Hello all, it’s been a wild ride. I don’t presume that there aren’t readers out there with bigger challenges, some of whom I parted with in the I.C.U. But, those of you whom I’ve seen recently have made it clear that I have been overdue to write about my experience, and bring you up to speed.
Before I start, please consider the degree to which this little web site worked. It has reached thousands of people —many of whom I don’t even know. It has been suggested that stopping at a lemonade stand, and the bizzare way in which I was hit, piqued some interest. If something happens to you, or there is something that has affected you, let us know here at the Citizen.
First off, I will not entertain you with the terror of the accident itself. In short, my van popped out of “park” and drove across a road —on its own, where I was standing. Apparently it happens now and again, and I’ve heard several stories on this crushing theme recently, so, use your parking brake. Though I was severely injured, my new friend Emily (you were amazing in Calliope!) survived by a miracle. If, as I understand it, I had something to do with this, it is tempered by the fact that it happened to be my van that hit us. …When given lemons?
Moving on.
Yes, I’m still in a lot of pain, near constantly. If I never sneeze again, I’ll be blessed. I can dress myself, and put on a good face for a few hours a day, but I perform best while in bed, er …or on the couch. As my good friend Paul aka “Dr. Ammo,” who was on standby throughout the ordeal, suggested with a wink, “pain is just weakness leaving the body.” So, yes I may look fine when out, but I’m told to sit tight and get used to this for several months, and that I will be dealing with issues for years. Sweet.
Time flies when you’re having fun
It was ten weeks today since my accident. I have spent 99% of that time here at the house, though have made several tours, and even began driving recently. The arc of recovery has been difficult, in part because I got out of the hospital rather quickly. Once I was able to stand without fainting or screaming “gosh darn it,” Laura and I made our move. We waited for the nurses to look the other way, then we lowered ourselves out the hospital window with bed sheets, into the sun roof of the car, and drove off into the mountains. Bonny and Clyde in an Accord.
I arrived home half-conscious, but breathing, during the high-water run off —and so began my narcotic summer. Unable to read, I was saved by the only sports that really interest me, World Cup soccer, and the Tour De France. So, I ate, slept and zoned in an easy chair for many moons before moving to my bed. Though it is likely old news to the brilliant readers of the Citizen, it’s stunning, but true; after these geeky euro-sports ended, and even while possessing every channel that DISH NETWORK offers, there are countless times I could find literally nothing of interest on that TV.
Recently I’ve felt good enough to deal with the confuser, but perhaps one of the reasons I have been remiss in not writing sooner is that this experience has been extremely humbling and I didn’t know what to write? The outpouring on and off line, the cards, the calls —all of this has felt disproportionate to the accident. However, as Laura points out, I missed much of the drama, and recall little of the two weeks in the hospital, the week prior, and much of the first couple weeks home. Despite this, I do not miss for a moment the tremendous outpouring of goodness and prayer from so many of you. Laura is sure it is the reason I came home so soon, I believe it as well.
Backing up
This is probably the most bizarre aspect of the journey; The drugs erased much of the experience, sans the horrific memories of pain, and a parade of fourteen year-old Doctors asking me to rate said pain on a scale of one-to-ten. “Well golly Doc, do you really want me to rate it now? —Or after I hit my one-hundredth self-activated morphine dose of the day? …which I’m doing right now thank you very much …ahh yes, where were we? Oh yes, my pain level? it’s STILL a ten pal…I mean Doctor.”
When I was at my worst I recall simply staring at the white-smocked official who was asking the pain level question yet again. We rarely get to just stare at people who are endlessly, and professionally, empathetic. In my defense, I often could not react as everything was like molasses. After a long period of staring, they’d jot something on a clipboard and leave. I presume they were writing “ten,” —or maybe “the guy in room 156 just stares at me with a weird Oxycodine menace. He looks nuts.”
When you have that many broken ribs, and have just come out of surgery, the “pain level rating” answer tended to reflect my mood rather than an actual relevant scale. So, other than the constant flow of morphine via the PICC line and my epidural, I also had the aforementioned self-activating morphine button, allowing me to induce my own euphoria (aka; a shitty half-sleep) every ten minutes. As I recall, I hit it, hmmm, exactly every ten minutes.
But, all the silliness of a life and death tragedy involving small children aside, the trauma team at HRRMC was top-notch, they worked quickly. They literally kept me alive. They made the right decision to call the helicopter and transfer me to St. Anthony’s in Denver. The I.C.U staff at St. Anthony’s was unbelievable, and saved my life. When else do you get the opportunity to work with people who do not complain as they give an enema to some old salty-mouthed cowboy at three a.m.? If you have the opportunity, buy an ICU nurse a latte. At the risk of generalizing the tasks of these consumate professionals, the closest I have yet to come to seeing an angel was when, amid the post midnight beeping of my I.C.U. systems, one fine nurse asked, with a bubbly smile, if I’d like “a suppository to help get things a’movin.” I wish I were making this up. I stared at her long enough that she may have confused my gaze for the earlier menace, rather than the awe I felt (I rejected her offer). Shortly thereafter Laura and I planned our escape.
Kings and Queens
The hospital provided a glimpse into an alternate world for me. This was because I was in an Intensive Care Unit, which is all business, all the time. There are few chairs for visitors, no flowers allowed and the nurses tend to be young and mentally tough. I lost track of day and night, and the eventual resolve, and possibly the most powerful moment, was the first time I stood up, only to realize I’d lost 20% of my body weight and was unable to walk. The first step forward was an exercise in forcing my brain to tell my legs what to do. The realization that I had to relearn something so basic was both bizarre and liberating. This was the moment I was most thankful to be alive and understood the gravity of my accident, the amount of time I’d lost, and the scope of recovery ahead of me. This was at a time when we were told that standard recovery time dictated that I’d be in the hospital for many weeks to come.
