by: Craig Brandt
In April of 1992 I was the passenger of a car hit by a truck (T-boned was the term used) on Highway 70 and Moongate road, just outside of the Las Cruces, New Mexico city limits. My injuries included a collapsed lung and broken ribs. I later found out, from a friend of mine that came upon the scene while the EMT’s were trying to care for me, that I was fighting with three of them so I could get up. My friend, John, an ex M.P., ran over and held my head saying, “Craig, this is John. Keep still, these people are trying to help you.” John said I stiffened up and was still for a while and then started to struggle again and we went through the same process as before.
The last thing I remembered before the accident, was asking my wife if the headlights were on (I had been taught that headlights should be on whenever the sun cannot be pointed at, for safety reasons.) and was told they were. My wife and I were the only two in the car. The next thing I remember was lying in a hospital bed with a doctor, nurse and attendant standing by. I asked what happened and the doctor told me I was in a car accident, satisfied, I went back to sleep, or so I that think is what happened. My daughter later told me I asked that same thing a number of times. To this day I don’t remember the exact order in which everything occurred. I do remember the lawyer telling me, specifically, not to worry about what I couldn’t remember. He said the important things would come back and others could supply the rest. He asked if I wanted him to look into it for me and I said yes. I remember waking up a few times to find one or two of my neighbors complaining to some of the hospital staff about the quality of my care. One time I woke up to find one of my neighbors feeding ice cream to me, and I couldn’t understand why! At sometime, my brother-in-law and his wife visited me and filled me in a bit about the accident. The car (a 1990 4 door metro) “looked like a giant had bent it in the middle. The driver’s seat was reduced to half its original width. The next I remember was waking up and finding three ministers beside my bed, I remember asking if it were a preacher’s convention or something, and then asking them to try taking a walk with me up and down the hall. I vaguely remember being told by a nurse “Bonnie” That I needed exercise, being moved from intensive care to another floor and back to intensive care, but in what order I’m still confused. I was released from the hospital ten days after the accident, but I remained in a sort of “fog”. If it weren’t for my neighbors pitching in and seeing to it, that I attended my doctors’ appointments and ate, etc. I don’t know what might have happened. In all this time, they were also taking care of my children, keeping the rest of my family posted and visiting my, now former, wife. (She had been moved to a hospital in El Paso and remained there for nine months.)
Even when my wife was released from the hospital, she could see I was not acting as I usually did. I still felt like I was in a “fog”, but the neurologist doctor said there was no damage, after I had been given a cat scan. The internist said he could see something was not right, from the x-rays. I was taken to another neurologist doctor who agreed with both doctors (surprise???), who prescribed medication. The medication he first prescribed cleared the fog, but made me feel as if someone had just kicked me in the groin!!! I was switched to other medications, went to a psychiatrist and given still other medications. I had lost my self-confidence as well as my self-respect.
Bill collectors were badgering me for money I didn’t have, and this allowed P.T.S.D to set in. I had been in Viet Nam during the Tet Offensive, and was mortared, rocketed and shot at every other night for over six months. I couldn’t shoot back and had to wait, feeling helpless, as I did concerning the bills. I’d have rages over the least little thing that bothered me, scaring away my family. They actually moved away. The cars broke down, so I was only able to walk places, and my home was eleven miles from the city. I’d sometimes get lost, even walking. Suicide never seriously occurred to me, kept reminding myself “Who would take care of the animals food? But I didn’t take proper care of them and the mobile home was completely ruined! In addition, my VCR and TV both broke down! . I was in such a state of, what I now recognize as depression, that I figured “ why bother”?
I took in a neighbor’s homeless son who swindled and robbed me, and I became somewhat paranoid. I’d sleep with a shotgun close at hand and was rarely without a knife or other possible weapon during the rest of the time.
I was not able to retain a storyline of one. From magazines, I graduated myself to short stories and teen books. Now I can read two books at a time again and retain most of what I have read.
The damage to my brain had affected my hand/eye coordination, so I took up archery, again. I had been a good shot as a youth. I restarted this hobby with a youth bow and old arrows, shooting them at a target in my back yard. I then improved enough to get an ad ult sized bow (formerly owned by the southern N.M. ladies’ champion) and used arrows. Together with a friend, I went to 3-D shoots, we didn’t win any competitions, but we got out and met some very nice people. Both of us entered the Senior Olympics and I came in third in my flight (There were only two others in the flight. Getting myself to try these things was hard, even though I was familiar with them, so I had to push myself. Even though I wasn’t doing as well as when I was young, or anywhere near as well as the others, I was proud of my accomplishment. I’d explain the reason for my joy, in spite of the poor scores, to the onlookers, so they wouldn’t think there was more wrong with me. One lady even asked more about it, as her sister was recovering from a similar accident.
I had made appointments with the folks at Southwest Counseling on the recommendation of a lady in the occupational health office at White Sands best things we could have done!
I’d still have times of rage and deep depression and anxiety attacks, though I didn’t know what they were at the time. The unknown is the scariest part of any disease, even if it’s only given a name a calming affect results. I could only get in the P.B.S. station on T.V. and was growing tired of the V.C.R. tapes I had. I decided to get more exercise, and bought a single speed bike at a yard sale for $10.00. (Another expense, but I felt it was justified.) I fixed it up, trade it for a ten-speed, which I also fixed up and became interested in bicycle repair. I had received a lot of support and direction from Psychiatric Social Intervention at Southwest Counseling. Figuring if I were interested in biking, maybe someone else would be too. I approached the members of P.S.I. with my idea of forming a bicycle club and helping out Recycled Cycles. This would give us all the opportunity to learn to fix bikes and those who didn’t have one, a chance to get one. A lot of people approved, a few showed up and even fewer worked on bicycles. Typical of most organizations I have been affiliated with!
I have recently remarried and have been volunteering my time at the senior citizens center. My bride likes to dance and we have been trying to go dancing at least once a month, meeting new people there also.
In conclusion, I would like to point out that I was not able to recover as far as I have without the help of others. BUT, nobody could recover for me! I had to make the effort. “You only get out of a thing, what you put into it.” My parents told me.
It still holds true, today. The biggest obstacle for me was recognizing what it was that I could do about it. Without direction there can be no success.