Back to the story

Back to your regularly scheduled program....on my way to Flagstaff to see my husband I made many calls. My parents, my sisters, Dave's brother and sister, and my boys who don't live at home anymore. I basically just let everyone know what was going on and requested prayer. I also checked on the kids, two were sleeping but Kyleah was still crying, obvious shaken from the nights events. And I prayed. A lot. Out loud.
One of our sons lives in Flag so I had him meet me at the hospital. We found Dave in the ER and they led us back to him right away. It was SO nice to see him and hug him and kiss him. He was still confused a bit but not as out of it as he had been at the helicopter. He was still strapped down and braced up. Davis stayed long enough to see his dad and make sure he was OK.
At this point there was no sense of panic. Mostly confusion, it felt like a kind of limbo, yes, like I was floating in limbo. A nice lady doctor came in and said the CAT scan showed a mass on his brain and a possible fracture in one of his vertebra. She was very casual with the news and said he would need an MRI. By the time he returned from his MRI a new doctor was on. He explained the fracture, if there even was one, was tiny. Apparently one doc could see it, another could not. So he basically emerged unscathed from the accident. Wow, God is good. Now onto the unknown mass in his brain.
I felt like a sponge. Just trying to absorb all the information that was being given to us. I was definitely not processing any of it, just collecting, I would deal with that part later. This second doc even took me to a computer screen to see the mass. It was big, and of course he had no answers to my questions. Dave would be transferred to ICU and we would see a neurosurgeon in the morning.

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Details

Don't worry, I won't be rehashing each and every detail of the last five months. But that first week, that first night especially, seems to be all about the details. And each and every one of them still so crystal clear. So perhaps to bore you or hypnotize you with the droning on of the details, I press on.
I had called my friend Gretchen and she was going to meet me at the hospital and take the kids for the night and I was going to drive up to Flagstaff to be with Dave, about an hour and 15 minute drive. Tim and Jann were also meeting us there with the girls. We all converged near the helipad at the same time. After hugging on tight to the girls and making sure Kyleah was alright, Tim let me know that Dave seemed physically fine, but they wanted to take extra care and caution and get his brain checked out as soon as possible. From Kyleah's description it appeared that he had the seizure, which caused the crash. So the burning question was, what caused the seizure? No one could know, not yet.
It seemed like forever before the ambulance got there. They told us we could get a quick hug, but they wanted him in the copter and out of there asap. Again, it took forever to get him out of the ambulance. At the gate to the helipad we each took a quick hug as we tried not to sob. He was, of course, on a board, in a neck brace and all strapped down. He was completely confused and very upset that he had scared us. As they rolled him to the helicopter he kept apologizing for scaring us. And they rolled him by us so fast, Isaiah didn't get his hug, which upset Isaiah even further. I can see why the EMT's wanted that moment to be quick. It was chaos and sad and scary and upsetting for everyone, including Dave.
As the helicopter set off (which seemed like it took forever!) I prayed with the kids, hugged and thanked Jann and Tim, and sent the kids with Gretchen for the night. It had been such a relief to see that Kyleah was well, and just to see Dave. Jann offered to go to Flag with me, but I knew I would be fine, and I needed some time alone with God. So off I went to follow my husband to Flag, although he was getting a way cooler ride than I.

Confusion

I hate that feeling, of complete and utter confusion. The extended feeling that my thoughts would never again be orderly and complete. That's how I felt that night. I knew my husband and daughter had been on their way home from Sedona, and I knew they had been in an accident. I knew help was there because my daughter rushed me off the phone and said someone was there. I didn't call her back, I still don't know why. I decided I would find them, they had to be between home and Sedona, I'll just go find them. Makes no sense now. We drove half way to Sedona before I finally called a fireman friend (whom I always seem to call in lieu of 911, but that's a whole 'nother story). He immediately called me back with the location of the crash and asked what he could do to help. I had been in contact with my 16 year old daughter and she was home alone and scared to death. I asked if he could pick her up so she wouldn't have to be alone.
By this time I had distanced myself at least 20 minutes from the crash. Isaiah and I flipped a u-turn and headed back to town, praying aloud, and loudly, the whole way. I never did make it to the crash site. My fireman friend, Tim, had collected Molly and gone to the scene and picked up Kyleah. She had been asleep in the back of the minivan and sustained no injuries, praise the Lord! He would meet us at the hospital where they were planning on flying Dave to Flagstaff. After regaining consciousness he was acting strangely, and the local hospital was not equipped to deal with any possible brain injury. By this time it had become clear from Kyleah's description, that he had suffered a grand mal seizure. No one was sure if the crash caused the seizure or the seizure caused the crash.

Gut Punch

It came on a Tuesday night, late summer. You never want to understand, to comprehend. There's always a moment of time, some longer than others, of complete denial. It was only a brief second or two of incomprehension, after I made her repeat herself, before I understood what my sobbing 13 year daughter was saying. "We were in an accident, daddy's breathing but I can't wake him up!" The answer to each of my questions was the same,"I don't know!"
I had been in the studio watching my son's tae kwon do class when she called. Class was just finishing up when I yelled to Isaiah to grab his shoes we were leaving now. I could tell by the look on his face that he could clearly see the fear on mine. As we got in the car I explained the call and that we needed to find them, Kyleah did not know where they were. I tried not to scare him but he was clearly worried for his dad and sister.
This call came on September 7, 2010 and is the divider that now separates our lives, from B.C. (before cancer) and A.D. (after diagnosis). That whole night was one big gut punch. My stomach still hurts 5 months later.