids playing in or around the road...etc.--slow down!).
- Pay attention to the road (yes, that means cell phones, CDs, iPods, everything else can wait until you stop the car!).
Of course, there are several more tips and techniques for safer driving, but I think this post might be a little overwhelming as it is...
