12/13/12- I received my first negative comment tonight on my blog. It really shocks me that someone could be so thoughtless and ignorant to think that they have ANY clue on what happens in my life. The joy of living in the free world is you don't have to read, listen or look at anything that you don't want to. The whole purpose of my blog was to try and release emotions and feelings that I was going through. NO one else. I am sorry if I offended anyone but on the other hand, don't follow me on Twitter, don't be my friend on Facebook and don't read my blog. Block me, ignore me, delete me..but don't judge me. And no, I personally do not suffer from Chronic pain and hope that I never do. But what I do suffer from is watching my best friend, the love of my life, my husband and the father of my children suffer day in and day out. For 459 days now, so don't tell me that I do not know what it's like. There is no pill, no therapy, no surgery that will take away the pain that my children and I feel right along with him.

Tomorrow will mark the one year anniversary of my husband's first hot shower since his accident. 95 days without one. 95 days of being in a hospital bed and getting a sponge bath once or twice a week. His race shop's Christmas party last year was a good reason to do something about that. He really wanted to go and so did I. Going to the grocery store was an outlet for me, so going out and celebrating something, anything was something to look forward to. Waiting for the insurance company to approve home renovations was like waiting for Hell to freeze over. That's a whole other blog in itself.

I made several phone calls and several trips to local hotels to see if we could get him into a shower before his Christmas party. Its really pathetic that most national chain hotels are not wheelchair accessible. They claim to be handicap accessible but that usually means a few hand rails in the bathroom. I found a hotel that I thought would work, took my tape measure and tried to map out the situation in my head.  I was nervous about the whole thing, we had practiced several times at the rehabilation center but there was always an Occupational Therapist either in the bathroom with us or close nearby. This would be my first time, alone, helping him shower. Luckily, the PICC line was out at this time and after six weeks of administering IV antibiotics every six hours, on the hour, I was ready to get rid of that.  But I still had to check and double check my list. Did I have enough plastic wrap, did I have enough tape, did I have enough wound dressings, did I have all of his toiletries, did I have enough towels? Did I have enough of everything to accomplish this task without having to run back home and leave him alone?  It was just him and I.

I am sure he will attest to the fact that it was the most amazing shower he had had in his entire life. Once settled in the hot water, I shut the door and let him be alone. I think he was in there for a good 30 minutes. I paced the hotel room for the entire time he was in there with one hand on my phone, just in case I needed backup. Asking him every 30 seconds if he was okay. After his shower, we laid together on the king size bed. Also, a first in 95 days. I had gotten used to sleeping in a chair next to his hospital bed or on the couch in the next room.

The task at hand was accomplished with no major snafus. We took off to the party and had a pretty good time. It was an emotional Christmas party. It was the first time most people had seen Scott since his accident. Although we didn't stay long, it was one of the best nights of my life. We spent the next six weeks doing the same routine, every Friday night minus the party. Booking a hotel room and getting that priceless hot shower and the even more priceless time of laying together in the same bed, even if it was only for a few minutes.

Tomorrow night is the race shop's Christmas party, but this year we get to shower in our house. No worries of whether or not I packed everything, no worries of how we are going to get ready. It's going to be a really good time, I think. The best thing about my family, is no matter how much we are suffering on the inside, emotional or physical, we can put a smile on our face, have an amazing time and most importantly move forward. We can enjoy ourselves and the blessings we have been given. 

I hope that this blog doesn't offend anyone. Everyone has their own problems, their own issues and their own demons. When I say certain things, I am not criticizing anyone and I expect to not be criticized by others either. This is my life, my husband's life and my children's life. Maybe my Dad was right. I should stop blogging and write my book. Then haters would have another option, they would have to buy the book to read the book.

So do me a favor, if you don't like what I say, simply ignore me.

12/5/12- Chronic pain: Tens of millions of Americans suffer from chronic pain everyday. With chronic pain, signals of pain remain active in the nervous system for weeks, months, or even years. This can take both a physical and emotional toll on a person. The emotional toll of chronic pain also can make pain worse. Anxiety, stress, depression, anger, and fatigue interact in complex ways with chronic pain and may decrease the body's production of natural painkillers; moreover, such negative feelings may increase the level of substances that amplify sensations of pain, causing a vicious cycle of pain for the person. Even the body's most basic defenses may be compromised.

I decided tonight to research chronic pain. I need to educate myself on how to deal with living with a person who suffers from chronic pain. I need to figure out a way to get him to forget about his chronic pain. I am a true believer in "Mind over Matter" and I know that he is too. He is actually the reason why I believe that you can talk yourself into to being sick, you can talk yourself into being hurt, you can talk yourself into anything. Although in his defense, the "Mind over Matter" theory can only last for so long. At some point, based on the research, your mind will take over.

The most difficult part of my research was realizing that there is not alot of suggestions for the family members of those dealing with chronic pain. Maybe I didn't look at it deep enough. My sister suggested therapy. We have tried that, or at least Scott has. Therapy is supposed to help you, not make you feel worse and in my opinion, any good therapist would work on the family as a unit and give every one coping skills while at the same time healing the patient. The therapist that was chosen for us, not by us, has apparantely failed. It's tough when you have people who dictate your needs or should I say, dictate which doctor you can see. I should have spent more time researching therapists, perhaps. That is now at the top of my list. And at this point, I don't care if I have to pay for it myself. After all, that's why I went back to work, to take care of my family.

Scott has lived for 15 months with pain. It never really hit me until I read his Facebook. His post was:     " is sick of living my life in pain!!!Get one issue fixed and another one shows up!!FML".

My heart broke into a million pieces. The worst part was I didn't know he had said that until Erin texted me tonight and asked me what was wrong. I was trying to drive home from work and to be honest, I was doing the mortal sin: I was Facebooking and texting while driving!!

We had an appointment today with the plastic surgeon and I think maybe we were hoping he would say he could fix everything and he basically said no one could fix it. No one can fix the vascular issue. No one can fix the nerve issue and no one can make his "good" leg like it was before. And I just wanna shout at the top of my lungs. Are they serious? They put donor faces on people these days and yet they cannot put a few nerves and veins back together? I don't get it. My biggest struggle is I can't fix this. There is only one thing that I cannot fix and this is it. The fighter in me will fix this. Some way, some how. I lose sleep over it.

I was glad to see so many people support him and try to give words of encouragement. I try to remind myself that everyone has their own problems and their own issues. Several of his Facebook friends are dealing with their own chronic pain issues and offered suggestions. I know for myself, I love (begrudgingly so) to hear of other people's problems. It gives me a few moments to forget about my problems and concentrate on something else.

Some days, I think that no one on this planet has any idea what we go through as a family and then I slap myself upside the head and remember that I am one lucky girl...

11/18/12- Reading my last blog made me look a bumbling idiot!! I have realized that I should not wait so long in between writing. There are a plethora of emotions that occur on a daily basis in this household. When I read what I have written, I realize that I am trying to pack a million things into one post to keep everyone up to date and that's impossible. One item I  put on my Christmas list was a voice recorder. I could be getting ready for work, or in the shower or folding laundry or mowing the lawn and think of something I really want to say. But at the end of the day, those thoughts and emotions crash into one blurry mess. My daily life is exhausting to say the least. Tired with a capital T, doesn't even touch the surface.

I made the decision to go back to work this summer. After spending several months at home as a caregiver, nurse, wife and mother, it really wasn't what I wanted. Although I am proud of myself for stepping up to the plate and providing care (extraordinary care, if I do say so myself) to Scott and tried to be the "PTA" mom that I thought my kids wanted, I was miserable. After all, the whole purpose of moving to North Carolina was to benefit everyone, not just Scott and his career. I seen moving to a larger city as a chance at bigger, better and more profitable opportunities for everyone in my family.

I am a self taught guru in business, mainly in the dental world. I don't mind tooting my horn on this one and I am pretty sure I have several dentists who will back me on this. I have taken my 20 years of experience and made myself an employee that dental offices cannot afford NOT to have. I know I can make it happen in any town.

