October 25, 2015, marked 80 days of marriage between Gladys and me.  We had just finished watching the New England Patriots vs. New York Jets, the Pats had barely won 30-27.

 

We had given my brother-in-law our old refrigerator, and it was time to put it into his apartment.  First we had to get the nearly 300lbs, side by side, stainless steel beast of metal up a flight of concrete stairs, onto the landing and into his apartment. 

 

We cleaned it, took off the doors, pulled the shelves and drawers all to help cut the weight.  Then we started up the steps with it, he was ahead of it, pulling at the top, and I was behind it pushing from below.  We didn’t slip or slide, so it seemed like all was going well, and we got it safely to the top of the stairs and safely onto the second-floor landing. 

 

We both said we were fine and paused to relax for a moment.  I stood a couple steps down from the landing and Richard had to stay in the apartment because the fridge blocked the doorway.  I didn’t realize how much getting the fridge up the stairs had taken out of me, I do recall seeing spots as I reached for the railing to steady myself.  Gladys says I just reached out at open air, grabbing at nothing.  I lost consciousness, and fell backwards, luckily by the grace of God, I rotated to my left as I collapsed.  I hit the stairs shoulder first then my head and went down the concrete stairs bouncing like a ragdoll the whole way to the concrete landing down below, as my wife and nephews helplessly watched on, while I was out cold.

 

When I came to, unbeknownst to me, my wife had called 911.  “Sweetie, who are these guys?”  I asked as a group of paramedics started to strap me to a backboard adding a neck brace to me.  Through tears and shaking she was able to get out, “You fell and passed out.  You’re going to the hospital.”

 

“Ok.  Hi guys?”  They asked more questions and talked to each other, it made no sense to me, but they were nice.  Moments later we were on our way to the ER, I got checked over, MRI’s, CAT scans and more.

 

The left side of my body wore a lot of bruises and scrapes, including my face and bald head.  I tore my left scapula muscle, which is under the shoulder blade and jammed the humerus bone into my shoulder socket.

 

The real damage occurred when my collided with the concrete pad at the base of the stairs, resulting in a traumatic brain injury (TBI).  I felt like I was hit by a freight train, the doctors wanted to keep me overnight be sure the bruising would not grow and eventually would subside. 

 

My wife had reached out to our Primary care Dr. Gonzalez, and he wanted to see immediately when I was released, so several days later I was released then Gladys took me to see Dr. Gonzalez.

 

We went over the results, and his questions, and he wanted another MRI and scheduled it.

 

It was his decision which would be one of the determining factors that saved my life.  Gladys thanked him profusely, I thought I was fine, but I was grateful that he was positive about what he saw.

 

The eve before the MRI, I felt pain growing and set in, so much inside my head I couldn’t even sleep.  I pulled a blanket off the bed and laid it on the floor, I would attempt to read a couple of random passages or so in the Bible and pass out.  Wake again and repeat.

 

I didn’t know if Gladys slept at all, but I would hear her ask now and again if I was ‘ok’, or if I wanted to go to the ER or climb into the bed.  I don’t remember much more; at some point I finally fell asleep.  Gladys woke me, saying it was time to go.  She says I told her “I’m ok, I’ll just climb on the bed and go back to sleep.  I’ll be fine, I feel fine.”

 

Lovingly and firmly, she told me, “We are going.  You didn’t sleep, you passed out.  We are going or I am calling 911 to take you.”  I got up and dressed in sweats, and somehow stumbled to her Jeep.

 

I don’t remember checking in but being escorted to the MRI trailer by the technician.  It wasn’t part of the building for safety reasons.  Once the machine’s bed slid me into it, I passed out again, eventually the technician walked me back inside.  He sat me down and took Gladys and the disc with my scan to the nurse’s station.

 

Some of this comes from my broken memory, the rest is from Gladys.

 

The technician went above his job and told the nurse how bad it looked to him, and that I wouldn’t make it if the disc was simply mailed to my doctor.  He said this needed to be seen immediately or I wouldn’t make it.  He was another person that saved my life.  I was put into a side room, and the head nurse called for a doctor who could verify what was found on the MRI.  They made some calls, and it was determined I was not going to make it if I didn’t have surgery immediately.

 

Rather than calling for an ambulance, 911 would be faster.  Suddenly, dressed in emergency gear, paramedics were in the room.  “Sir, how do you feel?  Can you hear me, sir?  How do you feel?”

 

“I feel like something is inside my head, clawing its way around, trying to get out.”  Gladys says it sounded a lot worse, and I wasn’t on any medication. 

