I’m not embarrassed to tell you….I believe in miracles!

August 11, 2001 is a day that will forever stand out in my mind.

On that day I sustained a traumatic brain injury (TBI) and for the next two months I would call the hospital my home. I was flown to the emergency room by air ambulance and after I was assessed by the attending physician my family was advised that I was in critical condition. I required immediate surgery to remove blood clots that had formed on my brain.  My diagnosis, for those with a medical background, was an acute posterior fossa subdural hematoma.

As I was being prepared for surgery my family was told that I had less than a 5% chance of living an independent life should I survive.

After the surgery I was put into a medically induced coma to allow my brain to heal and prevent further brain tissue damage. I remained in this state for close to three weeks, surrounded by screen monitors that tracked my vitals and sent out regular sounds that family and friends became quite familiar with. I had IV’s, tubes, and wires attached to just about every part of my body.

While in the coma everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.

Dr. Chip Doig, MD, MSc, FRCPC, head of ICU, held regular family conferences to keep my immediate family informed as much as possible. The messages were never positive, the news never good.

Below is a brief description of two of the most serious complications that I experienced while in the coma. I am in the process of writing a memoir where I share more details this and other experiences I had on my rehabilitation and healing journey.

Intracranial pressure (ICP) is the pressure inside the skull in the brain tissue. ICP is measured in millimeters of mercury (mmHg) and for adults in a state of rest it’s normally 7-15 mmHg. When it hits 20-25 mmHG it reaches the upper limit of what is healthy and medical treatment is needed to bring it back down into the normal range. My ICP regularly spiked in the 50-60 mmHG range and the medical team spent most, if not all, of their time trying to crack the code of how they could bring it down. Timing was of the essence given the intense pressure I was experiencing could have at any moment severed my brain stem.

I have searched online to find the mortality rate for high levels of ICP and the information varies, most medical websites put it at 20% in cases where the ICP reaches 30 mmHg. When it moves into the 50-60 range the mortality rate greatly increases anywhere from 65%+. Aside from death being a primary concern, high levels of ICP significantly increase the risk of brain tissue damage.

While in the coma I was diagnosed with pneumonia which is quite common after being on a ventilator for an extended period of time. Given my weakened state and low immunity, my body could not fight the infection and it quickly progressed to septic shock. My entire body became infected. This infection made its way to my heart and began attacking it (myocardial dysfunction). The mortality rate for this is between 70-90% based on my online research.

The Doctors had to stop focusing on trying to reduce my ICP and instead work on my heart to make sure it didn’t stop beating as the risk of death from septic shock overrode the risk from high ICP. Fortunately they were able to get the infection under control in a few days although there were a few close calls where they just about lost me.

As I approached close to three weeks of being in the coma, Doctors advised my family that they could no longer continue giving me the high dosages of medication as there was a strong chance my internal organs would begin to shut down. The risk was simply too high to continue on despite the fact that the Doctors did not know how my body would respond if they were to stop all medication. With the consent of my parents, the medical team slowly began stopping all medications.

This was the moment when the impact of the injury would become known.

Given the type of injury and all the complications I’d had, the prognosis my family received was quite negative.

At best, they were told, I would require assisted living with round the clock medical care and that I would have a high degree of cognitive deficits with very limited awareness of my surroundings. The worse case scenario was that I would be in a vegetative state for the remainder of my life.

As the medications slowly began wearing off, everyone around me was closely watching to see how things would turn out. My family remained by my side the entire time with a watchful eye, looking for any signs or clues as to what was going to happen next.

A few days later my parents walked into my room and upon making eye contact, could see in my eyes that I recognized them. I couldn’t talk or move but that was all they needed to see to know that their prayers had been answered.

The real work was to now begin as I had much to relearn including how to walk, talk and read. I also had to start coming to terms with the cognitive deficits that I now had. This would take years to fully grasp.

Things that had been so easy to do were now very difficult. Having been an avid reader, I will never forget how it felt to be in speech therapy in the hospital reading out of a book that looked like it was part of the reading curriculum used in a classroom for seven or eight years old students. I read very slowly and had to really work hard at recalling some of the very simple words. In many cases I could not find them. There were also many words that I could not pronounce.

My father was by my side and would help me when I did stumble or stutter. He did this in a respectful, caring and loving manner, just as he would have done when I was six or seven years old learning to read for the first time. There are no words to describe the emotions that were going through me during that rehabilitation therapy and how powerless I felt knowing full well I’d previously read large novels quite easily.

The Doctors have no medical explanation as to how I survived.

Dr. Chip Doig put it best by simply saying, “It was not your time.”

Image Source: http://serenityself.com

It is a miracle that I am alive and have the opportunity to share my story with you.

Tweet: Each day is a gift and each one unique and irreplaceable. Value every moment you’ve been given.

I am proud to be an advocate for traumatic brain injury survivors and value volunteering with two brain injury associations where I can share my insight with other survivors as they go through their brain injury rehabilitation. I also speak to survivors and caregivers providing brain injury education that helps in raising their awareness.

Every year on August 11th I celebrate how grateful I am to be alive. I call it my Alive Day!

While I lost six weeks of memory from my accident, the memories of the last few weeks in the hospital will always be fresh in my mind. The parts that I choose to focus on are how with determination, perseverance and the right attitude, one can come along way. I’m really proud of myself given just how long and difficult of a journey it was. I wouldn’t change anything about the life that I have today.

Yes, I have an invisible disability. Yes, I face daily challenges in dealing with a variety of learning and cognitive problems. And yes, I’d have to say I live a pretty remarkable life despite all this.

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ~Albert Einstein

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