In May, I went to over 20 dental offices. I dropped my resume off, gave my spiel and hoped someone would call, even if it was temporary or fill in. I was still working from home for the dental office I was originally hired at but knew that it was not the place for me. I am still to this day grateful for the chance they gave me and the opportunity to work from home while I took care of Scott, but I knew deep down they were not the right fit for me. Days went by and no calls. Weeks went by and nothing. My hopes lingered when months went by. I started to convince myself that maybe this was my destiny. To be at home, take care of Scott and the kids. I almost felt like maybe this was God's way of saying that Scott would never get better and I would have to be there to care for him.

When my phone finally rang and the person on the other end wanted to interview me, I was ecstatic. It all happened so quickly. The phone interview led to a personal interview that led to a working interview. All within a matter of days. They were almost willing to pay my asking wage and I was so desperate to have my life back it probably wouldn't have mattered what the offer was. Luckily for me, it was a satisfactory offer.   It's actually comical that the day the business manager from the other office called to tell me they had found someone to do my job in house, was the day I was hired at another office. I should say, within a matter of minutes.

 Ironic how life works sometimes. Ironic, indeed. But after the excitement of a new career opportunity, I realized that I had been fired. Fired? What? Are you serious? You called to fire me? I have never in all my years been fired from anything. Let alone some stupid job. I was devastated. How dare they fire me? I empowered that practice to rebuild itself from devastation and made them more profit in the 6 months that I was there than they had seen in years. Fired? Fired. So happy and yet so angry all within a matter of minutes. Seems to be the daily course of emotions these days.

I struggle everyday with the decision to go back to work. And it doesn't help that I get the feeling that my family doesn't support that decision. But honestly, who is benefiting from me not working? I surely was not happy being a housewife or anything near that. I cannot and will not do that. I don't know how. I don't know how to be successful at that. I had never done it until this year and apparantly failed misearably at it. I guess it's not my nature. It never has been and probably never will be. I only took 4 weeks of maternity leave when my children were born. I know that work and money aren't everything, but for me, it's all that I am good at. I have not succeeded in any other aspect of  my life other than my career.  I need my own personal success and having a clean house, all the laundry done, dinner on the table and chauffeuring kids is not who I am.

Like my Dad always said, "You work hard and you're house isn't dirty, it's lived in." And I am okay with that.

11/12/12-I can honestly say that today had been the best day I have had in, I don't know,  a very long time. Surgery number 20 took place today and we finally have some amazing results to report. After 428 days of pain and suffering, both mental and physical, we have turned the corner on this ordeal. We are now in the driver's seat. I haven't felt this positive about anything in my life since we made the decision to move to North Carolina to pursue Scott's dreams.

I feel like I am jumping the gun a little with telling everyone the results from today. But God Damn, I am too jacked up to not spread the word. I promise to fill in the holes as you read. Just keep listening!!

I used to love the season of Fall. We had so many amazing times camping, horse back riding, sitting by the open fires. Raising our kids with camping, hunting, fishing and learning Michigan's history. Even when it was raining or it was too cold outside we could always come up with something to occupy the time. Sometimes we would play games, like Yahtzee and Skipbo. And in highly competetive times, we played serious games of Aggravation. There was never a dull moment. I could write a book based off of those stories. I think that is one thing my family misses the most. We have missed out on the Fall seasons of camping. That was definitely not the original plan.

On October 21, 1995, I married my best friend. I married the love of my life. I promised to God and everyone there that I would love, honour and cherish him in sickness and in health, in richer or poorer, til death do us part. On October 21, 2011, I celebrated that day by getting him home to Charlotte and this is what I wrote:

I don’t think I will ever forget the day we returned to Charlotte.  I was under an enormous amount of stress, so worried about Scott and if they would take him to the right place, if they would know what pain meds he needed, if they would know how to raise his left leg when he needed it, if he would have enough pillows and blankets, if  he would get his antibiotics..the list is endless. Not only was I worried about him, but I was worried about Matt and I traveling back to Charlotte.  I had a rental car for the first time in my entire life. I had to drive to the Philadelphia airport and figure it out on my own.  After the third loop trying to find the Nationwide Rental lot, which was right in front of my face, I finally listened to Matthew.  It was to the point that he was yelling at me to turn left.. Once I took two seconds and worried about the two of us, I could focus. I was so scared. This moment was totally out of my comfort zone and totally out of my control.  I had never done this before, any of it.  I couldn’t help Scott in Charlotte if I couldn’t figure out the stupid rental car situation.  I would  miss my flight.

Scott was supposed to arrive in Charlotte at 12:30 on October 21^st.  Our wedding anniversary.  I guess that was my gift, to get out of New Jersey and back to Charlotte. Due to the lack of organization and communication from the "transport team" (which was a joke in itself), Matt and I had no chance to get a flight that would put us there by then.  There would be no one there to greet him, no one to make sure he was safe, no one to make sure he was even at the right facility.  Even after the enourmous effort from Ann, Ray's assistant, there was not one nonstop flight from Philadelphia to Charlotte in the time frame we needed.  That sent me into an anxiety attack that I had never experienced before.  I couldn’t be there to help him and no other loved one could get there in time either.

Matt and I had to travel from Philadelphia, PA to Norfolk, VA for a 40 minute layover and then to Charlotte. We had some how accumulated so much luggage that we had to check two of our bags and carry on what felt like forty five.  I had my purse, my laptop, Matt’s backpack (which was filled with DVD’s from the Jersey trip), and a small duffel bag.  As most of you know, those short commuter flights do not accommodate that excess and most people are not patient.  I mean really, pay the $25 and check the bag!  Actually, I know exactly why we had more to bring home than when we left, I had no clue how serious this was and only packed enough for 2 days. I spent 41 days there and thank you to certian people, I had attained more clothing.  I honestly thought that they would cast his legs and send him home.  I had no idea the living nightmare I would face.

I also remember clearly, coming back to our house from the airport.  Willy, Ray's nephew, was on standby to pick us up. The plane finally landed. I texted Willy to let him know that we were on the ground.  Naturally, I was extremely anxious to get off the plane and into the car.  It was at least a twenty minute drive from the airport and a thirty minute drive from our house to the hospital.  But I knew that my daughter , Morgan was waiting for us to get home.  So, I had to go home first and see her.  We had spent so many days apart.  I felt “out of loop”, like she wouldn’t remember me.  I had to see her.

I hate, hate, hate flying.  Traveling in general, especially on an airplane, in an airport, relying on someone to be there.  I could have crawled out of my skin. I was having tunnel vision, wanted to be home, wanted to get Scott.  Matt and I finally get off the plane, find our way through the airport to baggage claim and wait.  Most of the screens were not working due to construction.  I had no idea which baggabe claim to go to.  We waited. Matt was so patient, wanting to help out.  My bag came through and several others.  I think it was a connecting flight from Charlotte to another city. Waiting still, Matts bag never appeared.  Are you serious? Now, of all of times to lose baggage.  Poor Willy was circling Charlotte Internnational Airport waiting.  I texted him and told him that Matts bag never came out and to sit tight and I would text him when we found it. Thirty minutes passed, three airport employees and waiting in line at customer service finally gave us answers.  The bag was left in New Jersey and it would be delivered to our home.

 I apologize, my thoughts are all over place. I  have so much to say, so much to be thankful for..I don't know where to go with this, please be patient..............

11/11/12  I have struggled with writing or not writing. It came to a point that I had some serious emotions that I wasn't sure how to deal with or if I wanted them to be public. There are times that I am so angry, I could rip my own skin off. There are times when I am so hurt that I could go to sleep and never wake up. There have been some "revelations" in my life the past few months that have encouraged me to keep writing. The worst part about putting it on paper (and online)  is reliving certain days, events and feelings, that I am not sure I want to relive anymore. A part of me wants to forget about it, ignore it and move forward. But the intelligent, sensical side of me tells me to deal with it or I will never be able move forward.

