Susan Biali Haas - Resilient Life

The Resilient Life

Copyright 2022 by Dr. Susan Biali Haas, M.D.

FIRST EDITION

This book should not be used as a substitute for medical advice from a qualified physician. The intent of this book is to provide general information in regard to the subject matter covered; it does not create a physician-patient, counselor-client, or coach-client relationship. If medical advice or other expert help is needed, the services of an appropriate medical or health-care professional should be sought. Coaching client names and other details of client circumstances have been changed to protect confidentiality. In some cases coaching client examples are a combination of details from one or more client situations, for the purposes of illustration.

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Ebook: 9780825308659

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DISCLAIMER

This book should not be used as a substitute for medical advice from a qualified physician. The intent of this book is to provide general information in regard to the subject matter covered; it does not create a physician-patient, counselor-client, or coach-client relationship. If medical advice or other expert help is needed, the services of an appropriate medical or health-care professional should be sought. Coaching client names and other details of client circumstances have been changed to protect confidentiality. In some cases coaching client examples are a combination of details from one or more client situations, for the purposes of illustration.

I sat at my desk on a cold Saturday in January, engrossed in building a keynote presentation for an upcoming event. A parade of snowflakes floated by the window in front of my desk, spinning minutes into hours.

My phone shrilled, jolting my focus. It was a local number, so I answered it.

This is the ski patrol calling. Is this Susan Haas?

Everything froze. No.

I glanced at the clock: four thirty. The ski hill had been closed for an hour and a half. Id assumed my husband was downstairs, relaxing in front of the fire. I was almost finished with my slides, and I had been looking forward to joining him.

What happened?

I struggled to stay calm, stopping myself from shouting my questions, as scenarios flashed through my mind. He had been in a near-catastrophic motorcycle accident on a racetrack a few years ago. A former ski instructor and self-confessed speed demon, he cant do anything halfway. We had debated this year whether his getting back into skiing was too risky.

Hes OK. Hes a bit confused, but everything else checks out fine. Weve put him in an ambulance, just to be safe. Were letting you know so you can meet him at the hospital.

Despite the encouraging report, anxiety engulfed me. As I drove to the hospital, I struggled to keep the car on the right side of the yellow line.

Its OK, I kept telling myself. Hell be fine. In a few hours, after theyve done the usual tests, Ill bring him back home. Its probably just a mild concussion.

Once I got to the ER, I sent optimistic texts to friends and family as I passed the time in the waiting room. I asked them for prayers anyway.

After an hour or so, the ER doctor came and told me I could see him. Ill never forget the moment when the doctor put his hand on the handle of the door leading into the clinical part of the ER, then turned and looked at me intently.

Hes got cervical fractures, he said.

Never in my life have I been more stunned by someones words.

My husband had fractured the two top vertebrae in his cervical spine, and two more in his thoracic spine. He could easily have died. Had he hit the snow at a slightly different angle, or if one of the people who got him down the mountain had made an error, he could have been completely paralyzed. Two of the fractures were unstable. One vertebra was so badly shattered that for months afterward his neurosurgeon wasnt sure that it would ever heal. And because of unusual features in the anatomy of his spine, he wasnt a good candidate for surgery.

Im sorry, was the first thing my husband said to me when I came to his side. He couldnt make eye contact unless I was almost directly above him, because he couldnt move his head. Trying to help him eat one of the cookies the nurse had brought, or help him drink some juice, suddenly carried profound risk. If a crumb fell down his throat and caused him to choke (which almost happened) or if it gave him a coughing fit, the results could be dire. It was all so surreal.

Incredibly, he wasnt showing any signs of neurologic damage. A CT scan, however, indicated that he had nicked a vertebral artery in his neck and was at risk of having a stroke. The next morning, they airlifted him to a larger hospital that had a team of neurosurgeons. It was terrifying, and I felt as if I were moving in slow motion.

The timing was terrible, too. This happened during one of the more intense periods of the COVID-19 pandemic. When it became evident that he would need to be urgently transferred to another hospital, my first thought was how I would get to him. The area we were in was surrounded by treacherous mountain passes, and a snowstorm was coming in. I was jokingly referred to by local friends and family as the city girl, and I probably had about three hours of lifetime snow-driving experience. My husbands stepmother offered to drive me through the mountains to the other hospital, until something occurred to her. What if I wouldnt be allowed into the hospital to see him?

I called, and sure enough, no visitors. It was almost two weeks before I saw him again. We spent hours on the phone every daythankfully Id sent a charger along with him in a frantically packed suitcase. All he could do was lie on his back, staring at the ceiling, unable to move his head or torso. He never even saw the other patients in his hospital room; he couldnt see what was going on. He couldnt see his favorite foods (sushi!) that I sent him through meal-delivery services. The nurses would place the meal on the tray next to his bed. He couldnt turn his head, so hed have to fumble blindly for it with an outstretched arm, bringing the food to his mouth and trying not to choke on it. Hed gotten a lot better at eating, but the thought of it all still made panic rise in my chest.

They eventually transferred him back to our local hospital. On the day that he came home, the hospital physiotherapist and occupational therapist spent a couple of hours training me on how to manage his neck and back braces. Days of preparations at home preceded this. There was over an inch of solid ice in front of our home, and it was too tricky to try to get him in through the garage with a walker. Much of our time before his return was spent worrying about how to get him from the car to our front door. We never anticipated that we might not even be able to get him into the car in the first place; that was a very hairy moment.