The more I think about it, the angrier I get!  How can you finally make it to trial (years after an accident), go through 2 days of testimony and pompous rituals that only attorneys enjoy, repeating what has already been rehashed in deposition after deposition only to end with “I’ll take it under advisement”?  No decision, no finality, no “you win / you lose”, nothing?

The issue of guilt or innocence was never a legal debate.  Admission of responsibility was clear and unquestioned from day one.  This was simply about the money.  Who was going to pay the bills?  Since it now gets down to three separate insurance carriers, the fact that a persons life (not to mention a family) is ruined, his career is over, he is crippled for life and continues to suffer pain he previously didn’t know was possible is immaterial.  Judges, especially federal court judges, are clearly tied to the purse strings of insurance interests.  Lawyers (aka blood sucking scum) are simply players in a “process” where they can actually be friends with each other but act like adversaries in court and in front of clients.  I now fully appreciate and underestimated the call to vigilantism.

[Note, the judge took 10 months to finally render a verdict after trial...which was nearly three years after the accident...only to start another round of settlement discussions between lawyers and insurance companies!  My disdain for this profession has been validated.]

“It’s over…My career is over.”  As surreal as it was, this is what I said at trial.  We went to trial this week…another horrible chapter in a pathetic legal dispute (the necessity of which is a major personal disappointment in the character of another person I held in higher esteem) over the impact of my injuries.  Obviously, my depression, anger and exhaustion is reflected in what I said.  I am not sure what the future holds.

Despite the fact that my company has allowed me to return to work part-time (yet paying me full-time) in a job that, compared to previous assignments is akin to watching the grass grow, I am vulnerable.  We are going through our second/third major restructuring in less than a year.  If rumors are even close to being accurate, we have to separate another 20% of the company.  I will not survive….the company has ZERO handicapped managers that I know of; not to mention one requiring physical therapy 3-5 times a week.  I can no longer fulfill what I’ve been trained to do, my main management support have elected to retire or are obviously on the verge of doing so and with my medical (physical) condition I’m virtually unemployable!  In every scenario I’ve run, I’m bankrupt and we lose our home.  This does not end well.

[Note: I don't want to ruin the glimpse one can see of my desperation right after trial.  The closure I sought from one part of my life couldn't have eased the pain of going through another vulnerable professional restructuring anyway.  This and other notes are preserved to remind myself and anyone else who is interested, that we can and will have bad periods in our lives.]

…A Very Long Recovery…

There's No Place Like Home

I was awakened after 22 days of forced sleep.  Confused, not sure what had happened and in serious pain, but I immediately knew my wife and kids faces when I saw them and wanted to go home.

I’m not sure if the fact that my wife was a former RN (and provided most of my care even in the hospital) or if my insurance wouldn’t cover any more time in the hospital, but I was happy to be released to go home after 5 weeks of ICU & reconstructive surgeries.

Before my Voice returned: I was without a voice for several weeks (tracheotomy).  But as usual, I had lots to say.  The stories of me trying to negotiate with a janitor at the hospital for a fan (it was apparently uncomfortably warm in the hospital floor) are humorous.  I was forced to use a pad of paper and a pen to converse with everyone.  It seems my wife kept many of the notes from those days and we find them entertaining.  While some are incoherent (who knows), some show the same stubborn, bullheaded and opinionated character I had become trying to instruct caregivers who probably didn’t share the same appreciation for “who I was” (or thought I was).

When I returned home, my family had converted our first floor dining room into my recovery room (bedroom) that I would use for the next several months. I didn’t have the strength to get into bed, let alone use stairs.  I required almost constant care for about 2 weeks until I could manage to get into a wheel chair.  Even after I had the strength to get into the chair, it was too big to get through our bathroom door nor could I push myself with only one arm.   The only real memories of these first few weeks are “fuzzy” at best.

Elbow Joint Under Repair

There are several memories of those first 90 days worthy of recording:

• As my voice began to return it sounded a bit like Donald Duck or perhaps a whisper voice I couldn’t mimic now.

• I weighed only 128 lbs (down from approx 175 lbs prior to the accident).  I’m not sure what they were pumping into that feeding tube!  Not the weight-loss program I would ever recommend.  [Note: Just before the accident (maybe 6 months), I had reached 205 lbs and decided to go on the Adkins program.  It was an incredible success...I lost 25+ lbs in about 30-40 days.  It was quite noticeable and I was feeling great.]  However, now I was lighter than I was in high school or maybe grade school!

• My daughter took many pictures that were as flattering as possible.  She was smart enough not to ask for permission (I wouldn’t have given it) and I’m glad she preserved a few.

Filling the Tibia Gap

• The leg required elevation above my heart all the time.  Even though I was heavily medicated I could feel it if it were lowered.  My wife purchased at least a dozen different types of angle pillows that were everywhere in the house.

• The ONLY clothes that I could put on with ilizarov frames installed on my arm and leg were gym shorts and tank tops.  Nothing else could be put on over them.  It would be several months before I could wear anything besides button up gym pants.

• The elbow joint was “ok to move”, but was too painful to use.  Obviously, I am thankful I am right handed!

The Ankle Puzzle

• Each individual site (screw entry points) required cleaning care daily.  Becky was meticulous in sterilizing everything and I never had an issue.

• Once my voice came back, I began accepting calls.  It seems I was on the phone as often as I was awake on some days.

• The first winter was a challenge for my wife and family.  Moving me from the chair into the car took incredible patience and a lot of pre-planning.

• A friend built several ramps for both inside (living room dropped down one stair) and outside the house so the wheel chair could enter & exit. With ice, however, it was still an incredible challenge.  Even as light as I was, assisting me from the chair into the car was an accomplishment!

Saying Enough is Enough on drugs. To say the least, I was badly damaged and required a lot of care and pain management.  The drugs they were giving me knocked me out for the most part.  I quickly realized that the fentanyl patch & drug combo had side effects that simply weren’t worth the trip.  I was learning first hand, that chemical depression is real and scary.  It wasn’t something you just shake off.  I decided I’d rather die of pain than deal with these drugs any longer—I spent 9 of the most horrific days of my life before I started feeling like I would make it.  I didn’t think it was humanly possible to be awake for 9 days…but I proved it was possible!  I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy (if I had any).  I am so thankful it is over.  It remains a frightening memory that I’d like to forget.