I read a draft that I wrote on August 30th and never posted. That must have been a really bad day for me. This is what I wrote but never posted publicly:

I cannot believe that in ten days, it will be the one year anniversary of Scott's accident. I hate using the word 'anniversary' because it surely is not something that I want to celebrate in any way. I also cannot believe that it is not over. I never would have thought that 365 days later we would still be no further ahead. And I say that with negativity and my piss poor attitude. And I know, we have made leaps and bounds in the last three hundred and fifty some days, but I want to know when we will see the finish line. When will the flagman wave that checkered flag and say, 'You win!'? When is my family going to be back to the way we used to be? Actually, I know the answer to that. We will never be how we used to be. We will forever have to make adjustments to our normal and actually that is really okay with me, I think.

I kick myself in the ass because I have not held true to my own commitment to myself to write every day. I cannot express enough how writing this blog has been my personal therapy. There have been so many events, some big and some small, that have happened since my last post. I guess I just lost what was important to me. Even if not one person reads it. It doesn't matter. It's kind of like when you want to say something to someone on Facebook or Twitter: you type it, think about it, then hit the delete button. Well, I am not hitting the delete button anymore.

I am afraid of myself though. In the aspect, that when I am angry or hurt or frustrated, I cannot hide it. There is nothing fake about me. I cannot fake happiness for more than, let's say 30 seconds. Oh and there's that "red faced" thing that I get when I am pissed. It's a dead give-a-away when I am mad. I hate that!!

Everytime I try to get back any resemblance of normalcy in this family, it is taken away. I often ask myself why do I do what I do? I hate the fact that every decision I make seems to be the wrong one. But then I find myself asking, what if?

I went to church today for the first time since we moved to North Carolina and the first time in several years. Our daughter, Morgan has been attending this church for several months with one of her dear friends, Jordan. She has asked every Sunday for us to go and every Sunday I have said no. I realized today why I have been telling her no all this time. Let me get something straight first. I believe in being a Christian, I believe Jesus died for our sins and I believe that living the life of a Christian will lead to greater things.

I am used to the small community churches, where everyone knows everyone. You grab the hymnal and pretend to sing along with the elderly woman, usually the Preacher's wife, playing the piano. After you heard of salvation and damnation, all in the same surmon, you would come together for a potluck. I was almost forced as a child to go to church every Sunday. Not by my parents but by my grandmother, Norine. If you wanted to hang out with her later and do things like go shopping, be at the pool and eat a fantastic meal, that was the price you paid. Grandma Norine always made us dress up and be on our best behavior. If we were real good during the service, we were rewarded with what us kids called "Granny Green Gum". Essentially the Extra mint gum. She was a God-fearing woman who lost her life to cancer at an early age. Her death started my questioning of God's intentions. Someone so devoted to church, community and family. It just didn't seem fair.

I went today with good intentions. I was actually looking forward to some quality time with Morgan. It's been a trying week (month, year). I was amazed that pulling into the church was a major production. They have someone directing traffic to get into the parking lot!! I knew this was not the church I was accustomed to and frankly. I was a little nervous. Once we entered the building, Morgan asked if I wanted to get a coffee. "No" was my immediate response. I had never been to a church that had a concession. They had 3 big screen televisions with advertisements for upcoming events and we were not seated in old wooden church pews but comfortable padded chairs. Of course, Morgan wanted to be in the front row. There was a stage that clearly was set up for a band. On one of the screens was a countdown to the start of the service. One by one, the band members came out to the stage, one not wearing shoes. The anxiety was building just for the fact that I had no idea what was going to happen. The music started and there wasn't a little old lady at the piano. There were trumpets, guitars, drums, keyboards and singers!

The surmon was about politics. The pastor did an amazing job teaching the congregation that your political views and religious views should not determine one or the other. That you should not hate someone based on their political agenda. And that no matter who is in office, who our elected officials are, it doesn't matter because God would always be King. And God will direct those leaders' hearts to do what is best for this country.

As he was preaching, I could feel myself getting more and more anxious. I could feel the air blowing on me but I was starting to sweat. I felt nauseous and I couldn't stop the tears any longer. He had asked the congregation to get up and take communion and accept Jesus. I couldn't move and yet I wanted to get up and run out of there as fast as I could.

I agreed with everything he was saying, but I wanted to stand up and yell, "Why, God? Why my husband, why me, why us?"

8/5/12-Getting on the elevator to go back to the lobby that first night, I was terrified. I had no idea what would happen next. I was in Camden, New Jersey with my two children, my brother-in-law, near strangers and complete strangers. I had little clothing, no food and no money. I didn't know where we would sleep, where we would eat and had absolutely no clue about Scott's survival. The ride downstairs seemed to take an eternity. Little did I know that the strangers who were waiting on my report would become life-long friends and people who would treat us like family from here on out.

The main lobby at Cooper Hospital was nice. It was current and clean. However, it seemed extremely white and cold. The floor to ceiling windows were dark and showed the inside reflection of the reception area. It felt like we were the only people in the entire hospital.  Other than security and the cleaning crew. At the time, I felt safe and secure and I had no idea what I was about to experience in the next 41 days at this facility. I had no idea how dangerous it was about to be.

Coming out of the elevator, I turned to my left, with Doug and my kids following. There was a small bend before entering the hallway into the main lobby. I could see everyone in the waiting area before they could see me. The first person I saw was Ray. I could tell he had been pacing back and forth, probably for quite a while. He was on his phone and looked up. I could tell by the look on his face that the look on my face was not what he wanted to see. I could almost see the energy drain from his body and hit that white tile hard as bricks.

It was kind of awkward for me at the time, but I really had no one else there for me to comfort me and to help me through this. He was walking towards me and I only had a few seconds to get myself in check to give him the information he was looking for. I know he is a very busy man and I wanted to give him the details and let him get on with what he needed to do. I knew he needed to have his mother home, had to drive the race trailer back to North Carolina and a million other things. I knew he didn't have time for my problems. He's Ray Evernham for God's sakes!! I was completely wrong about that. He didn't care about who was waiting for him or what his upcoming commitments were. The only thing that mattered to him was Scott and what he needed to do to make this horrible nightmare as comfortable as humanly possible for everyone there. 

I felt like I ran up to him. I just needed to hear from someone that I knew personally that everything would be okay. I knew if my dad was there he would have said those words to me and Ray was the closest thing at the time to make me believe that it would be okay. I think Ray already knew what the outcome of Scott's injuries were going to be. He had been there and seen it first hand and although he never let on how bad it was, I think he knew that Scott would lose at least one leg and possibly two. I am pretty sure I latched on to him like he was the last human on earth. I tried to tell him what had happened but I don't think anything I said was audible because my face was buried somewhere between his chest and waist. Ray, compared to me, is a tall, athletic, lanky man. He was wearing a black cotton racing shirt. Presumably his or Erin's, I am not sure. It must have been brand new because all I could smell was the rubber of the screen printing on the front of his shirt. My face was nearly raw from the tears and the plastic of that screen printing. It's a smell that I used to love but now reminds me of the worst night of my life. I could feel myself grasping his shirt like I was hanging above a canyon with no harness. My knees were buckling beneath me. I felt bad because I think my hysteria made it worse for him. I could see Erin standing nearby us, with tears in her eyes.

We eventually made it to the main lobby where we spent the night. Willy, Ray's brother had to take Ming and the race trailer back to North Carolina. They had had no sleep either. Allen, Bruce and Lynne left also and promised to be back soon to help, and they did. I had gone outside on several occasions throughout the night for fresh air and nicotine. Doug usually followed me. We paced together, cried together, laughed together. It seemed perfectly safe and secure to be outside. I had no idea where I was or what was happening across the street and down the block. At one point, I went out alone. I needed to be alone for just two minutes to get myself together and to make a plan for the next day. Doug came out and told me I had to come inside, the hospital was going on lock down. Lock down? What the hell did that mean? From midnight to 5 am, no one was allowed in or out of the hospital. I knew at that moment, this was not the place I wanted to spend one more day.

