Dr. James F. Zender - Recovering from Your Car Accident

Recovering from Your Car Accident

James F. Zender, PhD

ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD

Lanham Boulder New York London

TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

This book is dedicated to all of the survivors of
vehicular trauma and their families who have
allowed me the privilege of traveling with them on their roads to recovery and taught me much about surviving trauma, thriving, and life.

There could be swelling in your brain and you could lose consciousness at any moment and slip into a coma. You could also become paralyzed within the next half hour, the paramedic replied when I asked if it was really necessary to strap me to a board and put me in a neck brace. I looked back briefly at the wreck of the car we had just been in. In that moment, the overwhelming exhilaration I had felt from surviving the crash was replaced by the most crippling fear Id ever known. What if within minutes I would lose the ability to stand or walk? What if these were my last moments of consciousness, or even the last moments of my life?

The night before had been one of the most amazing nights of my career. I performed Irelands rugby anthem to a large stadium audience with hundreds of thousands watching live and on TV. The following afternoon, a friend offered to give me a ride to the airport. Attempting to merge into an exit lane on the highway, he swerved across two lanes of heavy traffic and lost control of the car. We were traveling at 50 mph. I grabbed on to the dashboard as the car flew off the road, up into the air. This is it, I thought. We are all going to die. I was shocked to think that this is how my life would end.

To escape the overwhelming assault of surreal horror, my very being seemed to curl in on itself, into a tiny corner of my mind, as though I were trying to hide. We hit a lamppost. Everything went black. I came to as the car rolled and my head hit hard on the roof. Piercing high-pitched screams from the backseat punctuated the sound of breaking glass and crunching metal. We were upside down. My head hit hard on the roof once again as I glimpsed the green of the grassy ditch. I dont know how many times the car rolled, but I remember my head hitting with intense force on the roof, several times. The car finally came to an angled stop on an embankment, facing the opposite direction of the traffic. There was just enough room for me to open the passenger door. All three of us in the car were injured.

I was first diagnosed in the hospital emergency room with a mild concussion, along with neck and back soft tissue injuries, and had horrible bruising on my legs. The attending physician cleared me to fly and advised me to see my family doctor once I returned home. I assumed this meant I would be fine once I got some sleep and the bruises faded.

Three wheelchairs, one long flight home to London, replete with a panic attack and vomiting, difficulty standing in one spot as well as walking, dizziness, a constant headache, mental fog and confusion, two dreadful car journeys, sharp stabbing head pains, and several hours of coma-type sleep later, I ended up back in the hospital emergency room. I was then diagnosed with postconcussion syndrome, told that brain swelling and a possible bleed could still occur, and advised not to go back to work for at least a few weeks.

In the ensuing days and months, I had difficulty keeping my balance and walking up and down stairs. I often couldnt understand what people were saying and struggled to be around more than one person at a time. I couldnt lift a pot or prepare simple meals. I had difficulty dressing, applying makeup, and washing my hair. My short-term memory was practically nonexistent. I would buy apple juice four times in one day because I forgot that I had already been to the store and bought some. I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I would slip into a coma and die. My nights were a mixture of passing out from intense exhaustion to having insomnia and horrible nightmares. Train, bus, and taxi rides to and from doctors appointments became the most frightening, exhausting experiences.

Several times in the first few months, I was told that I wasnt yet out of the woods as there was still a chance of a brain hemorrhage. I suffered through constant anxiety, panic attacks, flashbacks, and debilitating depression. Emotionally, I relived every trauma I had ever experienced as if it were happening all over again. I was then diagnosed with a TBI (traumatic brain injury), PTSD, and depression, on top of my soft tissue injuries. A plethora of prescriptions for painkillers, brain stimulants, and antidepressants were prescribed. I often wished I had died in that car. I wondered why I was still alive. It was no kind of existence. Beyond appearing tired all the time, I looked completely normal, and no one seemed to understand what I was going through.

My world became a long, lonely, challenging journey of recovery with more than 16 doctors, therapists, and specialists in two different countries. I battled relentless fatigue and always felt like a zombie, constantly trying to get my brain to wake up. I couldnt handle much light, noise, or too much stimulation. I had difficulties communicating to friends, family, and colleagues. I was most comfortable alone in a quiet, dark room listening to relaxing, guided, self-healing meditations and taking baths. I couldnt handle simple arithmetic or basic transactions. When I was better able to hold a pen, I found that my handwriting was a sloppy mess, despite my utmost concentration on shaping each letter.