Lauren, my beautiful cousin, has overcome a traumatic event in her life. Our lives.
January 10, 2012... a day that I wish never existed. This day is hard for me to look back on, but also makes me grateful of how it all turned out. I remember it as if it were yesterday (honestly). I happen to be putting my son to bed, reading him a book, changing him into his pj's etc. I am not one to carry my cell phone at all times like some (yet, I do now) but I came back downstairs after saying "good night" to a bunch of missed calls and messages from my cousin Megan. One missed call would have been nothing to worry about, but three, that makes your heart stop beating for a second. To have my husband come to me saying he had also missed a call from my cousin Megan I knew something awful, terrible, horrible had happened.
As I call her back and I hope and pray that she is just urgently needing the answer to a question, I soon get the news that no one ever wants to hear. She explains to me that my cousin, has been in a car accident, "She was making a left turn and...(she pauses to catch her breath)...she was
t-boned by a truck. She is in emergency at Royal Columbian Hospital and we are all here (our family)". As I try not to cry out into the phone I ask her in a demanding voice "is she ok?" Her response hit me like a ton of bricks..."she is in a coma". I told her I was heading to the hospital right away.
My husband had seen how upset I was during the phone call and had terror in his eyes waiting to hear what was going on. I told him I was heading to Royal Columbian and of course he said he was coming too. We quickly woke up our son and packed him in the car. Calling my husbands parents on the drive there to meet us at emergency so they could take our three year old for us, which they did.
We arrive and of course there is no parking anywhere...my husband told me to get out of the car and go inside, he would figure out parking. I walk inside the emergency doors and have no idea where to go or what to do. As I look around the room I notice a family member who is waiving me over. She waived me into the "family waiting room". If you don't know what this is, it is a small room filled with chairs that a family can use to have privacy while waiting news of their loved ones in trauma.
I hate this room.
I hug and cry with my family members and all I can think of is "where is she? I want to see her".
They allow us to go into the trauma room two at a time. My cousin Megan and I decide to go in together. Tubes, monitors, blankets...this is all I can picture now. I touched her hand and made sure to tell her she was going to be ok. Megan and I hugged each other tightly and cried. You never want to see anyone in this state.
From there she was transfered to intensive care, where she stayed for ten days in a semi-induced coma state. We were able to visit her, but again only two at a time and for a short period. For the first week I spent everyday sitting in the intensive care waiting room with other family members, I couldn't go to work thinking that she was there and I wasn't. I went for myself, and I went to support my aunt, uncle and other cousin. If I missed a day and couldn't visit I felt lost. Felt as if I missed something, missed her.
She was scheduled for surgery on her neck. Along with a brain bleed she had broken two vertabrae in between the base of her head and her shoulders which required her to have a metal plate screwed to her spine in order to fix her. A surgery that would be done through the front of her neck as they were too cautious to flip her over and possibly causing more damage. After a successful surgery I got a message that she was awake! I happened to be working because her surgery was delayed many times before. As soon as I heard this news I headed straight to the hospital. Like a giddy school girl I had butterflies in my stomach when I was told I was allowed to go into the intensive care unit to see her. My husband and I quickly phoned into the room to ask if we could come in (something you have to do everytime you want to see a person in intensive care) we washed our hands and went down the hall to her room. I felt myself feeling heavy as I walked, a feeling of relief but also incredibly uncertain to what I might find once we arrived in her room. We walk in and I see she isn't wearing her glasses but she is sitting up, no tubes. I go in closer to her and say in a loud tone "Hi Lauren, it's Caitlin". She smiled ear to ear.
I smiled back.
All I wanted to do was scream and cry and yell out how extremely happy I was!
After talking to her for a bit (she was unable to talk from having tubes down her throat for so long and considering her surgery consisted of going through her neck it would have been painful) we walked back out into the waiting room. Everyone there looked as us to see how we felt. I explained that she had smiled at me the minute I walked in, which I then found out that I got the first smile. Me. I got the first smile, the smile that I had been waiting to see since the accident. Heart melts.
That day started her day to recovery. From being transfered to other parts of the hospital, learning to talk again, learning to walk again. She never once forgot who we were. Thinking she worked at a tree farm, or being pregnant (she wasn`t, I was) or fighting her uncle for a cookie, these were all things that we can look back on now and laugh.
I clearly remember a day we visited her with our son once she had been relocated into a new room in Royal Columbian. Looking better and better everyday. She was required to wear a neck brace since she was healing from surgery, this brace I believe was worn for three months or more. Which is nothing compared to the option of having a halo that the doctors had talked about in the earlier days. This particular visit I had come knowing that she had started to walk on her own and I had yet to see it myself. After visiting for a little she needed to go to the bathroom...something that we take for granted in our daily lives considering we have the ability to get up and go whenever is necessary, something that she was unable to do for quite awhile at the beginning of her recovery...with a swing of her legs off the edge of her hospital bed she planted both feet on the ground and stood up. She turned and made small but strong steps toward the bathroom, not requiring any help at all. The minute she made it into the bathroom and closed the door I burst into tears. Not wanting her to see me cry I quickly stepped out of the room to contain myself. I had never been so happy! On this same visit she was able to feed herself lunch again, another thing that she was unable to do at first. Watching her do these little tasks showed just how determined she is. In a group of only 3-5% whom recover to her state from a brain injury like hers, makes me truly believe in miracles.
This last year has been her battle... she is winning.
Beating the odds. Proving just how brave and strong she is everyday.
A faint purple scar on her neck is one of the only things that show she was ever in a traumatic accident. That faint purple scar is as fabulous as life itself.
I am thankful everyday that we got to keep her.
Watching her do all the things she is so talented at again. Drawing, photography. We spent an afternoon together today. I cut her hair, styled it and put some make-up on her (not that she needs much) and was able to take some photos of her.
Little things like this I cherish. Today, tomorrow and always.
Love you!
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