We had no choice but to stay in the hospital lobby. It was freezing cold in there, most of us had little to nothing for comfort. I was so glad that Ray and Erin were willing to stay with the kids and I until we could get a plan together. I don't think I could have mustered the strength to do it by myself. Erin had graciously offered to get everyone something to drink. I figured caffeine would be a necessity to make it through the night, so I asked her to grab me a cup of coffee. At that hour of the night, the only thing that was open was the vending machines. She came back to lobby carrying hot coffee for us. I really wanted that coffee until I took my first sip. It was by far the most horrid coffee I had ever tasted in my entire life!! I do not have words to describe the taste. It was terrible. Lake water tastes better than the coffee out of that vending machine. I drank almost half of it just to get to warm.

I think it was someone from the cleaning crew that had offered us a few blankets and pillows and we happily accepted. I was tired, cold and scared. I think everyone felt that way. I tried to make Doug and the kids as comfortable as possible. I really wanted them to get some sleep. There is nothing worse than hungry, tired, cranky kids. And I didn't want to deal with that. At that point, I didn't want to deal with anything other than getting back my husband and my life. We had all agreed to try and get some sleep. I don't think any of us did though. Everytime I closed my eyes, I prayed to God to let this not be reality. And everytime I opened my eyes, I was still in New Jersey.

But everytime I opened my eyes, Ray was there. Awake, watching over all of us.

7/31/12 Not one minute of any given day, do I not remember the events that changed my family’s lives forever. The last day of each month is a constant reminder of that. I just turned the kitchen calendar over to the next month, August. The first thing I noticed was the picturesque tropical setting on the top page. We bought this calendar as a reminder of what we missed out on last winter and what we promised to each other would happen this winter. I thought to myself, this is the month. This is the month that we will move forward. This is the month that this nightmare will end and my life will be back to normal. I have had that thought every month for what seems like an eternity. In all my negativity, every new month I try to remain positive. I try to convince myself that this is it, we are done with this. We are in the eleventh month of this journey and all of us are eager to have some consistency back in our lives. If I don’t feel that way about a new month then I think I would continue to flip the calendar, month by month and have no progression, no resolution..ever. I would not be satisfied with that.

For the most part, my family has dealt with these demons in their own ways. Some of us, better than others. Usually what happens is someone snaps for no particular reason. Sometimes it’s anger, sometimes it’s sadness, sometimes it’s blame and sometimes it’s just pure hatred. A whole host of emotions has, at one time or another, come over each and every one us. Most of the time you cannot pinpoint the trigger or the event that blows the top off, it just happens. There really seems to be no rhyme nor reason on what demon will come out that day or how explosive it can be or which one of us it will come spewing out of.

What makes it difficult as a parent or a wife is not knowing how to deal with your own feelings let alone trying to deal with everyone else’s. As a matriarch, we put ourselves last on every list. Matriarchs feel every single emotion that runs through every single family member, whether it involves us or not. Matriarchs feel responsible for the success or failure of their kingdom. We don’t rest until everyone else is happy, regardless of our own emotions. Matriarchs stand tall, show no emotion and accomplish the task at hand. Unfortunately, this matriarch broke her own rules and had a small breakdown in her kingdom.

For some reason, the past few days have been extremely emotional. And like I said earlier, we all have our own issues and our own drama, if you will, happening. I personally have been overwrought with worry for my father. He has struggled and suffered long enough. It’s time for his ordeal to be over with as well. The thought of him and my mother so far away from me makes me feel helpless. But every time I talk to him on the phone he tells me “not to worry, he will be just fine, you have your own problems.” That’s only comforting for about one second. I hate not being there when he his sick. It drives me to the point that I cannot focus on anything else. The thought of the two of the most important men in life suffering at any given moment stirs emotions in me that are uncontrollable. So when drama inside of my kingdom happens, I tend to ignore my prince and princess and concentrate on what matters to me at that moment.  And right now that is my father and my king.

Yet, at the same time, I am so anxious for what will happen this Thursday at the next orthopaedic appointment. This is going to be the deciding factor on where our lives will go next. I hate that feeling of no control over what happens next in my life. Where my life goes from here, is completely up to everyone but me. It’s truly not fair that you cannot dictate your own future. It’s truly not fair that you have absolutely no control over anything. Life should be what you make it, not what someone else hands you.

 It’s a scary feeling, and if you have not been there yet (and you will), I will understand exactly what you are going through.

7/21/2012- After seeing Scott in the TICU, I was faced with the daunting task of informing the people that were with me about Scott's situation. The first was going to the waiting room where my children and my brother-in-law were. It was so difficult to gain my composure and tell them what was happening. They had already heard the news from Dr. Seamon, so I think that they were somewhat prepared for my report.

Doug, my brother-in-law was waiting for me. You have to understand that Doug and I have a special relationship. From the first day Scott introduced me to his family, Dougie and I were "Buds". He wasn't even five years old yet. He used to fist fight with Scott and tell him that I was his girlfriend. Scott and I had to keep a certain distance between each other or Dougie would get jealous. If Scott and I sat on the couch to watch television, Dougie would weasel his way in between the two of us. Dougie and I did everything together, I took him with me everywhere I went. He was like the little brother I never had. He actually was late for his fifth birthday party because he was with me spending the day at my grandfather's pool and I got lost on the way back to his house. Luckily, that smart little shit knew the way back home. I still to this day, twenty years later, have not heard the end of that one.

 The bond between him and Scott is much deeper. Scott has always been so patient with Doug. Scott has taught him so many things about being a father, a brother, a son, an electrician, being on a sprint car team and being a decent, loving human being. Doug looked up to Scott then and still does to this day. I wasn't sure how Dougie would take the news about his big brother and the condition he was in. Even if Scott lived through this, things would not be the same.  I needed Doug to grow up in a hurry. I needed him to help me and be there for his brother, be there for me and my kids. I was so happy to have him there with me. I knew he would man up and help me. I knew I could count on him.

The visiting hours at Cooper University hospital are ridiculous. Ridiculous in the sense that they do not allow anyone in the room unless it is during their preset hours. For the TICU is was 9am-10am, 1pm-5pm and 8:30pm-11pm.  No exceptions. It didn't matter who you were or what the situation was. They wouldn't allow spouses, parents, children, no one. And to top it off, you had to be 16 to enter the unit. That left Morgan out from visiting her father as long as he was in that unit.

After the initial consultation with Dr. Seamon, he told me I could take the kids in one by one to see their dad, but it had to be brief. Of course, I lied at the front desk and told the woman that Doug was my eldest son, which was why they let him upstairs with me in the first place. When it was time for Morgan to go in to visit, the nurse asked how old she was. I told him she was 14, thinking that would be old enough to go in and visit. He pointed at the sign and said she needs to be 16. Man, I was mad. Why didn't I see that stupid sign and lie about her age? He said she could go in but only after someone from the Psychology unit came and counseled her first. Really? Are you serious? Yes, he was. Absolutely no admittance for that little girl until she was counseled first. I couldn't believe it. What if he didn't live that long? How could they deny his only daughter? They didn't care. Rules are rules.

We waited, what seemed like an eternity for someone to come "counsel" Morgan on visiting a patient in the TICU. Little did they know, we had already been there and done that several times in our lives. My kids were professionals at Intensive Care Units. My kids had already experienced the precursor to death from cancer from several very close relatives. My patience was thin and hers was thinner. We had others waiting on us downstairs. We had dozens of phone calls to make, arrangements to be made. I didn't even know where I was going to sleep. And frankly, it was bullshit that she couldn't go in to see her father. Dougie and Matt had had their turn visiting, why couldn't she?

