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.

6/8/2012- I have always been a fearful person. All of my life, of the normal things like the dark, the boogie man, strangers, ghosts, spiders. You know the usual stuff. I have almost developed, if you will an extreme fear of certain things since Scott's accident. I am pretty sure that some of it borders Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I have watched enough Oprah and Dr. Phil to recognize the signs. Its absolutely ridiculous and I realize that.  I hope that because I can recognize those fears that I am still somewhat normal. A few months before Scott’s accident I was, not sure how to say this so I don’t look crazy, but seeing numbers. Specifically 11, 111 and 1111. Everything popped up like that, the time, my receipts, mileage, everything. I never mentioned it to anyone because I figured it was coincidence. I will touch on this more in another post because it’s too weird what happens to me later (and still happens today) that involves these numbers to talk about now. I have goose bumps now just mentioning it.

For years, I never worried when anyone I knew went to the races. I never once feared for anyone who sat in our race cars, never once feared for anyone in our pit, never once feared for others at the race track.  I never worried when I was at the races even when my children were little. My kids started going to the races before they could stay awake after the heat races. When Matt was about 2, I started taking him to the races and he would wear himself out shortly after qualifying and I would have to sit in the stands and wait for Scott to come get us and carry him to the hauler. Those little die cast sprint cars and miles of bleachers kept him occupied for hours.

I surely never worried about Scott or anyone who was with him. He is the strongest, safest, most responsible man I have ever met, and others who know him would tell you the exact same thing. I always feel safe with him. He looks out for everyone around him all the time. It was what we did for so many years. We went to a racetrack nearly every weekend for years and without incident. Of course, we have seen our friends and fellow racers take some horrendous tumbles and the hardest of hits. We have listened to them babble for hours after their crashes, replaying it in their minds, asking the same questions over and over. Concussions are a normal part of this sport. So are stiff necks, sore backs, bruised knees, bumps and scrapes and of course demolished race cars.

Never in my wildest dreams, or should I say nightmares, did I think something like this would happen to anyone I knew. Let alone, someone so intimate to me. This was not what we signed up for. This was not fair. None of this was fair. We left our entire lives in Michigan to pursue this dream. It was what he always wanted.  It was (secretly) what I always wanted for him. This move was going to open up doors for all of us. There were so many opportunities in Charlotte and the surrounding areas. It wasn’t like where we lived in Michigan where people struggled, the housing market was on its ass and so was employment. Moving to Charlotte would put Matt in the heart of racing, put Morgan in the best school with the best sports program. All of us would better ourselves from this move in one way or another. Scott and I finally, after 20 years of struggling as a family, finally had it all. Finally had what we had worked so hard to achieve. My job was going to be great and of course, his job was going to be amazing. He was going to actually get paid for something that he loved to do, something he is impeccable at. Not many people I know can say that about their jobs. Not many people I know get paid to do their hobby. It was going to perfect for all of us. That’s all I ever wanted for my family. I wanted everyone to be successful, happy and prosperous.

The entire ride from the Philadelphia airport to the hospital in New Jersey solidified my fear of strangers. It was like a scene from a movie. I had no idea where I was geographically, no idea where I was going. I didn’t know if he was taking us to the hospital or some dark alley in Philadelphia where we would be sold on to human traffickers or to never be heard from again. I had my life and Morgan’s life in the hands of the driver that picked us up. Granted he picked us up in a Mercedes but I am sure serial killers drive nice cars.

 From this moment on, I had the biggest pit in my stomach that didn’t let up until…actually, it’s still there.

6/7/2012- On September 10, 2011, my life and the lives of the people I love the most in this world changed in a way that I never dreamed of. My husband was racing in New Jersey with Ray at a small dirt track. His little brother, Doug flew from Michigan to our house a few days prior to lend a hand with the racing. It was supposed to be a week of fun for the guys while at the same time an educational experience for them. Our son Matthew was going also. Even though Doug and Matt have been around sprint car racing their entire lives, it was going to be good for them to see how you race, have fun and yet maintain professionalism. This was Scott’s job now.  This wasn’t hanging out with guys on the weekend, drinking beer and telling stories. This was serious business and it was good for them to see the business side of sprint car racing. It was good for them to have a task to do, take responsibility and get the job done and of course, win.

Little did we know that day would also be a day that they would experience, quite possibly the most horrific trauma they would ever see. Now I was not there, so the details that I give about that day may not be entirely accurate. Even though I have heard the story what feels like a million times, I don’t think I can comprehend the events that took place and I surely have no time recollection of what happened for several days after that. 

