Update June 29, 2007

On Christmas Eve 1998, I experienced an accident which changed my life, and everyone I love, forever. Over the past eight years and six months, I have often wondered why I survived, a lady who has two adult children survived such a horrific accident. Yet, young mother with infants will never have the opportunity to cherish her child. In one split second, an unforeseen event ended this young mother's life.

In these past years, I have undergone fourteen surgeries, experienced the sorrows and horrors of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), struggled to regain the superb relationship I had with my children and husband. During the depths of depression, I contemplated suicide, despised who I have become, seldom, if ever, look in the mirror... in my reflection, I see a person who is a stranger looking back at me, a very unattractive lady. I prayed to God to spare me the anguish and end my life. Instead of be grateful, I was very disappointed, angry and bitter.

Fortunately, I began seeing a psychiatrist who specializes in PTSD. During the years of therapy, I could only see the dark side of my life. Often, my psychiatrist would ask me, "Cathy, think long and hard, what is the one reason you would want to survive?" I did precisely what he suggested, wondering what in God's name would change my mind.

Early in 2005, my daughter Stephanie began dating a very handsome, intelligent, kind and charming young man. His name is Kevin, I loved Kevin from the first time we met. After dating for a little over one year, they became engaged on Valentine's Day 2006. The moment Kevin told me he would be proposing marriage to my daughter, my reason for living came to mind. My reason for survival was to dance at my daughter's wedding. Crazy as that may seem, you have to understand the deep, unquestionable, unconditional love I have for my daughter Stephanie and my son, Peter (or Petee, my affectionate nickname for my son, a name he is not fond of hearing.)

On March 24, 2007, I fulfilled one-half of my dreams; Stephanie and Kevin were married. So much has happened in the past few years, far too much to get into here. Some good, some bad, a whole lot of shades of gray. I have promised myself to stop questioning and complaining, who wants to hear a whining person? For this reason, I have written this short update. Included, I have a few pictures of the wedding and reception. The photographers have been on vacation or traveling, they are busy photography rock stars and celebrities. Here are the first of 1,500 picture taken on the glorious day. Stephanie is the bride, Kevin the groom, the young handsome man with the blue shirt is my son Peter, the man escorting Stephanie is her father and my husband, Peter, Jr., my son is Peter the 3rd. I am the older lady in the champagne colored dress. Most of the pictures have titles, Kevin's family is huge.

Kevin, Stephanie, Peter, Me

Part of the ceremony

Peter, Stephanie, Kevin, and Carmela

My son in the blue shirt with Stephanie, One of him with me, and a few others.
Petee and Me
Stephanie and Peter
My son PeterIII (or Petee, as I call him) and Stephanie, my two beautiful kids.

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to update my story. Please enjoy the pictures, if you look at one of the pictures, you can see me dancing (not an easy task when you have no balance, nor a pretty picture, I am far from a kid, about 20 years too far.) If you would care to contact me or ask a question, or to merely write to me, please feel free.

God Bless, and keep those happy feet moving.

It all happened on my way to work, or so they tell me. I can't even remember what occurred the week before the accident nor do I remember what happened after after the accident until I woke up five days later in ICU with a nurse yelling in my ear, "Wake up, Cathy, you've been in a terrible car accident." I closed my eyes and wondered to myself why my husband was still awake watching television.

What DID happen is I skid on a patch of ice, on the same street that I live, less than a mile away from home. It had snowed the night before and according to what I've been told, I slid so badly I must have panicked and hit the accelerator pedal and hit a telephone pole directly. I broke the steering wheel with my face and sustained the following injuries: Broke the tip of my nose from my face, shattered my face, broke my jaw in sixteen places, broke my palate (actually folded my face in half), lost all my front upper teeth, broke my clavicle, punctured both my lungs, destroyed my sinuses on impact, almost lost my left eye from my shattered windshield, and have a bad concussion (closed head trauma to the brain, swelling, bleeding, but no damage to the skull). I was rushed to our nearby hospital which happens to be a Level One trauma hospital. I was brought in on a code 40 (I don't know what that means) . non responsive and bleeding profusely.

