Truth Be Told

No one could tell how long I would need to be in the hospital. Early estimates were about four weeks and then some length of time in a nursing facility until I could fend for myself at home. Then the insurance company got involved.

Since Sutter (my medical provider) does not communicate well with UC Davis, Sutter wanted me in one of their facilities. The new plan was to transfer me to a Sutter hospital (likely Roseville) and then to a nursing facility, and then home.

This was the time that my digestive system decided not to cooperate. After several scans and x-rays, Sutter decided it was better for UC Davis to attend to this problem and, once I was off IV nutrition and the NG tube, they would take me to Roseville. This took about a week. Finally, I was able to have the NG tube removed and start eating regular (hospital) food. Almost instantly I was ready to leave. Not to Roseville. Not to a nursing facility. I got to go home.

My family set up a perfect hospice area in the family room. I could watch TV. I had my favorite view out the window. I was comfortable to sleep. I didn’t have to go upstairs. The next couple of weeks I spent here.

As my strength improved, I was able to walk around the house, and even up the stairs (only partway at first). I began taking short walks to the end of the driveway and then around the block, and, finally, around the neighborhood.

It’s surprising how much energy healing takes. After a short walk or a shower, I needed a nap. I could only eat small amounts of food at a time. My skin was dry and flaky, as if I’d been out in the sun too much and was peeling. I got dizzy every time I moved my head. The hospital said I was well enough to go home and I thought that meant I could get back to normal life, but I was a long way from normal life. Over the next several weeks the miraculous rate of healing began to fade to a slower, more consistent, gradual recovery.

Truth be told, nothing happens as fast as we want it to, but everything happens when it’s supposed to.

Healing is a long process. Longer than one would expect. Longer than one would want. The good news is that physical healing begins immediately.

At the moment the train hit my truck my brain shut down to protect me from the reaction to what was happening. Bones fractured. Muscles tore. Internal organs were lacerated. The brain was concussed.

At the same moment, healing began. Blood rushed to the injured areas. Cells began forming to repair damaged tissues. Bones began knitting back together. Precious resources diverted to where they were most needed.

It took, literally, hundreds of dedicated professionals to save me and put me back together. My rescue began with the first responder who told me that I was hit by a train (I didn’t believe him), but he was going to get me out. He handed me off to the EMTs (of which he may have been one), who transferred me to the emergency room personnel at UC Davis Medical center. I never got to meet any of those people.

On Tuesday (or it may have been Wednesday) I met the trauma team who told me of the internal injuries to my kidney, liver, spleen, and diaphragm. The orthopedic surgical team came in to tell me about the repairs to my elbow and the fractures to my ribs, spine, scapula, and sternum. I could scarcely take it in. I’m fortunate to be alive and, further, the only surgery I needed was the, already completed, repair of my elbow. Although my diaphragm had been punctured by a broken rib, a piece of fatty tissue had lodged into the hole and was being held in place by my swollen spleen. My spleen was bruised, but not ruptured, so no surgery would be necessary. My spine and ribs were held in place by all the muscles and ligaments surrounding them, so I didn’t need any surgery to repair them either.

It appeared that I was ready for regular food, but my body dispelled that illusion by shutting down my colon and closing off my digestion. Apparently my system was not ready to expend energy processing food. Consequently, I spent the next week with an NG tube to take stomach contents and an IV to put in nutrition. This wreaked havoc with my blood sugar, so each meal came with a dessert of insulin. The determining factor of when I could leave was my ability to process food and get these IVs and tubes out of me.

After nearly 3 weeks in the hospital, I was allowed to go home (more on that part later). The tubes came out. I was able to walk around the hospital floor. I could eat regular (well, hospital) food.

Truth be told, although there were teams of people helping me, it was, ultimately, my body determined when it was ready. Sometimes all one can do is wait.