I felt a little sorry for the five foot something male nurse that came through the waiting room doors. You could tell he wanted to play by the rules. T's crossed and I's dotted. He told us that we would have to wait until the morning hours for a psychologist to come evaluate Morgan because no one from Psychology would answer his page. Morgan was done waiting. I think she grew a few inches that night. She went nose to nose with that nurse, chest puffed out and told him, "That is my father and I am going in there." She walked right passed him and hit the automatic button to open the door to the unit. He stuttered at me and tried to explain the consequences of letting someone her age in the trauma unit. Following our daughter into the unit, I told him she would be fine and I would take full responsibility for her mental anguish. All that time wasted on these people.

The only thing she wanted was to see her Daddy and kiss him goodnight.

7/10/2012- When Scott and I made the decision to give up everything we had established in Michigan to move to North Carolina and pursue his career in racing, I thought I had it all planned out how things would be for us. And I am not saying that we gave up wealth and riches. But we made the choice to give up what we had to better ourselves. This was it. This was what he had always dreamed of. I knew I could find a job anywhere. I wanted to focus on his career and his contribution to the family. We had spent too many hours arguing over his career as an electrician. It was so up and down. Never a constant anything. I don't blame him for that. I blame the economy. I blame Michigan's economy. And I hate that attitude, because it is what you make it and it seems to be every one's excuse these days.  But, damn it, we had a lot of good years financially. And then it quit. I don't mean tapered off, it quit. There was nothing in the building trades and if you were one of the lucky ones to win the bid on a job, you did it for next to nothing. That did not pay the bills and the bill pile was not getting any smaller.

After many extremely heartfelt and emotional discussions, we agreed that this was the best option for us and our family, meaning Scott, me and the kids. We knew deep down that there would be family and friends who wouldn't agree with our decision to leave. Some of them out of fear for not seeing us as often, some of them because they depended on Scott to help them out and some of them out of jealousy or resentment. But in the grander scheme of things, we both knew that no one would be there for us but each other and our children. Things got tough and we had to make a decision, sink or swim.  We chose the triathalon apparently.

 In the 22 years that I have known Scott, I have never had him look at me like he did when he came back to the hotel room to tell me he was going to take this opportunity. And be good at it, no matter what. I believed him. I will never forget sitting in that hotel room for hours waiting for him to come back and tell me how his interview went. Certain friends and family burned my cell phone up that day wanting updates on his interview. I didn't have anything to report. I was just as anxious as everyone else.  I tried to the read the book I brought along. I tried to play solitaire. I tried to watch television. But I paced that hotel room the entire time he was at his interview. I think deep down, I knew his was going to get that job. I knew we would be leaving our lives to start another. And frankly, I was ready for that. We deserved it, he deserved it, our kids deserved it.

When I finally heard from him, he was in the parking lot of the hotel. I was watching him from the window parking the truck. I asked how it went and he said, "Get ready for a life changing moment." I wanted to pee my pants with laughter, I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to throw up, I wanted to rip every picture off of the hotel wall. I knew the moment we left Michigan for his interview, that everyone at REE would love him. I knew he was good at racing and we always talked about the "what ifs" and "I coulds". He finally had the opportunity to prove to everyone and himself that he knew what he was talking about.

So many nights after a race, we would lay in bed for hours going over what had happened that night. Even if he was angry with someone, he would take a breath and rethink what had happened during the race. He would take a step back and analyze the situation from several different shoes. He would try to develop a solution that would make  the next race better than the last. Even if it was a feature win. It was always about what he could do to make it a better experience for everyone. That is what I love about him. He can be stubborn, don't get me wrong. But when it comes to finishing first, he can extract himself from the situation and come to a conclusion that fits everyone involved so that first place is second best. He is always working towards making racing a better experience for everyone.

It's funny that I wanted to talk about my own career decisions (because I am currently faced with a big decision) and when I start typing about myself, it always reverts back to Scott.

He is my life, my kids are my life and I guess I already answered my own question.

7/7/2012- The walk to Scott's room was unsettling to say the least. It was so quiet and dark in the TICU. It felt like no one was around. I felt like my flip flops were making too much noise. It wasn't the usual hubbub of a hospital.  The 'guard' that sat at the front desk jumped down my throat and informed me that I needed to sanitize my hands before I went any further. I think it was a man but he had more makeup on than I had ever dreamed of wearing.  'She' then pointed out the sign to me that anyone who enters must sanitize every time, in and out. I got her message loud and clear. However, her approach to introducing someone new to the rules was a little overboard. I appreciated her seriousness in her job, but she needed to back off the caffeine and the makeup.

I am like my mother in the sense that I can handle any wound, scrap, broken bone, cut or bruise but I need to be eased into the situation. You can't just rip the bandage off and show me your wound. I need to look at it from a distance and unveil it at my own pace. I appreciated that about Cooper's trauma unit. I had the opportunity to ease my way into Scott's room. The front of his room was one big sliding glass door. I could hear the respirator and the monitors bleeping. I cautiously approached his door. I had no idea what to expect. I could see him laying there, starting with his legs (which were covered) and as I approached the opening, I could see his torso, then his arms, then his face. He was on life support with a tube down his throat. He was immensely swollen, his entire body. His neck and face were huge. Almost unrecognizable. His skin was a color that I had never seen in real life before. Kind of yellow, kind of gray.

I told myself before going into his room that I needed to stay calm. I knew I needed to stop crying and let him know that I was there for him. I truly believe that the unconscious can hear you and that my being upset would make him upset and I didn't want him to worry about anything but his own recovery. I knew that he would be worried about me and the kids and I wanted him to just rest and get better so I could bring him home.

I stood next to him for several minutes, assessing the situation. There were so many cords, iv lines, bandages, blankets, tubes and monitors that wouldn't stop beeping. They had him restrained to the bed with padded hand cuffs. What the hell is going on? I really couldn't make sense of any of it. How, more importantly, why is this happening to us?  Dr. Seamon was at the foot of his bed informing me again of Scott's situation, I was standing on Scott's left rubbing his arm. The doctor was telling me that he had a thirty percent chance of survival. It all depended on how he responded through the first night and the next day. He told me that he had lost so much blood at the scene and during surgery they couldn't replace the blood fast enough. He had lost blood faster than they could put in back in. His blood pressure was the surgeons biggest concern. At it's highest, it was 50/34. Near death.

Scott opened is eyes, looked at me and tried to talk to me. I couldn't believe that he was conscience, let alone trying to communicate with me. Dr. Seamon was astounded too. Not too many people suffer from that kind of trauma and are awake and alert hours later. With the sweetest almost childish demeanor, Scott wanted water. That's all he was asking for was water. I looked at the doctor, he shook his head no and tried to convince Scott  that water was out of the question while on life support.  It was so weird that he was trying to talk to us, he should not have been awake. But I knew then that his will to live and get better was stronger than anything on this planet.

I had a gut feeling that he was going to be okay. It didn't matter what the doctors were telling me. I knew that this was not how this was going to end. Not now and surely not here. We had so many plans, so many things to see and do, so many places to go. We had spent hours and hours talking about how we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. This was not how our lives were going to end up. In a few moments, a million things ran through my mind. I was standing there with my life flashing before me. No control over any of it. I was helpless, hopeless and also had, quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.

During the conversation with Dr.Seamon, Scott tried to interject as much as he could, mostly begging for water and wanting the tube out of his mouth. We were discussing Scott's injuries, when Scott tapped my arm and wanted my exclusive attention. It was kind of like playing charades but he had limited mobility in his arms due to the restraints. He tried to speak and ask questions but we couldn't understand what he wanted. He finally got so frustrated with trying to tell me what his question was. I couldn't understand what he was saying with the tube down his throat. He took his left hand and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and took the forefinger of his right hand and went in and out of the circle made by the left hand. I literally laughed out loud. Dr. Seamon, embarrassed as well, said "Yes, you still will be able to have sex." I was mortified. In this situation that we were in, I couldn't believe that Scott's most pressing issue was whether or not he could still have sex.

With a smile on his face, he closed his eyes and I was asked to leave the room and let him rest.

