The Accident: The ICU

The ICU haunts me more than any other point of this entire experience. I was in such shock while being driven past the accident scene that I was somewhat protected at that point.

The ICU is where things began to sink in— where I really began to understand the heaviness of it all.

It's where I saw doctors yell to wake Tom up to make sure he was following commands— which the first time he didn't. "I need him to respond," I so clearly remember the neurologist saying.



It's where I saw him strapped to the bed, not understanding why he was there, unable to speak to us, and having to repeatedly explain to him what happened. I tried to hide my tears and panic and would often bend at the side of the bed to hide my face then sneak out of the room leaving someone else to explain.

It’s where I pleaded through tears and a shaking body for the nurses to keep him as sedated as possible throughout each night. I could not leave without being promised.

It's where I first saw my husband after he was extubated, although it wasn't my husband but what appeared to be a mentally and physically handicapped patient you might see in a nursing home. His voice (the little he could use) was like a monster. His face was swollen and lopsided, and his eyes were not fully tracking.

It’s where I watched him wail in excruciating pain from what the doctors believed was a urethral tear from all the pelvic trauma, and nobody knowing how to help.

I watched everyone cheer for his progress, and that made me angry. I was supposed to be happy, but seeing him like this was terrifying and confusing.

Each time I'd return to the hospital, I'd pause and take a deep breath before turning the corner to enter his room. I felt like an actor pretending to be stronger than I was. Watching him in pain was often too much to bear, but I also couldn’t stand to leave his side. Tom's siblings (Steve and Karen) and friends from church would stay with him when I couldn't.

There were moments so overwhelming that when home alone in my room at night, I would panic, unable to find even the briefest second of relief.

This was a time I was surrounded and supported by so many, but was ironically the loneliest and darkest time of my life.