After getting that call from Matt and later from Erin, I waited patiently for what seemed like hours but actually was only a few minutes. Ann, Ray’s assistant called me and told me she had two flights she could put me on 8:00 p.m. or 10:30 p.m. Now mind you, I got the initial call at about 6:00, I think. While I am talking to Ann, all I could think about was getting there. I couldn’t wait until 10:30 to leave. That would put me in New Jersey 6 hours from then. I wanted to be there now. I told her to book the 8:00, I would make it. It dawned on me that I didn’t even know what my name was, let alone be capable of driving to the airport and get on a plane. While I was talking to her, I was trying to pack, trying to take care of things at the house so I could leave. I had to call my bosses, had to call my mom back, had to call my sister. I was on the phone with someone the entire time. Morgan was pacing from her room to my room, trying to pack and trying to comfort me at the same time. She had to grow up so fast that day and thank God she was up for the task. Had I been alone, I don’t think I could have gotten through the next few hours. But she was so comforting, mature and practical. She kept telling me it was going to be okay, just relax, and stop crying.

Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely hate flying. It takes days of mental preparation for me to get the courage to do it. Well, a few cocktails and a few special little white pills help too. But I didn’t have time for that. I had to be ready in about 20 minutes because Ann and her husband were on their way to pick us up and take us to the airport. I barely knew the woman and had never met her husband but I felt a sense of relief knowing she was taking care of the situation and me. Everyone that I had spoke to at Ray’s shop and especially Scott and Ray told me that Ann was the glue that held that place together and I could see why. She was on top of all it and cool as could be the entire time.

It felt like I had just hung up the phone from Ann and she was at the house. I didn’t have time to do anything. I literally threw a pair of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, jammies, toothbrush, toothpaste, contact case and solution and my glasses in the suit case. Ann and her husband, Scott (I know, weird) put Morgan, me and our suitcases in the car and we were off to the airport. That man should be a race car driver because he drove 85-90 mph the whole way to the airport and smooth as silk!! He kept apologizing the whole time, which I found comical because he was doing a great job weaving in and out of traffic. Ann was on the phone trying to arrange transportation for us once we arrived in Philadelphia. I will never forget her tone of voice with the person she was talking to. She was just as stressed as I was and I think a little pissed that she couldn't find someone intelligent enough to help us. She is the type that is all business and if you can’t help her, she will find someone who can. She finally said, “If you can’t help me, can you give me a phone number to someone who can?” I don’t know how the woman does it, but she makes miracles happen and doesn’t blink an eye. A true inspiration.

A million things were running through my head. I have never been to Philadelphia, never been to New Jersey, never been picked up by a stranger at the airport. Never traveled anywhere without Scott. Would my flight crash leaving Scott and Matt alone? Would the driver take us to the hospital? Would he drive us to some seedy place in the city to never be heard from again? I was petrified, terrified, traumatized.

We made it to the Charlotte airport in record time. It took forever to get through security.I honestly didn't think we would make it to the terminal in time to catch our flight. I had never been inside of the Charlotte airport, I had no clue where to go. I am the type of person that gets things done as quickly as possible. It seemed like every one was in slow motion, even Morgan. I am pretty sure I snapped at her several times for not being quick enough. We made it to our terminal with about 30 minutes to spare. I was on the phone with my sister telling her what I knew, which was very little. I really didn't have any details about anything other than it was bad. I was about as hysterical as someone could be without making a scene. I will never forget the woman who sat across from us, she had been watching me and obviously eavesdropping on my conversation. Looking back on it now, I probably wasn't very discreet. She never said one word, just got up and offered me tissues and looked at me with that "I'm sorry" look and she went back to her seat.

The next thing I remember is boarding the plane and trying to gain composure for the flight. In the back of my mind, I thought they would cast his legs and we would be back to North Carolina in a few days. I was sadly mistaken.

6/5/2012- One of the hardest realizations in life is self awareness. Being a mature, well-rounded human being means understanding your strengths, weaknesses, faults and qualities. After all, you cannot be valuable to others if you do not value yourself. You cannot understand others, if you cannot understand yourself and most importantly, you cannot truly love others if you do not love yourself.  I have had hundreds of hours in the past 8 months to take a good, long look at myself and those around me. Some of it pleasant, most of it not. I surely was never cognizant of my own identity, who I was or how I treated others, let alone how others treated me. Some of it positive, some of it not so positive.

The one teeny, tiny encouraging thing about a tragedyy, hardship or setback in life is you have the opportunity to re-evaluate your life and re-evaluate how others compliment you or how others hinder you. It allows you to take a good long look at the people in your life and unfortunately could make you question their intentions. On the upside though, it brings out in some people in your life, who are truly there for you and hope for nothing in return. Some you would never expect, some you haven’t seen or spoken to in years. Some you had never met before.  