When I arrived in the ER, the staff worked on me feverishly, going up and down my body to ensure that i was stable. I had lost 2 pints of blood and they inserted an inter cranial monitor because the pressure was erratic. I was given medication, but I don't know what, through the opening they drilled in my head. I underwent an 8 1/2 hour operation with 12 surgeons. The didn't' even bother to x-ray to check for internal bleeding. They merely cut me open. I had been intubated on my way to the hospital. Chest tube linings and feeding tube were inserted. The problems arose when they wanted to insert the tracheotomy. They were certain I had crushed my esophagus, but actually what happened was on impact the esophagus broke away from the bone and an ENT had to be called in to ensure the anesthesiologist that he would cause no further damage by inserting the tracheotomy. Each surgeon informed my husband to expect the worst they were certain I would die.

That morning my daughter was home getting ready for work, and my husband left for an appointment. My son was also home. He was on winter break from college and was himself recovering from surgery which he had undergone one week before. The police came to the door and told my daughter (who is 22-years-old) that I had been in an accident. Thinking I had been in a fender bender, she headed for the hospital to pick me up. My friends from work, a job I had started after 23 years of agoraphobia, in May of 1998, were talking to Stephanie and waiting while she answered the door for the police. They were concerned because the roads were bad and they knew I was the responsible one. It was now 9:20 am and I still hadn't arrived at work. My daughter kissed my son good-bye and headed for the hospital. My friends from work were suspicious, so they also headed for the hospital. When my daughter arrived at the hospital and told the front desk she was here to pick me up, a social worker called her into his office and told her that Mommy might not make it. My daughter panicked, called my son and told him to find Daddy immediately. In the meantime, my brother had called the house and to check on my son and to see if he needed anything. After all, it was Christmas Eve. That's when my brother heard I'd been in an accident. He also headed for the hospital just to be sure.

At the hospital I was unrecognizable. They weren't sure if I was male or female, nor what my age was -- only that I had a pair of black slacks on and a beige winter coat. I was tagged as Nancy Doe and was expected to die. When my husband arrived, he couldn't imagine what had happened. I had no face and did not respond I was comatose. This made him feel very eerie and he began to think of my death. He had been told I probably wouldn't make, but with all that was going on he was probably in shock and unaware of what they were telling him. He went back home after I was take to the OR to soothe our kids. His mind raced and he called his mother, my mother-in-law. Due to my fahter-in-law's declining health, she was unable to be with her son, but she telephoned my sister-in-law who got a ride to the hospital to stay with my husband later that day. I was brought into recovery at about 10:30 PM, after 8 1/2 hours of surgery, at 10:30 PM. The surgeons came in and out of the "private OR" area to reassure my husband that I was still alive. The reconstrucive surgeon, a very kind man, excused himself while he spoke to my husband saying he had to go "put Humpty-Dumpty back together." My husband ran into his father's cardiac surgeon who asked my husband what he was doing at the hospital. When my husband told him, the cardiologist said, "oh, the woman with no face, she was in the OR next to mine. Very sad."

When I awoke, I felt so dazed I didn't comprehend what anyone said to me. The morphine helped to ease the pain in my body and face. All I could do was sleep. I was in ICU. After the 6th day I was transferred to another section of ICU known as a "cluster" room; 4 patients and 4 ICU nurses . all patients in this area are critical. I had passed the 72 hour wait and see period. Now I was due to have another surgery. This was a brief 3 hours surgery to insert 3 more titanium plates in my jaw and to wire my jaw. I awoke with a fever of 106 and a blood, lung and sinus infection. Again CT and Body Scans were performed over and over. All pain medication was withdrawn and they asked me to hold my breath as they removed the chest tube linings, I do remember how painful that was, but all obvious openings to the body had to be closed. With so many lacerations to my face the trauma surgeon was sure that had contributed to the fever. No one ever told me about my altered appearance. My husband had brought in pictures of me for the oral and reconstrucive surgeons to see what I used to look like. So many nurses asked who that pretty woman was. I was wondering if lack of make-up and this sticky (blood coated) hair made me unrecognizable.

