Vicki Shearin

The COVID-19 pandemic was at its peak. We were planning to visit my elderly parents in Iowa later that month since my dad had recently returned to their beautiful log home on the Cedar River from a nursing facility after being advised of an outbreak of COVID-19 there. Out of concern for him and my mother, we were thinking about getting vaccinated.

On Monday, August 3rd, I was driving to an appointment to have my blood drawn. Since I had not been vaccinated, I wanted to determine whether I already had COVID-19 antibodies, as I’d had a bout of flu-like symptoms a few months earlier.

August 3rd, 2020, was also our 38th wedding anniversary.

As I was casually driving through a familiar intersection not far from our home in Las Vegas, a pickup truck ran a red light —accidentally and illegally— crashing into the driver’s side of my Lexus convertible, top up. The airbag malfunctioned and did not deploy. I immediately lost consciousness.

I was transported by ambulance to University Medical Center (UMC) and admitted to its Intensive Care Unit. My husband, David, received a call from the hospital informing him that his wife had suffered a stroke and was unconscious. They also advised him that no visitors were allowed in the ICU due to the pandemic.

Upon further examination and test results, the doctors at UMC determined that I had suffered a traumatic brain injury (TBI) from the wreck, rather than a stroke. (The effects of a TBI can present essentially the same as a stroke.) My face and my body were paralyzed.

The doctor forewarned David that they could not guarantee I would survive. My brain was severely lacerated. Both the left and right hemispheres were hemorrhaging blood. The CT scan and MRI images revealed that shearing took place—tearing of nerve fibers due to the twisting and rotating of my brain as it bounced within the skull during the crash. Most detrimentally, the pons of my brain stem was damaged—the main life support system of the body, which controls breathing and other vital functions. Consequently, if I lived and regained consciousness, I may not be able to talk or walk. Amnesia was probable; a full recovery was not.

I am so very grateful for everyone who prayed for me when I could not pray for myself! While I was in the ICU, David wrote a prayer that was posted on our church website. Several friends told me later they were also claiming Psalm 118:17, saying, “Vicki will not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord!” Within a few days, while in the ICU, I regained movement on my right side.

I have no memory of my two-week stay in the ICU at the University Medical Center. I had apparently regained some consciousness while I was there, but I was disoriented and confused, and suffering from Post Traumatic Amnesia (PTA).

My earliest memory is falling on the floor of my hospital room after being moved over to Summerlin Hospital and Rehabilitation Center. Not realizing I was paralyzed, I got up during the night to use the bathroom and collapsed on the floor. When I fell, I hit my head against the wall. I think the entire medical team in that unit rushed into my room. The lights were turned up brightly. Doctors and nurses surrounded me. I remember lying on the floor with my head against the wall as some of these medical professionals lectured me about “using the device” to call a nurse, and not trying to get up on my own.

Yep. That is my first memory!

I began inpatient rehabilitation the next day. They harnessed me to the ceiling and began teaching me how to walk again. A monitoring device was set up in the room that looked to me like “Darth Vader.” It would sternly protest when I attempted to get up, saying, “Do not get up! Calling a nurse now!”

No visitors were allowed in hospital rooms due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I could only talk to David and other family members by phone or via Zoom or FaceTime.

While hospitalized at Summerlin Rehabilitation Center, I engaged in daily intensive therapy. After being discharged a month later, I continued outpatient therapy (physical, occupational, and speech therapy) three times per week for nearly a year.

I visited my primary care physician after being released from Summerlin Hospital. Prior to the appointment, he reviewed the UMC report. “Based upon the written report I received,” he said, “I expected you to be wheeled into my office in a wheelchair and on oxygen, not walking in here with a walker, and talking!” He continued in disbelief: “I cannot believe the report about your pons being damaged. I will have to see the images for myself.”

I arranged to have the images sent over to him, and at my next visit, he immediately conceded: “I looked at the MRI images, and your pons was injured!” Then I told him that I had visited an outpatient neurologist who examined the MRI images in front of me and eerily exclaimed, “These images are typical of someone who did not survive!” My doctor responded, “That neurologist is exactly right!”

Then he added with a smile, “That is the magic of our profession. There are some things we just cannot explain!”

I would like to be able to tell you that I was completely healed instantly, but my recovery has been a long, arduous process. TBI symptoms, which persisted for months, and some for years, included paralysis, diplopia (double vision), speech impairments, extreme fatigue, severe vertigo, short-term memory loss, and other cognitive deficits.

One of my favorite quotes, attributed to Sir. Winston Churchill is: “If you’re going through hell—keep going!”