 

Apparently, they got me ready to go, but I had to piss and can’t piss laying down.  One of them kindly said I should just go; they couldn’t let me stand.  Which Gladys says I ignored and mumbled on about how I can’t go laying, and to which I just bolted upright and grabbed for the bedpan so I could piss in it.  All of this didn’t make anyone happy and the EMTs couldn’t believe I could stand with the amount of damage done to my head and brain.  I took a piss in the pan, then as they put me back on the crash cart I pretty much passed out.

 

Next thing I know I’m at Los Angeles County Hospital + USC Medical Center.  The disc showed the injury to my brain was a subdermal hematoma and would not subside on its own.  Instead, it kept bleeding and would continue to do so.  Normally they operate the blood clot is larger than .50cm, mine had grown to 1.5cm and it needed to be operated on immediately.

 

I could not hear what Gladys and the blond lady, who looked like a doctor, were discussing at the nurse’s station, I couldn’t see what she was looking at, Gladys had tears, and I had pain.  At this point we had been together for just over 3 years, but she had been my wife for mere days and had to feel like she was standing on a beach, alone, with a hurricane hitting her hard.

 

Later Gladys told me, the ER Neurosurgeon was trying to put her at ease, while checking disc.  She saw what she was hoping not to see, and she grabbed the phone searching for a room that was available, until finally she just blurted out “bump that one, this one can’t wait another 80-90 minutes longer.”

 

While I was still pretty coherent, they had to tell me what the plan was and get my consent before my ability to do so was gone.  I think it was the same doctor that had been consoling and talking with Gladys, I’m not sure.  There were some details and from what I remember some possible outcomes.

 

1 – All goes perfect, some minor side effects, some physical therapy to get acclimated again, maybe counseling and with a little time you are back ‘normal’ as can be, before the accident.

 

2 – Mentally, emotionally and physically you won’t be everything as you had before accident, but close.  You will need to re-learn, possibly a lot.  You will have challenges, and your life will be altered.  Both short term and long-term memory may be affected.  You may have to give up a lot of things you enjoy, simply because you will no longer be able to do them after the surgery.

 

3 – You live, but you will not be able to be who you were.  You are who you come out as, with very limited ability for growth.  We will not know how much damage has been done until we open you up.

 

Well, that was a bit much to take on I thought for a moment.  When a wave of pain hit my head again, I came to my conclusion, “Either you fix it or I’ll fix it by jumping out the fucking window.”  I signed off on the paperwork, apologized for cursing, and was wheeled away after kissing my wife goodbye, knowing the options, but not having a choice to what would be my outcome.

 

It turned out Gladys and I accidentally didn’t share some sides of what happened at USC until we were telling the ‘story’ to a friend years later.  As they rolled me away ER neurosurgeon gave her a gentle squeeze on her shoulders, and kindly, factually informed her: “We’re going to try and save him.”

 

Gladys was replied, “What do you mean?”  And the Dr. was off to the ER, the hope was for success. 

 

I was told it was a remarkable surgery, the surgeon wished his residents (students) were there to see what was called a text book operation.  It sounds like a typo, you should see it from my side, I didn’t know until I went for my 30-day checkup that I met my actual surgeon, and he was the one that saved my life.  He and I spent some time talking so he could evaluate me, ask how I was and ‘felt’.  I found out he was incredibly knowledgeable, highly skilled, kind, came across so caring for his patience and looked like he was just accepted to USC, not a full-on brain surgeon.

 

What he and his staff did was cut and peel back the skin and flesh on my head above my left ear to expose the skull.  Then they perfectly cut an oval piece of my skull and removed it.  The chunk was set aside safely, to eventually be put back into its place.  They drained what they could to ease the swelling and did whatever else needed to be done.  When satisfied, they put my piece of skull back into place, with three graphite clips used like a seatbelt to keep it securely in place.  Then the skin laid back into place, with 68 staples secured, I was bandaged up, and their part was done.

 

From there story goes, as I was rolled to my room in the ICU, there was a pause to another gurney pass by, I happened to look the right and saw a glass room with its sliding doors open.  Inside I recognized a woman, and smiled, “Hi sweetie.”  Everyone paused as the nurses heard my voice and so did everyone in the room.  It was my wife, holding her cousin Karina as they were waiting to find out if I would make it.  She suddenly realized it was me, caught her breath and tearfully asked, “How do you feel?”