I was sent home on 1/10/99 by ambulance with the trache removed but the J feeding tube and catheter in place with plenty of prescriptions and plenty of doctor's visits. They were worried I would contract more infection so they released me. The trauma surgeon waited for the fever to drop and I was told to go home. My activities were restricted. My privileges were permission to use the commode in our bedroom and with a walker once a day walk from the bedroom to the living room and back. I thought it would be a matter of healing and in a few weeks I would feel like myself again.

Boy was I wrong! All the way home, I still felt strange. My stay at the hospital was filled with delirium and confusion. I looked at the familiar streets in my town, I knew them well, traveled them frequently, but they still didn't FEEL familiar. Neither did home, neither did my dog, and most of all, neither did my husband and children. I felt so detached and weak. Sitting up for fifteen minutes exhausted me. This feeling of detachment is still with me.

My sister-in-law stayed with us for one month. She and my husband were my caregivers. They were not thrilled about having me home, in fact they were terrified. They fed me through a feeding tube, prepared pureed foods, made my bed, bought me basins to wash, helped me dress when I had doctors' appointments. My terror of the car was unbearable and motion made me so dizzy. I sat in the back seat for over 4 months. I as in a dream walking state. After one month my sister-in-law left and my son returned to school. By mid February I began to have crying spells. It was then that I learned of post traumatic stress disorder. What an uncontrollable disorder. I would cry for weeks nonstop. I also awoke several times at night with palpitations and tremors. I don't know what I dreamt, I remembered nothing of the accident. But I continue to have nightmares and difficulty sleeping.

Since the accident, recovery has been an uphill battle. I have many deficits, physically and emotionally. I work very hard to overcome them. I go for physical therapy twice a week because I have balance problems and I need to build my endurance. I am trained to look left and right, up and down, quickly, then close my eyes and stand on one foot. This is to induce vertigo. Then I am told to focus on something large and stationary. Sound like fun? Well it is when you are no longer afraid of being dizzy. I now doing the stair stepper for 10 minutes, treadmill for 10 minutes, resistant body presses of 80 lbs. for 3 sets of 10 for thighs and calves, stationary bike for 10 minutes and 10 minutes of balance therapy. I hated PT at first, but I must that it does work.

I had another surgery on 7/20/99 to reconstruct my nose. Reconstrucive surgery is an ongoing process to repair a face that looks like Silly Putty thrown against a brick wall. I will have additional surgery on my face to take away webbing around the eyes. 4 more are pending. Oral surgeons will do bone grafting by taking bone from the hip, or they might opt for a new procedure and I am scheduled to have a total of 6 dental implants and permanent bridges. I am so afraid to face these surgeries. I've asked the plastic/reconstructive surgeon how he thinks I will look after all these surgeries and he said he's never had a patient who had sustained such extensive facial trauma and survived. Well, I can tell you that really made me reel special.

I'm waiting to put the surgeries and rehabilitation for short-term memory loss and other deficits behind me. I also have balance problems as well as problems with coordination and organization in the kitchen. I lived in the kitchen before my accident. Mentally I have not forgotten what needs to be done to prepare a special meal, I just can't get it all together. I would love the depression and anxiety to end without the need to take antidepressants. They don't agree with me and cause my mind to speed up. I know they help the majority, but unfortunately I am not a member of that majority. I would also like my feelings to be more grounded. It would be so nice to connect with my surroundings. Nowhere feels comfortable; my skin doesn't fit at times. I would love to be able to go to the mall. I know it was my favorite past time with my daughter. Now it is unbearable because of the lighting and the crowds; as though there are 100 conversations going on at once -- sensory overload, I've been told. I would like to be able to eat out at restaurants during normal dining times, not at 4 PM when no one is at the restaurant. And most of all, I hope I can go back to where I was with my agoraphobia. I had worked so hard to regain my independence and drive alone within 15 miles of my home. I don't know if I'll ever drive again, but if I do, I assure you it won't be after a snowfall.

If anyone wants to share their experiences with me, I welcome your email.

God bless you all,
© Cathy Borden

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