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.