Regrettably, I learned that I was selfish, self-centered, egotistical, greedy, unappreciative, sarcastic, spoiled, controlling and undeserving. I never understood what I had until it was almost completely gone. It really takes hard work to change what you have unknowingly been for so many years and even though I understand that about myself now, I still have moments when the old me sneaks out.  

One of the biggest attributes that Scott and I have that makes us complete is he is the “glass half full” personality and I am definitely the “glass half empty” personality. I look at it as being reasonable and practical and he sees it has being a worry-wart and a negative Nancy (or pessimistic, as my dear friend, Erin reminds occasionally.) What I lack he contributes and what he lacks, I contribute. It’s a perfect union.

So some food for thought for all of you who read this (and I appreciate every single one of you who do and hope that you can take at least one positive thing away from this):

Don’t get angry when:

He drives: don’t bitch about it the whole time he tailgates, drives too fast or shows road rage.  (I drive everywhere, all the time now.)

He leaves his socks on floor: pick them up and remind him where they go (my husband can only wear one sock on a good day.)

He leaves the seat up: just look before you sit down and put it down yourself (I sit on a handicap seat now that is so tall my feet dangle)

He snores: try to tough it out.  If you can’t quietly move to another room and let him sleep (I can’t kick my husband in the leg anymore and he rarely sleeps well.)

Be gracious and thankful when:

He picks up the kids: picking up kids especially at a huge high school with a carpool line that is ten miles long is not fun no matter who’s turn it is (it’s always my turn now)

He runs to the store for the item you forgot: even if it's not exactly what you asked for, make it work (my husband can't run, walk or drive to the damn store, yet)

He gets you motrin in the middle of the night: take the motrin, then make love to him (asking my husband to get up in the middle of the night for me now would be absolutely cruel, although he used to when I needed him to and without question.)

He asks you to dance: no matter how great of a time you are having chatting with girlfriends, get up and dance (my husband isn’t able to dance with me, yet)

If nothing else comes out of this, at least I had the opportunity to learn who I am, who my family is and who my real friends are. I have learned who is there for us, who wants to benefit from us and who wants to help enrich us.

 Big life lesson in a difficult way, most of life lessons are though.

6/3/2012-Whats amazing to me in life, is that you always have that one person,who no matter what can calm you down, the person who makes you sit back and take a look at the situation and be rational.  That person to me is my mother. There have been so many times, especially lately that I have wanted to implode. I don't think I have ever been this angry with life and myself. There are some days that I just don't want to be a part of this anymore. Some days, I feel like I am trying to do everything to make everyone happy and no one is happy. I feel that there is no one on this planet who deals with the frustration that I have every single minute of every single day. I get this pounding in my chest and a pain in my stomach that doesn't go away. Ever.

That's when I call my Mom. She always has a reasoning that I can never seem to find on my own. My dad always told me that I needed to be more like my mother. Don't let people bother you, don't wear you heart on your sleeve, don't be so sensitive. Unfortunately for me, that is my father and that is who I am. People do bother me, I do wear my heart on my sleeve and I am extremely sensitive. The rough and tough exterior you see is totally fake.

I have been so proud of blogging and I really wanted my parents to be a part of it. I asked my mom tonight if she had read any of it and she said no.  I asked her why, could she not get to it, did she not know how to navigate it? She simply said, "I don't want to read your diary, not just yet." I gained an entire different level of respect for my mom tonight. She didn't want to let herself be weakened by reading it, because she knows I need her there for me. I understand her theory. She wants to remain objective for me. We joked about about how someday she would read it in the attic with old clothes on like Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation.

She has been my strength through this whole ordeal from that horrible day when I called her. I had no credit to book a flight and I wasn't sure if Erin would be able to get me to New Jersey. So my very next call was to my mom. My mom was on vacation with her siblings in Wisconsin. It was the most heart breaking call I had to make, knowing that they all would have hear the bad news.  I had no details, I didn't know how bad it was, I didn't know where I was going, where I would end up or how long I would be gone. All I knew was I needed money to get to my family. I called her and told her I needed her credit card number, that Scott was hurt really bad, Matt was hurt, Doug was hurt and Morgan and I needed to get there as soon as possible. Without hesitation, she gave me her credit card number and never asked one question. She just wanted me to call her right away with details.

I could not live one moment on this planet without my mother. She has taught me so many things, things that are too many to list. Looking back on life, I really wished I would have listened to her more. She is the most intelligent, inspiring, thoughtful, loving and giving person I know, Just don't piss her off!! I am who I am because of her.

