I'm No Superman

 "I can't do this all on my own. No, I know, I'm no superman."--Lazlo Bane

In 1986 I was 29 years old and during that year I did three things that would forever change my life: I read a book titled "I Am Joe's Body;" I started working-out; and I took a robotics course at Edison Tech in Long Beach, CA.

• "I Am Joe's Body" is a book published by Reader's Digest, but more than that, it is a manual to the human body. Something every human being should read.
• I decided to start working-out because I wanted to capitalize on the fact that I looked and felt ten years younger than my actual age, and although I was getting plenty of exercise by playing with a powerful progressive-rock band and riding and walking everywhere I went, I still wanted to look and feel better if I could - a California thing, I guess.
• I attended Edison Tech because I was fascinated by science and electronics and wanted to learn how robotics worked. But, it was the psychology class - a requirement with the course - which turned out to hold the most significance in my life.

   In the psych class I learned that we make the decisions, either consciously or subconsciously, which put us where we are in our lives. Are you in a good place in your life? Do you wake up in the morning smiling and think life is good? Then accept responsibility for your wisdom and pat yourself on the back for making the right decisions which put you there. Are you in a bad place in life, down in the dumps, going through a rough patch, or worse? The responsibility for the decisions leading to the circumstances which put you there are also yours. Accept responsibility for that. Think back and identify the decisions which put you where you are (which you may even have felt were the right actions at the time), learn from them, and start making better decisions as the now smarter you.

   This, for me, was an epiphany. I took the professor's words to heart. In a life where it seems we have little control, I had gained control of me. Good or bad, I would no longer credit or blame anyone else for the circumstances of my life. My fitness and health levels, how I lived, what I did, what I didn't do. All were completely up to me. I accredited myself for the good decisions and accepted responsibility and learned from the bad ones. It was liberating. It was humbling. It was empowering. I felt like Superman. I have held on to this philosophy throughout my life.

August 20, 2008

   That date is quite literally etched forever into my skull. It is the date when something happened which took a degree of that control away from me. Something, in fact, which came all too close to killing me ... suddenly, and without warning.

   As I opened the door onto the entryway which led to my basement apartment, my foot slipped and I fell into the solid hard-wood beam (basically the home upstairs) which was directly in front of the door and low over the five stairs leading down. I hit my head. This knocked me unconscious and cracked the front of my skull, then I fell down into the concrete wall besides the stairs and cracked my skull again, I then rolled down to the floor, where I cracked my skull a third time on the thin-rug-covered concrete floor.

   There I laid, with blood on my face and in my hair, unconscious and not breathing. My two friends (a couple) acted quickly: One started CPR and the other took the cell phone from my pants pocket and called 911. She also, after seeing a light next door, pounded on the window, pleading for help. I did not know the man who came out, but he had learned proper CPR technique in the military. In the time it took for this men to get to me and get me breathing, roughly 3-to-4 minutes had passed.

   These people saved my life. They are heroes.

   I woke up a day and a half later in ICU with two black-purple eyes, triple skull fractures, permanent inner-ear damage, tubes attached to my body and a respirator attached to my mouth and nose. My family were there with me;  My mother, my cousins from 200 miles away, and my sister and her fiance from Northern California. They tell me my only, and constant, concern was 'When can I go home?'

   The last thing I remember is warning my friends to be careful on the un-safe stairs, and I have brief flashes of my time in ICU.

   I spent close to three days in ICU, two days at my mother's (where I struggled to walk without losing my balance), then finally came home. For two days I rested and took it easy. I'd finally regained my appetite and I puttered around my converted-basement apartment, fighting to get my bearings back and to function with as little pain as possible. On the third day home I started back on my work-out routine, slowly and with much less resistance than normal, but I was doing it. This helped and it felt good to be working on getting back to normal. The neurologist told my family I would need to rest in bed for two-to-three months. I knew I wouldn't be able to do that. I also cancelled the first follow-up appointment with him (and before you say it, allow me: This was a mistake!). I was intent on getting my life back, as quickly as I knew I was capable of. No doctor knew my body better than I. I had been taken down but I would be right back up. I felt good. I felt strong. I felt in control.

   Two days short of three weeks after the fall, I went back to work. The first day was great, no problems. Two hours into the second day I knew I'd made a mistake. I barely made it through that day and haven't been back to work since. The effects of my head injuries came back with a vengeance: regular and recurring dizziness, short but severe headaches, a strange feeling of disorientation, head-rushes, extreme sensitivity to once "normal" sounds--due to the inner ear damage (check-out scanners and microwave beeps go right through my skull), occasional blurred vision, frequently recurring pressure headaches which also blurred my vision and made me dizzy, ringing in my ears, and the almost total lack of smell and inability to taste hot tea. The only things I was capable of doing were walking and working-out, and I was grateful for that. My boss told me my job would be waiting for me, as long as it takes (but you never really know, right?) and I kept the next follow-up appointment with the neurologist in October (2008). Until then, I sat around my apartment and wondered: Will I ever be able to work and support myself again? Will this condition get worse, or will it simply stay like this forever? Will I be able to play drums again? Has this incident forever changed my life? 

   Am I going to die?

   Big questions... for which I did not yet have the answers. I spent the days trying to distract myself by reading, walking, working-out, visiting my mother, cooking, watching TV and playing computer games - looking forward to, and dreading, the follow-up with the neurologist. But no matter what I was doing or where I was at, the conflicting emotions were always with me; lost, determined, worried, hopeful, scared.

  I stubbornly hold on to one thing: I know, whatever the long-term outcome of this turns out to be, I will adjust, and cope, and thrive - as best I can. Physically and mentally I am strong and I will not quietly relinquish control over my life or my spirit. I will fight with everything I have.

   But, I have learned one hard lesson:

   I'm no superman.

If I go crazy now, will you still call me Superman?

   It must be noted that throughout the trauma of this event, my mother has been the strong hand and ray of sunshine which has helped me get through it. We have certainly had our difficult times (I would be concerned about any family relationship which hasn't) but when I was down, literally, she rallied the formidable forces that are all of her and brought them to bear - pity those who stood in her way! And this is still an ongoing battle. Had it not been for her, I would have been completely alone, and I doubt I would have come through this traumatic event as well as I have.

   "Thanks mom... you rule!"

   I love you. 

Mom and Shy

The effects from these injuries are permanent and life-altering: