What a long, strange year this has been.
Haven’t written in a while because I just haven’t had the concentration or interest, a byproduct of the accident that occurred on this date last year.
A quick recap: I was on my way to work at Trader Joe’s in Paramus at about 4:30 a.m. on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. I was driving north on the Garden State Parkway. I was in the right-hand lane, as is my wont but especially because it was raining.
About three miles into the drive, I was hit head-on by a speeding drunk driver who crossed over from the southbound side of the highway and over a wide grass median. This precipitated a small pile-up but I bore the brunt of the damage both to person and property.
One of my coworkers happened to pass by the carnage and mentioned it when she arrived at the store, about an hour later. Since I had never been late to work and they hadn’t heard from me, they put two and two together, which was confirmed when they called my house and my wife said I had left some time ago (I may be hazy on some of the timeline details).
I don’t remember much in the immediate aftermath, going in and out of consciousness. I recall trying to flag down cars passing by with my broken arms; being removed from my totaled vehicle; being wheeled through the corridors of the hospital; and then waking up the next day after several surgeries to repair multiple broken bones in my arms, as well as procedures to stabilize other injuries.
I remained in the hospital for a week, followed by another three in rehab, learning how to walk and use my arms and hands again. I returned home with casts, wraps, and a neck brace for several more weeks, dependent on family, friends, and caregivers for my basic needs. After a regimen of physical and occupational therapy for about three months, it was time to think about getting back to work, which I had been assured by my boss was not even a question: my job was waiting for me whenever I was ready.
One of the major concerns was would I be able to get behind the wheel again, mentally, not physically? Obviously, we had to get a new car but I was still unable to drive because of the need for cataract surgery (unrelated to the incident) which was scheduled for late October. Once that was out of the way, I finally strapped in, beginning with a ride around the block followed by longer and longer trips until I felt competent, if not totally comfortable. I returned to work mid-November, more than five months after the accident (just in time for the hectic Thanksgiving/Christmas crush).
I can never adequately express my love, thanks, and gratitude to my wife, Faith, and daughter, Rachel, as well as my mother-in-law, Jeanne, who sadly passed away in December at the age of 96, for their unwavering support during those difficult times. Also to my colleagues at Trader Joe’s who have been outstanding in their warmth, good wishes, and even protection when I was able to return to “active duty.”
Actually, I have to amend that to these difficult times.
I go back and forth between ambivalence and depression. Sometimes I feel cheated. I’m no spring chicken, so I am angry about what I’ve lost, hard as I try to not dwell on it. I was very active in sports like tennis and competitive softball, things I no longer feel able to do. Maybe that will come back to a degree, although the aftereffects of some of the injuries seem to preclude that. This, coupled with the relentless progression of time (I will turn the frightful age of 65 on June 5), as natural as that is, saddens me.
Much as I hate to admit it, there have been residual mental health issues, including depression and PTSD. Although they are not constant companions, every now and then it becomes overwhelming. On a recent commute to work I passed an accident on the Garden State with several police and rescue vehicles on the scene in almost at the exact spot as mine. I was able to proceed but once I got to the store I had a bit of a breakdown (panic attack?) for a good half hour before I could compose myself. Understandable but nevertheless embarrassing to me for not being able to control my emotions. On another occasion I found myself unable to get into my wife’s car for an hour-long trip down to the Jersey shore for an organ donation walk/run in which we usually participate. I have spoken about these events in therapy, which I had always shied away from in the past. The whole notion of telling your problems to someone else struck me as weak personally. And by that, I mean for me; I understand the need others have for therapy and would never think to judge them for it. But I never thought it was for me; I’m still on the fence about it.
Occasionally someone will ask me if I feel anger towards the driver who hit me. I honestly haven’t given it much thought. In fact sometimes I feel guilty about even commenting on the issue. Even sitting down to write this entry. People deal with all sorts of stuff. Who cares about this?
They will say, “Look how far you’ve come, the progress you’ve made. It’s amazing.” They may be right, but it’s not something I feel deep down. I’m lucky in that I’ve come a long way, but there’s still a long way to go.
The Worried Journalist 