July 17, 2008

I have been a passenger on motorcycles since before I could walk, and I have always loved the way it feels to ride. Not having my own bike, or my endorsement, I have had to rely on trustworthy people in my life to take me out and have always been grateful for the chance to ride. Last summer, I met who I believe is the “Most Amazing Man Ever” and he just happened to ride a street bike. Our first date ended in him taking me to the emergency room for a dislocated knee (I tripped on his foot before going out to play pool with my girlfriend and her boyfriend and fell just the right way to dislocate my kneecap), so it was about a week and a half before he took me out riding. At this point, he was riding his 1996 Honda ST1100, and it was probably some of the best times we had together. Our schedules didn’t match up for a couple of weeks and he bought a 2003 Honda CBR1100XX Blackbird during that time. He came by one night to take me out and it was amazing to ride the newer bike. We were having a blast together at the sports bar we went to and laughing most of the time we were there. He was taking me home because he was going to see someone else and the last thing I remember clearly is sitting on the back of his bike waiting for traffic to break so we could leave the parking lot. The next clear memory I have is lying on my back with bright lights blinding me and me asking these people who were moving all around me where Chris is. I just knew that if I were there, he would be too.  They told me that Chris died and I felt the fight in me leave – they sedated me and the next time I came to, I was in surgery and I passed out from the pain. 

  We were leaving the bar to take me to my house when he decided that we should go for a ride and of course I agreed. We took a left onto a road that had an S curve marked for 35mph about a quarter of a mile down and for whatever reason, he failed to negotiate the turns and we crashed through boulders, an un-barbed wire fence and a street sign into a field. He was found about 75 feet from the road and I was found another 20 feet further out from him. The bike was found about 50 yards from us in the opposite direction. I was told by one of the witnesses that if he hadn’t crashed into that field, we would have had a head-on collision with a car that was just turning onto the road, but I will never know exactly what happened and why he was going so fast in the first place. He was an excellent rider, having been on motorcycles for over 20 years (he was only 37) and the year previous he had hit a deer going 80mph and kept it upright. I don’t believe that he did this on purpose, but I will never begin to understand what happened that night.   The injuries I sustained were numerous. My right humerus was broken in 2 places an inch apart about 3 inches from my elbow, so now I have a metal plate with 9 screws holding my arm together. My left arm was dislocated at the elbow, with my humerus almost to my wrist and my elbow almost to my armpit, shattering my radial head, and they had to give me a titanium joint. My right leg was almost severed at the knee – the un-barbed wire fence completely severed my patellar tendon (the one that holds the knee cap in place) and I’m told that they couldn’t find my knee cap at the scene. Most of it was hiding in my knee and a portion of it was left in the field somewhere. Five of my ribs were broken on my left side, puncturing my left lung and perforating my liver and spleen. My left kidney was so damaged and swollen they were talking about removing it (they talked about removing my lung as well), but I was lucky enough to keep all of my own body parts, as well as the metal I that helps to hold me together.   I am told that when my family showed up the next day, I had a breathing tube and couldn’t talk, so I was writing. All I could write was, “Chris is dead, Chris is dead, Chris is dead,” over and over again. They were terrified I wouldn’t fight knowing that he was dead. I was out of ICU a week later and the next two weeks I was on the orthopedic floor of the hospital. This is where I had the craziest hallucinations and would get so frustrated that I couldn’t go to the bathroom by myself or wipe myself or walk or write even (after the surgeries on my arms, I had to teach myself how to write again) and I learned a humility that no one should ever have to learn. I was only 33 years old at the time. I missed both my kids’ birthdays – one turned 11 and the other turned 15 while I was in there. The looks on the faces of my family when I would see them were heartbreaking – especially my dad’s. My mom had died a couple weeks over a year before the wreck and we were all still recovering from that. My parents hadn’t seen each other in 20 years at the time she died, but my dad had still taken it kind of hard.   