 

“I feeeeel fiiinnnneee.”  I stammered still on a lot of meds out and tried to wave.  The nurses, and things I was hooked up kept me from raising an arm, and once they settled me back down, we moved along.

 

For days I had no concept of time or day, who my visitors were half the time.  I know a couple friends came, some of Gladys’s family as well.  But I was still ‘waking’ from the intense surgery, so I asked Gladys for a notepad, so I could write stuff down, and started writing a lot of stuff down.

 

Eventually I could have visitors.  I remember the faces of a few, some close friends Chris and Liem, I told each I would be having lunch again with them in a few days.  I think Gladys didn’t let me talk on the phone, which was probably very good, I did get a lot of texts.  I when Gladys’s Aunt and Uncle came, I remembered their faces and names, was so thrilled that they came to see me, I gave them big hugs from the bed.  They didn’t stay long, and Gladys was so happy I remembered them, I had to tell her, that was all I knew.  I knew their faces and names, and I had no idea why I was so happy to see them, but I was glad it was good.

 

I knew I had a brother, at the time I wasn’t angry at him for not visiting, just annoyed a bit that he was too busy and that was life..  The Dr has said it was wonderful I made it, or something like that.  At the time I wanted to share the news, I was alive, but I was sure I would see him and his wife again sometime.  I didn’t find out until days after I was released that he did visit once.

 

I remember our Pastor Ford, who had married Gladys, and I visited several times, we talked and laughed and prayed.  Another friend Chris texted that he was coming, for some reason I wanted BBQ ribs and texted him so…..he brought them.  We joked and laughed; my Dr came by to check on me.  I have no idea what joke I tried to tell him and Chris, it’s not that it was bad, it just made no sense Chris said, and I had no idea why I asked for ribs.

 

I don’t recall telling my mom and stepdad, I am sure Gladys called my mom to let her know I was ok.  I do know she let me talk to her, a few days later, once I was more coherent, we talked about the Patriots because Gladys hung our jerseys in my room for me.  I am pretty sure I didn’t talk to my grandmother, but my mom talked to her and asked her to do some prayerful work for me, since I couldn’t focus much at all. 

 

I don’t think my father was told about my accident, if so, it would have been by Josh.  It’s not that my father and I are on “non-talking” terms, we just aren’t close.  Since I moved to California, would talk casually to catch up every so often, for a couple of weeks, then would fizzle out and it would be years before we spoke again.  In the end I do not think he was ever really informed about my TBI or the extent of it, as he has never asked me about it, ever.

 

My brother in-law Richard came with his kids, I did tell him that this was in no way his fault, and that I’ll be fine.  I couldn’t remember any construction jobs I had going on at the time, Jimmy my right hand employee visited, and with Gladys, he assured me he had it under control.

 

Sometimes I knew this was a big deal, and other times all I could think of was “I fell, I can walk, can I go now?”  While still in the hospital, Gladys lovingly had to remind me of all the possible side effects the doctors told us about.  One of the big ones was memory loss.  So, I started to write stuff down, I didn’t want to lose everything, and I felt I was.

 

I think it was the 3rd day, the nice head nurse came to tie up one of the loose ends from the surgery.  To be sure if there was any further bleeding or anything like that, they had drilled a separate hole and fed a special tube through it.  It was placed safely inside, while they had my skull open….so it could drain out anything that was not supposed to be there when my skull was all sealed up.  (I am doing the best I can to make this clear, without turning it into a ‘surgery manual’.)

 

She said it may hurt quite a bit, and she could put me under, or numb the area.  I am pretty sure I asked for some kind of scale on the ‘pain’ and it didn’t sound unreasonable.  So, I said, “I think I can handle it.”  And after getting ready, she gave the count down and started.

 

Well, it wasn’t painful at all, but it felt every bit as it looked two paragraphs ago, and as I am about to write it…. I did not ‘feel’ pain as much as I felt the tube moving across my brain and inside my skull as she slowly pulled it out.  She paused, as I guess I flinched, “Are you ok?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine, I can just feel it…. going…”  I stopped talking and she pulled the last ‘mile of it’ out.  She told me how she was going to stitch it closed, and that stung a bit, but it was over.  I think Gladys and her chatted about my recovery and stuff, while she cleaned my head up, and I just crashed to sleep.

 

After 8 days Gladys checked me out of USC and we went home, my sister still jokes with me on how they rolled me out the door, not even giving Gladys a handbook on ‘How to care for your TBI patient’.  I guess me insisting I was ‘fine’, really took with them, not even a pamphlet on TBI groups, a list of counseling or groups.  We were on our own.  Now this isn’t a straight up complaint, we really didn’t have a clue what a TBI really was or all that goes with it.

 

I did have physical therapy, which to me was like an accident and workers comp ‘machine’.  I would check in, get handed a piece of paper, go to all the ‘work out stations’, do my exercise on my own, check out and go home.  I made up my own routines at home and as soon as I was ‘ok’ I checked out from the ‘machine’.

 

I went back to working as a General Contractor full time.  Kept myself in writing the memories and stories.  Gladys and I re-started our life as newlyweds, and quickly found our lives in sync with each other.

 

When I went back out into the public, my scar had healed up pretty quick, and whoever cut the skin seemed to do a very good job, because even with my head shaved clean it doesn’t glaringly stand out.

 

I have met some people that have a hard time understanding how much a TBI alters someone, especially a severe one like mine.  Most try to understand and take the whole package fairly well, some shy away from asking any questions and just ignore it or pull back on being involved all together.

 

I remember the first time my brother Josh saw me with my cane, it was at his company Christmas party, with about 100 people.  I couldn’t make out the look on his face, if it was disappointment, shock or a sympathy pain because he saw I was not the same.  Besides the usual hello’s and how are you from others, Josh didn’t ask about more of my situation that night or again.  I think he didn’t want to know more because he might have to accept it as real.

 

A couple years later I invited him to one of my “Alive Celebrations”.  That is the day a ‘survivor’ of some sorts recognizes and celebrates as the day they lived.  Either being ‘reborn’, by the doctors from a tragic accident or by some kind of an incident as a soldier or law enforcement officer or first responder.  The day you somehow walked away from some massive and horrible accident, where you hear it’s a miracle you’re alive’, it changed your life, and you know that day. 

 

At the end of the event, we had a moment alone, it was the first time he had ever come to one of my days.  He was having a great time with everybody, enjoying the double-decker bus we reserved, the music and all the taverns that the over 40 of us went to, so I figured it was a good time to talk to him.  I asked him if there was anything he wanted to know about my accident and if he was ok with it.

 

At first, he paused, he didn’t say too much about anything in particular.  He asked if I was ok, I told him I was doing pretty well.  Work was going well, and all my checkups were fine.  I told him I hadn’t had any big revelations, but I had one big memory come back about college out of know where when Gladys and I were watching the news, and I was able to find a spot for it in ‘the book’.

 

I can’t remember exactly what Josh said, but he was agitated, that was obvious.  He basically growled out how the whole thing was silly.  That writing down all this stuff, the book, this celebration and the whole thing.  He said I lived and should just move on.  He didn’t understand why I needed a cane, and the book was stupid.  The name was an insult to him, and it pissed him off.

 

I was a bit stunned.  I told him how I didn’t just bang my head, that I am lucky to be alive.  That this isn’t some little issue, it altered my life, how just because I try to lead as normal a life as I can doesn’t mean it’s not a struggle.  “This day is to acknowledge that I survived and to celebrate it with the people who supported me.  If you didn’t want to come or must pay for a babysitter, you didn’t have to.”  I’m not sure what else we said.  I know I asked him, “What do you care about my frickin book anyhow?  I told you what it was about.  It has nothing to do with you, or your son.  Nothing.  That’s it.”

 

We each said a little more.  And then we got up from our seats and just stood there, not sure what else to say. I told him, “Josh, I don’t get you being so pissed at me.  We haven’t always gotten along but I don’t get this at all.  I told you when I started this, it’s my memories, it’s not about you and the name Beckett comes from Josh Beckett.  The book has nothing to do with you and Beckett.  You shouldn’t be pissed at me over a book.  It’s a book.”  I didn’t yell, but I was firm.  He said it was stupid from the beginning and never wanted to talk about anything really in my life anymore when we got together.

 

“Fine, I don’t care.  Just don’t ever talk to me about it.”  I told him fine; we walked off the bus and into the pub.  We walked into the pub, I went to Gladys and gave her a hug.  She asked if I was ok, and the look on her face showed she knew something was up between me and my brother.  I shook my head ‘no’ to leave it alone and we hugged and leaned up to other friends and the bar.

 

Josh and I never spoke about my accident, how I was recovering, or anything regarding the book ever again.

 

The bar started to hand out shots, a well-aged Jameson, everyone started to pass them out.  Josh raised his glass up high, and waived for the crowd to calm down a bit, and said, “To my brother, Jonnie……..”