I ended up not needing my mother's credit card that day, because someone else was already on top of the situation, in complete control, took care of every detail from flight to hotel to transportation and her name is Ann Eaton, an angel sent from God to take care of all us.

6/2/2012- Have you ever had a dream or a vision of how your life would end up? I think we all do.  Of course, everyone dreams of that fairy tale life where you live happily ever after.  Where you have a perfect marriage with perfect children in a perfect neighborhood with perfect careers.  As we all know, that pretty much only happens in the movies. In order to see if you can achieve all that perfectness, you have to have dreams and goals. Otherwise, we all would  be stuck in our miserable little lives forever.

Scott and I spent endless hours together dreaming. Whether it was while sitting around the campfire in the middle of the Upper Peninsula, or floating on the pontoon watching the sunset, or just hanging out on the deck watching the kids play basketball.  We both had dreams, some of them way out of reach like winning the lottery but some of them, with a little hard work, could actually come true.

He always, for years, talked about getting on a sprint car team and traveling the states. That was his lifelong dream. His eyes would light up talking about it and then he would ask if I would be okay with him leaving. I would have never discouraged him from chasing his dream, but deep down did not want him to leave and I secretly hoped the opportunity would never come for him. As all racing wives know, being on a race team meant being alone for nine or more months out of the year. With two children, a house and my own career, I knew I could never have handled him leaving. 

The one thing that my husband is exceptional at is sprint car racing. He is intelligent, patient, analytical while not overestimating, has common sense, doesn't over think things and can relate to any driver that sits in the seat of his race car. He knew what made that particular driver comfortable in the cars he wrenched on. He listened. He researched every article, every magazine and every website to gain what he needed to make a better team. He knew the track conditions and he had the knowledge to set up a race car that would win. And we have suited up some of the best.

We struggled financially like most of the families in Michigan. Scott was an electrician by trade with his father and two brothers. When the building boom hit rock bottom, so did we.  The bill stack got taller and the cash flow became shorter. The home phone never stopped ringing from people wanting to be paid.  I couldn't take it anymore. I was tired of working my tail off and having nothing to show for it. It was nice having him home to take care of the house, run kids around, cook dinner and do laundry but that wasn't what either of us had wanted. We were not living our dream.

He spent a lot of time on the internet searching racing websites for car parts, race results, etc. His favorites, then and now, were sites like tjslideways.com and hoseheads.com. In February of 2011, he jokingly told me of an ad he had seen on hoseheads.com for a crew chief/mechanic for 305/360 sprint car team. I never took anything he looked up on the internet serious, especially when it came to racing. So I told him to respond to it just for shits and giggles, be prepared for it to be a hoax and do not give any of your personal information because it probably was a scam. He didn't do it. That sparked me to create his resume. He hadn't needed a resume in years, so it was tough to write. I had no intention of responding to that ad, but at least I had him looking for employment.

Days went by and not so much as one word was mentioned about that ad, from him or me. The more I thought about it, the more it intrigued me and I thought, what the hell, I'm gong to respond to it and send this person his resume. Scott came home that day and busted me working on his resume. There was quite a bit of tension in the air. One because I was finishing his resume kind of behind his back and two because I was going to submit it without telling him. We talked about it and we both agreed that he would respond to it. I must add that his resume was stellar (because I wrote it). We listed all the big names he had worked with in the past from Brian Tyler (2-time USAC Champion and one of Scott's long-standing friends) to Jac Haudenschild (multiple King's Royal wins, Mopar Million winner and Front Row challenge winner) to Dean Jacobs (Brad Doty classic winner) to Kenny Jacobs (4-time All-Star Champion), just to name a few.

The very next day, Scott was working on his truck at the race shop and his phone rang. Naturally, being at a race shop and working on a truck you don't hear your phone. Not to mention the horrible service Verizon has in Hanover, MI. The caller left a voicemail. Once Scott realized he had a voicemail, he listened to it. The call was from the person looking for the 305/360 crew chief. In total shock, Scott called this person's assistant back and told her he had terrible service and he would be home soon and asked if she would give her boss our home number and have him call in a few minutes.