After being in the hospital for three weeks, I was moved to a rehab hospital and the following day I was able to shower for the first time in three weeks with help. It was there that I learned how to walk without a walker (I couldn’t use a cane because of my arms), how to dress myself, how to brush my own hair, etc. I also hired an attorney to deal with all the legal stuff because I was trying to physically recover and it was just too much. I knew Chris had insurance, because before I got on the back of the bike the first time I had asked him and he said that he did. I was released from the rehab hospital 10 days after I got there, having made as much progress as I could while there. I moved in with my older brother and his family to keep from going to a nursing home, as I couldn’t care for myself just yet. One of my sisters and my baby brother had packed up my place before I lost everything and put it in storage at my baby brother’s house. I will forever be grateful that my family was there for me. I owe them all so very much.   After I was released from the hospital, I found out that Chris had lied to me and didn’t have insurance and hadn’t since that January.  Apparently in the state of Washington, you don’t have to have insurance on a motorcycle.  This left me with almost a quarter million dollars in bills and I had to file bankruptcy – it breaks my heart that I can’t begin to pay those that saved my life and helped me to recover. I went back to work sooner than I probably should have so that I could get my own place and try to start living life again and to be the mom I hadn’t been in a long time. My kids had to live with their dad full time while I recovered and the younger one still does because she’s used to it and it’s easier for her.   I moved into my own place 6 months after the wreck and on the 6 month anniversary I spent the first night alone in my own place since the wreck. I had the worst panic attack that night – for the 6 months previous, I had people all around me and now I was just plain scared. The next night was worse, but at least I knew to expect it. I have tried to keep the emotional crap to myself, not wanting to burden anyone with it, as they have been through enough watching me go through this. But sometimes I want to not be here anymore because it hurts too much. I was able to obtain a new job with better hours that isn’t as hard on me physically and the routine helps. At least I know that between 8 in the morning and 5 in the evening I will be fine. I look forward to being at work when I’m not there because it’s the only time I’m not on the verge of tears. I’m seeing a psychiatrist and taking meds, but it doesn’t seem to help yet. Or maybe it is and if I weren’t; things would be worse. Physically I’m still in more pain than I will admit, but I won’t take the narcotic pain pills any longer. I took myself off of those when I started having withdrawals after cutting back two months out of the hospital. I still have to have maintenance surgeries on my right knee, not to mention needing to fix the left knee that was hurt the night that Chris and I met. It’s been hard, but it’s been worth it. I can’t let anyone get very close to me, for fear of ‘losing it’ completely and of getting hurt again. I have a very small world that I live in and sometimes it scares the crap out of me that I’ve made it so small. I no longer have pictures of Chris up in the house because it bothers my teenager too much, but I did get his nickname, CMac tattooed on me 13 weeks to the day after the wreck. Just trying hard to work through this and I don’t always make the best choices – not that I regret the tattoo; I just don’t understand why I did it. I miss Chris more than I can express and it hurts that most of the people that he knew, including his family has absolutely nothing to do with me. It’s not like I was the one driving, so I don’t understand why I was left to deal with this on my own. On the 17th of every month I would take flowers to the crash site because that’s where his mom left part of his ashes and it’s the only place I have to go. July of this year is the last time I’ve done that, hoping that it would help me to move on if I quit doing that, yet I know I’ll be back out there before it snows again.     It’s difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t been through something like this just what it’s like dealing with this and I feel pretty alone. I know that I am extremely lucky – for someone to live through being thrown almost 100ft off the back of a motorcycle is impossible and for me to be recovered the way I have is even more remote. As sad as I get sometimes, I am by far more grateful for the small things than I can ever remember and I don’t take anything for granted – I know that the next time I open my eyes I may not be able to do the things I am able to do right now. I’m grateful I get to help my girls grow more and give them the example that I am giving them by fighting so hard to have everything that I have. I know that whatever happened that night that Chris would want me to live life and that’s what I’m doing. I don’t know if I will ever get my endorsement, but for now I have tabled that decision. It’s not right for me to put those that love me and that have watched me go through all of this through the fear of it happening again. I know that I have severe PTSD from this and I know that they have it as well having been traumatized by my trauma.