7/6/2012- After Dr. Seamon and I met and he regretfully told me of Scott’s situation and my possible future, I felt like he looked right through me. I was hysterical and yet felt compelled to look at him and see what he was going to say next. Like maybe he had been in my situation before, like he understood me. He was straight up with me, no sugar coating and no pampering. I remember him saying, while I was screaming with my face in my hands, “Mrs. Fisher, Mrs. Fisher, I promise you that your husband has had the best surgeons in the area working on him, me included.” He said it with so much conviction. He believed in himself and I believed in him too. I could feel his sincerity and I could feel his confidence in himself. He told me of what he did for Scott and the procedures that he and the other surgeons performed. He was so serious, so confident that that had done their best. He was so honest. I appreciated that, I respected his professionalism then and still do to this day.

Some people may prefer to have bad news let on them easy, make them feel like it’s not as bad as what it is. I, on the other hand, prefer to be told the truth. I can handle the truth if given to me straight up. I feel that you cannot trust people who don’t tell you the entire truth. No matter how bad it is, just tell me the truth. No frills. I felt as if Dr. Seamon was being completely honest with me. Maybe he had given the same speech to other families. I really cannot pinpoint the connection that I felt with him that day. Although he was telling me the news I thought I would never hear, I felt like he looked very familiar to me, although we had never met. I felt comfortable with him, almost like he was my big brother.  I trusted him entirely. I felt a sense of calm with him. I immediately felt like he was my friend, and he truly cared about me, my family and our outcome. The more I think back on it the creepier it makes me feel. Every time, and I mean every time, I saw him anywhere in the hospital, he made a point to talk to me. Whether it was in line for coffee or waiting for the elevator. He remembered my face, remembered me and always took the time to speak with me. Always asked if I was okay, always asked about my kids and if they were okay and always wanted to know how Scott was progressing.

The visiting hours at Cooper University Hospital, especially in the trauma units are extremely strict. After spending 41 days there, I completely understand why.  I asked Dr. Seamon if I could see Scott and be with him. He informed me that I could only go for a moment because him allowing me in the TICU at that time of the night not was not allowed. Dr. Seamon and I, I think made an instant connection. I was not like most of the “clientele” that he was used to dealing with. I felt like he knew I would abide by the rules and I was not your typical Camden local.

Dr. Seamon opened the double doors into the Trauma Intensive Care Unit for me and I really didn’t know what to expect. What would Scott look like? Was he in pain? Would he recognize me? Would he remember what had happened? Would he be awake? Would he be crying? Would he want his parents? Would he want to go home? Would he have the will to live? Would I be enough inspiration for him to want to live? Would his kids be enough inspiration for him to want to live? And that was just the tip of the iceburg for the kazillion questions that ran through my mind in the thirty seconds it took to get to his room.

I met most of his surgeons on my way to his room.  They had all just left his bedside after their team meeting. The vascular surgeon (and his name escapes me) nearly knocked me over in the hallway to tell me what he had done. He almost was apologetic to me. Like he did everything he could but I could tell that he was disappointed in himself for not doing a better job. He couldn’t save Scott’s leg and I think he hated himself for that. You could tell that he was young, intelligent and going to save the world with his knowledge. He couldn’t save Scott’s leg and I think to him, that made him feel like a failure. He couldn’t give me any guarantee on his work. He was still soaked with sweat and I think seeing me unexpectedly made feel even more unsure of his abilities as a surgeon. I reassured him that it was okay, that I truly appreciated his efforts. I could see the look on his face, his disappointment in himself. I didn’t want him to feel like a failure. I knew he did what he could.

And after all, he had aided in saving my husband’s life and that is all that mattered to me.

6/26/2012-During my moment of self pity yesterday, I finally had the courage to review Scott’s medical records from Cooper University. It’s a disc of 263 pages of medical records. It entails each and every surgeon, attending physician, consulting physician, assistant physician, radiology and lab results that he had done there. I have had it since December but haven’t had the courage to open it and see what really happened to us. Deep down, I didn’t want to relive every day and every thing that had happened. We spent 40 nights and 41 days in the hospital in New Jersey. Most of them alone.

I was hoping that reading the doctor’s clinical notes would piece together the lapse in time, but I found myself so involved in the notes that they really didn’t answer my questions or fill in the time that I do not remember. Actually the clinical notes have raised more questions. I pride myself on being educated in the medical world, but found myself wondering what certain abbreviations meant, certain terminology and wondering why the doctor would make such a statement. I have a lot of Googling to do! I get the jist of most of the notes, some of it I would rather not recall. Even though most of it is medical terms, some of it is very harsh to read and you don’t need a degree to understand what happened and the procedures that were preformed.

For example, this note from the surgeon on the night of the accident: Bruce Fisher is a 43-year-old male. He was working on a car in the pit of a racetrack when another car struck him. The patient presented in hypovolemic shock and he had a traumatic partial amputation of the right lower extremity just below the knee and the only soft tissue connection on the right side was a piece of skin. On the left lower extremity, he had a contaminated and comminuted tibia fracture with soft tissue loss and grossly contaminated wound including the bone.

Last night was the first time I actually felt his pain. Reading the notes from the doctor’s involved in his life-saving care, I could feel their pain, their frustration. So many times during those five weeks, I seen their faces and knew when it was good and when it was not so good. I knew instantly if his surgery was a success or a failure. Seen it fourteen times over a forty days. 

The one thing that has been burnt into my memory and I will never, never forget was the moment Dr. Seamon and I first met. He was young, probably late thirties. Good looking, calm, empathic, caring, loving and put together. You could tell that he was an experienced surgeon in the operating room but not so good with telling families bad news. I am not sure how we made it to the TICU (Trauma Intensive Care Unit) that night, but Doug, Matt, Morgan and I waited there for news on Scott. I clearly remember the room, the pictures on the wall, the stupid television that had horrible cable hookup and flipped all the time, the chairs that were outdated. It was dark, no one was around. It felt like we were the only ones in the entire hospital.

It seemed like days, but I am sure it was only a few minutes, before Dr. Seamon came through the door. He was still in his surgical clothes. I could see the blood splatter on his pant legs and I could tell by the look on his face that he was not going to give me the news I needed to hear. I knew he wasn’t going to tell me that he casted his legs and Scott would be back to Charlotte in a few days. He sat down next to me and started to explain what had happened. He took several minutes to explain to me the extent of Scott’s injuries. The only words he said to me that resonate in my mind daily are “If he lives through the weekend, he will be okay.”  If he lives through the weekend? What did that mean? Are you serious? This is not happening, this is ridiculous. How did this happen? Why did this happen? I sat with my face in my hands and bawled out loud, literally out loud. I couldn’t contain myself. I couldn’t pull it together. I knew I had to get composure, because now was the time that I had to grow up and take care of family. Something came over me. Something grabbed me by the shirt and told me to get a grip and take care of the children that were present and take care of my husband. It was like someone smacked me in the face and challenged me to get over it and take care of it. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and take care of my husband and control my future.  

I knew at that moment that I had to take control of the rest of my life, my husband’s life and my children’s lives.

6/25/2012-To be honest, I have had a really rotten day. No explanation, no reason, nothing out of the ordinary happened. I just don’t feel good. Not physically, but mentally. I am so tired I feel like I could sleep until next week. Or never wake up at all. I get so exhausted from doing nothing. It’s really weird. How can doing nothing, going no where make you so damn tired? I took a nap this afternoon, I never take naps. I hate taking naps. Taking naps is for people with have nothing better to do or people who are sick, or babies. I have tons to do. But nothing appealed to me today.

I took Scott to his next level of physical therapy today. The 40^th session of out-patient rehab. He did really well. He walked himself into the rehabilitation center, did what was asked of him, walked out and never complained a lick. I know he is excited to start the next chapter of his recovery and so am I. He deserves this freedom. He wants to be independent and do things for himself. He wants to walk, he wants to work again, he wants to be able to take his family on the annual camping adventures that we have taken every year since the kids were babies.