He made it home and was bringing wood in to put in the stove and told Morgan, our daughter, if the phone rang to answer no matter what the number was.  It rang and it was him. Scott spoke to him length about his abilities and what the position would entail. He asked Scott if he could do a face to face meeting with him in Mooresville, NC. Scott agreed to meet with him in two weeks and discuss the possibilities. I got home from work that day and he said, "You're not gonna believe who me called today."  I was in no mood for riddles or jokes. I had just traveled an hour home from work in crap weather and was just glad to be home in one piece. I asked who. He said, "Ray Evernham, that's who is hiring. You know, Ray Evernham, Jeff Gordon's former crew chief, 3-time Nascar champion. His wife is Eric Crocker." I thought, yeah I know who that is and you are lying through your teeth and I am not in the mood for any jokes. 

Then he got real serious and told me to make arrangements to go to North Carolina for his interview. We had less than two weeks to prepare.

6/1/2012- I was emotionally spent last night after my blog. I had never shared that piece that I wrote with anyone, not even my husband. Every day through this whole nightmare, I wanted to write what had happened each day, what Scott went through, what I was thinking, what I was feeling. I would get two seconds to myself, start typing then start crying. I didn't want to recap what happened. I didn't want to go through it once, let alone document it and  go through it over and over again. It amazes me that there are people these days that have the courage and strength to do that.

It's been 8 months and I still have an extremely difficult time talking about it. I've learned the automated response when someone would ask how I was doing. "I'm good and you?" I guess because I have never dealt with any of the pain and emotion. I had to stay strong, keep a level head and make sure Scott was getting the medical attention he needed to survive and heal. I had Scott to take care of, Matthew to take care and  I had a 14 year old daughter all alone in North Carolina, basically living with people I really didn't know. It turned out that those people have become an integral part of her life and ours and are just involved today as they were then. Again, angels.

I need to stay focused though on the task at hand and tell our story. So its back to the early months of 1991.  In the racing scene, and especially in Michigan, there isn't a whole lot to do in January and February. Scott was so into hunting, fishing and racing. When the sprint cars were put away for the season, the hunting season expired and when there wasn't enough ice to fish that only left one thing to do...snuggle up.  Well, that snuggling turned my world upside down.  In late February, I was late. And I don't mean late for an appointment. And I puked, alot. Especially in the morning. I made that daunting trip to the pharmacy to purchase "the stick". "The stick" was going to decide my future and in a big hurry.  That was probably the most nerve racking moment of my life. Time stood still. When they advertise "test results in less than 30 seconds, 99% accuracy", they were not lying! Shit, are you kidding me? The big plus sign appeared. My life, or so I thought, was over.

I cried everyday for 5 days straight on the shoulder of my good friend, Donna. I had no clue what I was going to do. What would Scott say? What would my parents say? I was only 18 and back then there were no glorified "Teen Mom" shows. It was NOT cool to be a single, teenage mom. Donna was married to Scott's step-mom's brother (it gets complicated, pay attention) but she was and still is a very good friend and I could call her right now and she would be here for me. To me, at that time, she was smarter than me, knew all about kids and married life because she was already doing it. She asked me three very important, yet simple questions: "Have you told your parents?", Who's is it?" and "Do you love him?" The answers were just as easy as the questions: Hell no, Scott's and yes.

She wiped my tears, hugged me and told me to go tell those who mattered. She told me I couldn't do this alone, that my parents would still love me and support me and Skippy (Scott's nickname) would too. I wasn't so sure about any of that. And would soon learn later, that not everyone was as excited as her.
I wasn't sure which conversation was going to be harder, the one with my dad or the one with the father of my baby. I think I cried and puked alot for several more days until I had the nerve to tell either of them.

My father is quite possibly the hardest working man on the planet. Every decision that he ever made was to provide a better life for my mother, my sister and I. He gave us everything he possibly could. I felt so guilty knowing that I was going to let him down again. I had already quit college, against his wishes, was dating some wild racing guy and had no plans for my future other than going racing. Not exactly what he had in mind for me. Looking back now, dropping a bombshell on your Daddy after he worked 12 hours that day, probably wasn't a good idea. But I had to say it sooner or later.

He was in the kitchen making an unsweet tea after a long day of work. I nonchalantley sat down and made small talk, asked him how is day was. One thing about my dad and I, he knows when something is up and I cannot lie to the man. He intently looked at me and asked me what was going on. Oh God, here goes..I am pretty sure I just blurted out, "Dad, I'm pregnant."  I watched his face age as the seconds went by, waiting for his response. His response wasn't exactly what Daddy's little girl wanted to hear. He flat out told me, "No man will want you now, you are a package deal." I was crushed. My heart sank and I think I puked again. If he felt that way, what would Scott say? Would I really be all alone? Would Scott not want me? I was completely terrified to tell Scott.

Luckily for me, I actually got the chance to one time, just one time, prove my dad wrong. It's been almost fourty years and I have only gotten one time to prove him wrong. He is my rock.