It’s a strange sensation, waking up somewhere when you don’t know where you are, how long you’ve been there, nor how you got there. Head injuries play a funny game with one’s memory. I mentioned that I had some spotty moments of consciousness after the accident, but I also lost quite a bit of memory leading up to the accident, and even a chunk of the entire week prior.

I remember that I spent the morning with my friend, John. I remember lunch, and that I no longer like fried pickles. I had to ask my daughter if I picked her up from school, and she reminded me that she had stayed home from school that day (coincidentally due to a minor concussion). I remember being at my other daughter’s home and playing with my granddaughters. I don’t remember what route I took to get there. I usually use my GPS anyway. I remember being at the intersection where the accident took place, but I don’t remember driving from my daughter’s to there. I don’t recall the accident at all. As far as I know, I still haven’t seen the train that hit me.

I recall holding onto my phone while I was in the hospital, but I do not remember some of the text conversations I had, nor do I remember posting on social media. A week, or so, later I asked one of my coworkers how they had known about the accident so quickly. It turns out that I had told them when they had texted about something else. I did not remember it at all and they sent me a screenshot of the conversation. I’d like to say that jogged my memory, but I still don’t recall the conversation.

I don’t know how long I was in the emergency room or if I was in intensive care or recovery at all. I woke up in my regular room after I had already had surgery on my elbow, but they were still trying to figure out what (if anything) to do about the rest of me.

Truth be told, I wonder if the brain blocks out certain aspects of trauma to protect us. On the other hand, why does it take so many other memories with it? In this case, I don’t feel a need to fill in any blanks. I just want to move forward.

“What’s going on?” I asked the person suddenly next to me in the cab of my truck. I could feel the surprise on my face at their appearance and the fact that they somehow fit between me and the driver’s side door. I’m not sure how this person got here, who they are, or even where I am. It feels like I am waking up from a dream and I am completely disconnected from what is happening.

“You’ve been hit by a train, but I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Train? There was no train.” I’m not sure if I said this or just thought it, but the lights go out (again).

Immediately I saw bright lights and I had a sense that I was moving very fast. There is no pain, no feeling whatsoever, and I was suddenly aware that I may be leaving these earthly confines for whatever comes next. Dark!

“1, 2, 3.” I’m being moved from one bed to another and there is so much pain from so many places that I’m overwhelmed… Dark!

I hear my wife’s voice and open my eyes to see my friend, Dustin, right in my face. Is it strange that Dustin sounds like my wife; or that my wife looks like Dustin? Dark, again.

In the hours and days that followed I was able to fill in some blanks. I am, in fact, not dead. I do, however, have a laundry list of injuries. Some of which will take a long time to fully heal. 24 spinal fractures, 8 fractured ribs, a fractured scapula and a fractured sternum. Lacerations to my liver, kidney and adrenal gland. A contused spleen and a punctured diaphragm. Not to mention the destroyed elbow. By the time I’m fully aware, they have already repaired the elbow with a steel plate, 12 screws, and a titanium radial knob. Everything else will heal on it’s own.

The human body responds to trauma in amazing ways. All of them designed to protect and heal. I don’t remember any of the accident, and not much of the several days after. I never felt my elbow until after the surgery. Although it is painful, when my digestive system shut down and forced doctors to put an NG tube in and feed me intravenously for about a week, it is necessary to let my internal organs start healing. Once my ileus (I’ll let you look that one up) heals, I am able to go home, rather than a skilled nursing facility, as expected.

Once home, my healing continues to progress. Friends bringing us meals and stopping by to visit make the days better. My family puts together a recovery area for me to stay in until I am able to make it up the stairs and sleep in my own bed. Family and friends get me to doctors’ appointments.

One of my X-Ray techs said to me “I’ve never actually spoken to anyone who has been hit by a train before.”

“Well,” I replied, “we are a fairly small club, at least those of us who are walking around.”

Truth be told, I’ve gotten a second chance here and I need to treasure every moment. I need to move forward with those plans I have been holding on to for a long time. It’s time to be moving forward…