The End of a Dream
My name is Sharon. On November 26, 2003 my husband I were driving to North Carolina to vist our oldest son and daughter in law for Thanksgiving. I was driving. It was approximately 10:00 pm. The witnesses that called the police and emergency services and tried to help us described the crash so this is their account because I have only a few horrifying memories. According to these kind young people a man driving a light blue pickup truck was swerving as though he were drunk. They said he swerved in front of us and that our car fish tailed but I regained control. Then seconds later the man once again swerved and crossed over into our lane forcing our car onto the median. This time our car spun, hit a guard rail, flipped and toppled down a ravine. We landed on boulders and had trees coming through our windshield. My first memory was hearing these young people calling out as they scambled down the ravine to reach us. I remember them saying to me they were going to work on my husband first because he was more injured than I. They told me to squeeze his hand. My first visual memory was looking over at my husband who was slumped over in the passenger seat. I squeezed his hand and said “Oh God baby, please hoild on, I love you so much.” I lost consciousness again at this point.
My next memory was audial, I heard the sound of chain saws as they were cutting trees so they could free us from our demolished Blazer. My next memory was the paramedics as they were pulling the board I was strapped to up the ravine and me screaming for them to knock me out as I could not endure the pain. I lost consciousness again. Next memory I was inside the helicopter that was to airlift me to a Trauma Teaching hospital in Charleston, SC. The paramedics asked me who to contact and all I could whisper was “Shawn at Camp Lejuene.” They told me they were taking my husband to a different location.
Two day later I woke up in the hospital with my husband’s best friend leaning over my bed and saying to me “Wayne didn’t make it.” I went back into my coma for one more day and woke up to my two sons leaning over my bed saying “You have to live. You have to fight. You can’t die too.” I realized my husband had been killed but it was like a nightmare. It didn’t seem real to me and I stayed in that frame of mind about his death for the entire month I spent in the hospital.
My injuries were critical. Basically my upper left quad had been crushed. I had multiple rib fractures, a punctured lung, my collarbone was broken in two places and the most disabling and life threatening injury was that my left arm had been nearly severed. I had much soft tissue and some muscle that was simply gone and a compound hurmorous fractuce that had punctured my underarm severing network of nerves and knicking my brachial artery. I was told later that I had actually died twice that first night in surgery and was resucitated. I had two more surgeries that month – skin graft. The had already taken veins and nerves from my left calf to repair the shoulder injury and took a large skin graft from the thigh of the same leg. My lung collapsed a second time and the surgeons performed that surgery immediately in my hospital bed with no anesthesia. I remember that team racing in and tell my family to leave the room immediatly. Surprisingly, I had a sense of humor about my situation and told the Doctor that inserted the tube that if I could get my leg up high enough that I would kick him in the head.
My late husband and I lived in Ocala, Florida. I was hundreds of miles away from home. I had many family members that flew to Charleston and stayed days until I was stable and not likely to die again. My sister and my oldest son stayed with me the entire month. I was not alone for one second. My youngest son went home to our farm and arranged for a hospital bed and took care of our pets and of course, his father’s memorial service. We had my precious husband’s remains cremated. Wayne even though he was only 50 and me 48 had discussed our deaths and I knew that he wanted to be cremated. One of my husband’s co workers had a friend with a Winnebago and both of these caring men drove to Charleston to give me, my sister and oldest son a ride home. It was December 21. I cannot say enough how grateful and proud I was of my entire family and how they stayed by me during this crisis.
On December 23, we went to my husband’s memorial service and hundreds of our friends and family and co workers were there to help pay tribute to a man who was described by eulogists as being one of the finest examples of a good husband, father and friend they had ever had the priviledge of knowing. Christmas day our farm house was full of friends and family to help us through what was to be the first of all the sad Thanksgiving, Christmases and New Year’s celebrations to follow.