Before we left for our mini vacation back to Michigan, we had a robin’s nest right outside of our kitchen window. We had been watching them every day, their behavior, how they built their nest and who’s turn it was to sit on the eggs. When we got back home after nine days, we had three baby birds. Again, we watched daily as the parents flew in hundreds of times a day feeding the babies. Every day they got bigger and stronger. It was amazing how fast they grew and developed. More importantly, it was amazing watching the parents and how they cared for their babies. Yesterday, the first baby took his first steps way up in the tree, then the second flew to the ground and the third one followed. I was scared to death for them. They were not ready to be on their own yet. Especially after the hawk that had flown into the tree the day before with intentions to steal one.

I had some friends over for dinner Saturday and that’s when I realized how desperate my daughter is to leave. Both of my friends, Matthew and Sara, are college educated, highly successful people and Morgan picked their brains until after midnight. She asked them everything about college life, about sororities, collegiate sports, career opportunities and finances. Morgan is extremely intelligent, motivated and thinks of every angle. But the only thing that stuck in my mind was how much she couldn’t wait to “get out of here”. She was asking serious, legitimate questions and they had a full blown conversation on college life, what she could expect, what she should look for in an institute. They discussed her career goals, who and what she wanted to be and what she wanted to do with her life. She asked for their advice on what avenue she should pursue to accomplish her goals.

After typing this, I realized that maybe I am having a little episode of the “Empty Nest Syndrome”. What’s going to happen to me when everyone is gone? I pretty much gave up my career, I have no hobbies. I don’t work out. I have very few friends here. I have never in my life, since being of working age, have not worked. I am not a good mother. I am not a good wife. I don’t know how to be. All I know is to work and provide for myself and my family.  I have spent the last nine months caring for my family exclusively. I have never not contributed financially. That is something that I have never, never done. I paid others to care for my children while I worked. My husband had his own profession and his own hobbies which typically didn’t include me. If they did, I didn’t want to be a part of it. Or maybe it’s just because I am turning 40 this year. I don’t think that my turning forty is the real issue.

 But it works as an excuse for others, so I am going to go with that for now. Midlife crisis perhaps? Tomorrow is a new day….

6/22/2012-I almost feel a little guilty tonight. I really want to continue my story but we have had such a great week, I don’t want to jinx it. We actually had two doctors appointments this week go in our favor. For a change, Hallelujah!!  We finally received the news we have waited nearly nine months for. The tibia is finally showing signs of new bone growth. The infectious disease doctors have cleared him from any bone infection. Of course, we have heard that before. But still, good news all around this week. We have an appointment scheduled for Monday for a physical therapy evaluation. He can start gait training. He can start learning how to walk again. I am beyond ecstatic.

We just had our forty fifth doctor appointment yesterday, since we have been back to Charlotte. Forty five trips to some doctor, who frankly, didn’t have the answers we needed to hear, whether it was infectious disease, orthopedics or psychology. We have been spinning our wheels for nine months with little to no progress. No moving forward, no light at the end of the tunnel. For months we have heard, “It’s only temporary” or “Everything will be okay.” We can’t make plans for anything, our kids can’t make plans for anything. We have had no idea what is going to happen tomorrow, let alone a week or a month from now. But a sigh of relief yesterday, the breath of fresh air we all needed to feel.

It was so cute yesterday at the orthopedics office. The nurse practitioner, Beth, who we absolutely adore, asked Scott if he could stand on his prosthetic. You have to understand that Scott has one of the best prosthetics available and hasn’t really been able to utilize it to its potential because of his other leg. There is a waiting list for his Genium and only the military boys take precedence. How we got that, is another story. He said, “Yeah, do you wanna see?” She, of course, said she did, and said she wasn’t really sure how tall he was and wanted to see it for herself. Beth is about five foot tall, and when Scott is standing, he is 6’4”, well, technically 6’2” now after they had to shorten his tibia to put his leg back together.

When he stood up, using the counter to brace himself, she looked up at him and shook his hand. I think Scott may have been puffing his chest out a bit, but that’s okay. He’s earned a little bravado. With a genuine grin from ear to ear, she said “It’s so nice to meet you Mr. Fisher and it’s great to see you from a different angle.”  I am not sure who was more proud. Scott, for standing up with little help or Beth, for aiding in his recovery since we got back to Charlotte.  

Beth has been the one, from the very first moment we met her, to show true compassion and empathy. She was the first one to be aggressive and manage Scott’s pain at Carolinas Medical Center. Scott’s pain at the time was unmanageable from the trip back home. When she came into the room to do her orthopedic evaluation and seen him clenching his fists in pain, she immediately went over the head of Scott’s nurse.  Within minutes the floor charge nurse was on Beth’s heels, taking Beth’s orders to get him out of pain immediately and informed her that there was no excuse for a patient to be in that much pain.  

She was the first to unwrap his wounds and evaluate his healing. She didn’t seem to mind that I was hovering over her shoulder with my hands over my eyes. I didn’t want to see what she was about to uncover. I can’t stand to watch that on television, let alone see it first hand on the love of my life. I didn’t know what to expect. What would it look like? How would I react? Would I throw up? Would I pass out? How could I care for him? So many thoughts ran through my head in the two minutes it took her to unwrap him. It had been forty two days since the accident. I had been with him nearly 24/7 and had not seen his legs unwrapped.

She was the first to comfort me in Charlotte and tell me he was going to be okay. She told me that considering what he had already been through and the extent of his injuries, he was going to be just fine and I should be thankful that he was still with me. She was the first to tell me that the surgeons in New Jersey did an outstanding job and everything was really going to be okay. She had never seen such a great save of someone’s limbs and live in her entire career.

 I believed her then, I believe her now and I value her even more.

6/20/2012- Today has been a day of ups and downs. I might ramble just a bit. I knew exactly what I wanted to blog about next but so many things happened to me today emotionally, that  now I do not know where to start. I really need to carry a tape recorder with me throughout the day to record my every thought. Some of my thoughts may be stupid or redundant but that’s my life. It’s amazing to me the generosity that certain people in my life have. Certain people do things for us that they don’t have to. It surely humbles you and makes you want to be that caring and giving and not think twice about it. Since Scott’s accident, we have seen numerous people who must struggle every day like we do, most of them probably more than us. Once you are in the healthcare system, you see people from all walks of life and in all different situations. Or maybe I just notice it more now that we deal with a handicap every day. Nothing pisses me off more than seeing a perfectly able body get out of a car at Target and jog inside the store, while I am circling trying to find a suitable place to park so that we have plenty of room to get out of the car.  

There was one occasion that Scott and I went to Walmart to get groceries. Keep in mind that going to get groceries or going to dinner or going anywhere is a major production. We have to make sure we have the transport wheelchair, the two leg extensions, the walker, the slide board, the handicap sign, the urinal, his pills and that’s if he’s wearing his prosthetic., If not then we have to have the prosthetic, the silicone sock, the alcohol spray, the charger, the remote, the blue boot, the black boot, the pink boot. Sorry, rambling.

So anyway, we were at Walmart. I was bitching because I pinched my finger in the fricking wheelchair trying to heave it out of the trunk. My pain quickly subsided when I looked up and I noticed a mom and a grandmother putting a little girl in a wheelchair. I felt two inches tall. What the hell was I complaining about? Absolutely nothing. So fricking stupid. Man, was I mad at myself. That happened months ago and I still hate myself for it. I feel completely and utterly ridiculous and embarrassed of my selfishness somedays.

Tonight, Scott was on the computer and narrating aloud the racing news, like he always does. I swear he subscribes to every sprint car racing site on the planet and feels compelled to read the results and news aloud so I can hear. Honestly, I do not pay that close attention unless I need to. He was on onedirt.com and was reading an article, out loud, about a fellow sprinter who was killed. It immediately caught my attention and I wanted to know all the details. I had an overwhelmingly sense of wanting to be involved. I wanted to know what happened, how did it happen, who did it happen to, why did it happen and how could we help.