On January 2nd 2004 I started a year long 5 day a week physical therapy regime to regain what finally is weak, uncoordinated and limited use of my left shoulder, arm and hand. My arm was like a piece of cooked spahgetti for almost 4 months until the nerves regenerated down to my elbow, then slowly my wrist, two fingers and my thumb. Two fingers don’t work but with the two that do and my thumb I am able to take care of myself and my home and drive again. I haven’t driven on an interstate and at night I can’t bring myself to drive very far from home. I hired a friend to stay with me during that first year as I needed help bathing, dressing, getting in an out of bed and of course, driving. Several of my friends spent a week of their vacation with me at the farm that year. One of my dearest friends Wendy was there in January and driving me to physical therapy. You won’t believe it but a woman with a car full including children pulled out in front of us and Wendy not having enough time to stop t boned their car. Both cars were badly damaged but thankfully no injuries. Poor Wendy, I think she was more upset after my initial hysterical reaction than I was. My sister came for 6 weeks that summer. Once again, I cannot say enough how grateful and proud I am of my friends and family. Their caring, concern and sacrifices kept me going. I would not have survived without them.
My physical injuries are healed as much as they ever will be and the intense grief has subsided. I leave town now during the holidays because it seems to help me cope better with the floods of grief and depression that start in Novemeber each year. Our wedding anniversay is November 12, the crash anniversay is November 26 and then there is Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year all the be survived by me feeling alone among family and still missing my Wayne so terribly.
I knew that I had mental health problems as a result of this horrific traumatic event. I sought grief counseling on two occassions but did not see a psychiatrist nor psychologist until this past fall in 2008. I see my psychiatrist once a month for my antidepressants and anti anxiety meds. I see my psychologist once a week. Both of these doctors agree that I suffer from severe traumatic stress disorder. I have all the classic symptoms of depression, anxiety, anger issues, insomnia, detachment.
My therapist says that it will be hard work and take a long time. I am not there yet. I feel a lack of enthusiam and passion for life in general. I feel disconnected and isolated from family and friends emotionally. I see them and keep in touch of course, but it’s as though I am just going through the motions because I know I am supposed to. But my doctors tell me I can recover so I have hope. The thing that frustrates me the most is that people cannot understand the impact this horrible event has had on me and my life. It’s five years now and I think most of them feel I should just put it behind me and get on with my life. Oh how I wish I could more than anything. I do believe I will someday.
By the way the drunk driver didn’t stop and was never prosecuted for his crime. The police did pull a drunk over a several miles up I 95 in a light blue pick up truck as the witnesses described. My attorney and I hired to invesigators to try and obtain the identity of this drunk driver as even the patrolmen felt they had caught the man responsible that night. My son had already reached the crash site when he heard a patrolman radio back “We got him. He’s drunk.” But ultimately we failed. The police would only say they did not have enough evidence to prove he was the driver that caused our crash. If it wasn’t this man then it was some other drunk man and I really wish he knew that he killed someone and destroyed me and my family. People that have been through this kind of pain and suffering aren’t capable of understanding the full impact of such a loss. I come here today and tell my story because many of you do understand and know what my family and I are going through. I understand your pain too and hope you will find some validation of your own feelings in my story. I have read the one’s posted and I already feel a sense of connection to all of you survivors of car crashes.
I was horribly concerned since I had been driving and I couldn’t remember most of the crash I kept questioning my son over and over if I had done anything wrong. He had spoken to the witnesses and the police and they all reassured him that a Nascar driving couldn’t have prevented that crash. I believe that and don’t feel guilty or responsible in anyway. Thank god because I don’t think I could survive that burden.
I had to sell our farm which had been a dream of my husband I for many years. I have moved twice since still trying to find a place that feels like home. I have been in this house for 3 years and I know that it will never feel like the farm because Wayne was my home. With his death my dreams died. I’m looking for new dreams but it’s one very small step at a time.
I know this story doesn’t have a happy ending yet but when it does I will come back an write another chapter. In the mean time please feel free to contact me here. I need a community like this one and I am willing and able to give as much as I receive.