His name his David Tarter. He’s from California. He was a 30 year old fellow 360 racer who was simply airing up a tire when the bead lock broke, hitting him in the head and killing him. Right there, right then. There’s was nothing that anyone could do. Completely helpless. I cannot imagine the horror that the people around him experienced. And it makes my heart hurt for the people that were with Scott that day.

With tears in my eyes, I told Scott we have to do something. I will not rest until we help this family someway, somehow. I almost feel a little obsessed by it. I could have been the one writing the obituary last September for not only my husband,but for my son and my brother-in-law. I am so thankful that I didn't have to do that. So many people across the entire country, some we know, some we have never met have reached out to us. It really makes it easier knowing that you are not alone. I want the Tarter family to rest easy tonight knowing they are not alone.

There has been an overwhelming amount of support for us and I have to return the favor, I have to pay it forward......

6/18/12- Scott was eventually airlifted to Cooper University Hospital in Camden, New Jersey. Cooper University Hospital is located a stone’s throw from Rutger’s University and is a teaching hospital, both medical and dental. They also have a Level One Trauma Unit there and I quickly found out why. Camden, New Jersey has been ranked, on several occasions, as one of the top 25 most dangerous cities in America. Ranked as one of the most violent cities in the country and I was on my way there. Little did I know, or did it even cross my mind, that I would spend the next 41 days in one of the nation’s most treacherous cities.

Morgan and I arrived safely to Cooper’s emergency unit. Everyone met us outside to help with our bags and we headed into the emergency waiting room. I could tell by the look on certain people’s faces, this was not a place we wanted to be, not even for a minute. I really don’t remember too many details about our arrival. I was just so thankful that we had gotten there in one piece and without incident. And on the other hand, was so scared of what was going to happen next. The driver that brought us to the hospital was so empathic the entire time. He understood my urgency to get there and did it in record time. He didn’t try to make small talk or try to tell me he knew how I felt. He just helped us out of the car and wished us good luck. I am sure he has made the drive from the airport to the hospital with sobbing, hysterical passengers several times. He was completely professional and I appreciated that. I didn’t want to tell a perfect stranger anymore than I had to and I really didn’t have any details to tell. They had taken Scott to surgery but no one had any updates.

As I said before, Doug and Matt were also in need of medical attention. They were both treated and released. Apparently, Doug was taken to a completely different hospital than Scott and Matt and the crew temporarily lost him. From what I hear, it was complete chaos and trying to get a straight answer from any official at the track was impossible. Bruce, Lynne and Alan, acquaintances of Ray’s, were at the track when everything happened and were eventually able to find Doug at another nearby hospital and bring him to Cooper. He needed about a dozen staples in his head but was released with no major injuries. Matt was treated at Cooper for cuts and scrapes and released.

I later found out that Matt’s injuries did not occur from the actual impact, but from him attacking the other driver and his crew. It makes my heart hurt to know that my son had to not only witness his father being viciously injured but the anger he must have felt towards that driver. And having to confront him and his crew alone, it makes me nauseous. I hate to say this, but I hope Matt was able to get a few good licks in. I never would encourage that type of behavior. However, I am pretty sure that I would have reacted in the same way and I am positive Scott would have beaten the tar out of anyone who was so irresponsible and negligent, especially if someone on his crew was hurt because of it.

Even though Scott was worse than anyone knew at the time, I cannot imagine if Doug and Matt were in the same condition. I could have never lived with myself knowing that we put two young boys in such extreme danger. I never thought that anyone would get hurt that day or ever. It was what we did and I never had a second thought about sending them with Scott that weekend or any other weekend, even when they were little. It was supposed to be like any other race weekend. They would leave, have fun, get dirty, hopefully win and come home. No big deal.

Maybe someday, the people that were there that night will be able to give me the specifics on the events that happened next. It is so vague to me. I have no concept of what time is was, where I was, who I was with, what I was supposed to do, where I was supposed to go. A million stupid things ran through my mind that night. Like flashes of certain moments, some in slow motion, some that seemed to happened so quickly. I try so hard to remember the time frame of events, my surroundings, what people said to me. I really pride myself on being in charge, intelligent, organized, efficient and productive. But that night, and still to this day, I feel completely and absolutely helpless. I do not remember so many things of what happened and it really bothers me.

How could I not remember something like this? How do I not know what happened every second, every minute of the worst day of my life?

6/11/2012-The day of Scott’s accident was a typical day of racing. They had made it to the track in New Jersey safely and were preparing for the night’s race. Scott, Doug (his younger brother) and Matt (our son) were doing their usual routine of car setup.  It was about 5:30 and they were doing their last minute preparations, checking and double checking.  The driver’s meeting was to start at 6:00.  Then the show would start with hot laps. In New Jersey, ALL racetracks are governed by the state and they have established written guidelines that each track must follow. It is my understanding that one of the rules in the state of New Jersey is no one can fire their cars until licensed paramedics are on scene. Unfortunately for Scott, someone did not play by the rules that day.  Obviously, the track owner and the series that was there that day, didn’t feel they had to follow those rules. It wasn’t made clear to the drivers, car owners and crews that this was the rule. Or they just didn’t care. That nearly cost my husband his life.

 From what I have been told, Scott was on the left rear side of the car kneeling down making sure the rear tire was aired properly and tightening it down. Doug was on the right side of the car. Ray (Scott’s boss and driver) was inside the trailer. I am sure that what happened next, happened so fast. Scott remembers hearing a car coming through the pits, Ray yelling at him and the sound of the motor revving up. An out of control sprint car was heading right towards them. Scott stood up and turned half way around just in time to be struck by the car. We are not sure if the driver panicked or the throttle stuck, but he literally drove through Scott and through the car he was working on. That driver never braked, never let off the throttle, never pulled the car out of gear which caused the driver to drag Scott what some said was 90 feet or more. I am sure chaos, panic and fear took everyone over at the point.

 While Scott was lying in the dirt, everyone went to him to help. He was bleeding profusely from his legs and from what they tell me, everyone knew it was not good. The damage to his legs was immediately apparent to everyone. Ray and Big Willy (Ray’s brother) was at Scott’s side, trying to keep him calm and keep themselves calm. Everyone was waiting for the paramedics to get there to help. But they didn’t come right away. Because they weren’t even at the track yet. He laid there bleeding for over 15 minutes before paramedics arrived.  Luckily, the people that were there had enough sense to tourniquet Scott’s legs and administer first aid. Ray’s mom, Ming was also there and a retired nurse. From what others have told me, I guess she was really fired up on the people around wanting Scott to get medical attention.  There was also a retired firefighter and a veteran there too, I think. I guess the paramedics wanted to take him by ambulance but because of the persistence of bystanders, they called Life Flight.

 Scott remembers a lot more about that day than anyone should have to. He knew it was bad and he has said that he didn’t think that he was going to live through it. He said he remembers hearing the helicopter coming in, giving Matt his wallet, telling him he loved him and then everything went black. He could hear what was going on around him but couldn’t see anything. They wouldn’t let anyone go with him in the helicopter, not his brother, not even his own son. Both boys needed medical attention themselves for cuts and scrapes. The impact had pushed the car into them, knocking them out of the way.

 I cannot imagine how everyone felt that day and honestly, I am so thankful that I was not there. I know I could not have handled seeing that. I worry about those who were there and how they are dealing with it emotionally even almost nine months later. I think about it every day and I am sure they do to. That is an image that will probably forever be etched in their minds. I hope to someday get their perspective on the events that happened that day and to write about it. Writing about this whole experience has helped me mentally and emotionally in a way that I never that it would. I don’t want to think about what happened and every time I do sit down and start typing, recollecting what’s happened, I usually end up crying the whole time.  But I know that in order to heal and move forward, it has to be done. Keeping this all inside is not healthy for any of us. I hope that they will be willing to share their thoughts with me and heal with me.

Because I cannot do this alone.