Clearly, that was not going to happen, and I decided to set a world record for my recovery time.
Healing power
What has been my therapy? I decided on my drive home that I was going to take every piece of advice offered. I use the PT’s theraband, I take copious vitamins and supplements, I heat, ice, sleep, walk, sit, juice, eat protein, go to the pool, get massages, meditate, do Tai Chi and anything else I can do. Well, not Sumo wrestling, or power lifting. Also, bowling and Rugby are out along with trampolines, pogo sticks, competition cinderblock throwing, Extreme Mexican Cage Fighting, practicing the Heimlich maneuver, building a nation’s railroad, wearing a wetsuit that is much too small, or doing any more TV commercials for (The Revolutionary) Bowflex.
Next will be acupuncture, stretching and getting serious on the trainer.
Good vibes, man
Many people have asked about the spiritual aspect of my journey. I’ll keep that to myself. But, I will say that it was, and is, powerful. The depth of love I have felt, from so many, has been overwhelming. My emotions have been raw, and our family is closer than ever. Have I felt anger? Naaaah. That’s the past, and a waste of energy. I can’t imagine how things would be different had Emily not walked away, and I am somewhat haunted by this good fortune. Now, all things must move forward, and all my energy must be conserved. Efficiency in thought and movement is the priority each minute of each day. It has to be, I’m in pursuit of a world record.
with love, bd
Special thanks:
This must be how it is for an author, but there are a few folks I need to thank. My brother Bob Vallevona and his lovely wife Aleah, who essentially followed the helicopter to Denver, ensuring Laura got there safely in the middle of the night. He then sat bedside for days. My mother-in-law Kathy Reinhold who, having just arrived in Colorado for a summer of rest after her husband passed away in April, watched over the boys, the dogs, the house and the scheduling of trips to see me. To my posse, Fish Follet, and Scott and Angela Damman who were always on standby, and were also there when I awoke. Lee Hart, who held down the fort in so many ways, both in Salida as well as Denver, again proving the power of the written word. Thanks to my sister Chris, who, without blinking, got on a plane in South Carolina, and landed bedside, holding both Laura and I hostage to her steady, calming influence. Thanks also to Mike and Jillian Lakritz, who graciously opened their home in Denver to my visiting family, and helped to make sense of the medical mumbo jumbo. And to Zack Hughes, Hugo, Wes Stobbe, Steve Stewart, Joe Judd, G-Love, Fish Builders and everyone else who came up and built the skate ramp while I was away (who else did I miss here?) This was no small thing, as, upon my return I was able to watch my youngest son fly on his birthday, on a ramp I said I’d complete…Many tears that day boys. Thanks to all the people who have brought us meals -too many to mention, the ‘ol Salida food train is like a secret society of community giving. Thanks to the Salida Fire Department..Alas, too many competent guys to name, but specifically I want to shout out to Chris Bainbridge and Ron Parks. As I rebuilt the accident, I realized how The Salida Fire Department was the key to my being alive today. The trauma center would have been pointless without their expertise. Everything took place within fractions of an inch. The removal of the van from my chest was surgical in nature, yet somehow took place in mere minutes I’m told. To Dr. Paul Ammotelli in Spokane, my close friend and medical ally who may be responsible for the nurses asking if I was “use to being in charge” (I was simply advocating for my medical care!?). So, thanks to you all, but thanks mostly to my unbelievable wife, Laura. I can say without any sense of drama, that I would likely not have made it through this without you. You have yet to leave my side. A front line reminder of what’s important. There are so many to thank..thank you. bd
Powerful stuff Bill. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and keeping us up to date on your progress. Keep up with the PT.
Your unique insight to your experience makes for wonderful reading! But that aside, we are SO glad you are home and doing well, or as well as you are, this soon after. I know that the atmosphere of this town as well as the love and support of your friends and family will surely aid in a quick and complete recovery! Our best to you Bill!
I am so glad to hear you are progressing through your recovery (as I knew you would!). I expect nothing less than world record recovery. I look forward to seeing you around soon. We’re holding a spot for you still on our roller derby ref crew! ;)
Lisa Malde
Bill, I’m so glad to hear you’re doing better. Get well. Much love from the Pacific Northwest.
More tears…heart wrenching, honest and beautifully expressed. Thank you so much for sharing your experience with us. Thank you for reminding me what’s really important. Fast healing…..Emile’
I keep asking myself what we (I, the Judds, the Donavans, Salida, the world) would have done without you. I’m so happy we don’t have to find out for a long, long time.
Wonderful, Bill … the writing, the story, and most of all the degree of love, support and determination that has brought you to this point. Carry on knowing your community remains beside you.
Years from now you’re going to have the best story…
“Remember that time I ran over myself”
Bill, I’m so glad your moving on the path to recovery.
It’s good to know your back at the key board.
You did it again; made me cry like the accident had just happened. But, this time they were tears of joy, rather than fear. Thank you for sharing your synopsis. When I see you around town you make things look easy. But now I know you really are still recovering. So blessed that you and your family are in my life. Hang in there.
Your indomitable spirit is a lesson for us all. Through the worst of times comes the best of times. Greatest of blessings on you and yours.
A powerful, moving story. Thanks for sharing this with us. Your tale is a testament to the strength of community and the power of love. Heal well, my friend. You continue to inspire.
Wow Bill, Thanks for the update. Not a day has gone by in the past couple of months without thinking about you, you’re family and your recovery. Multiply that by the other gazillion people that know and love you and multiply that times the gazillion of people they have shared your story with and you have all that good juju you have obviously felt. It won’t go away anytime soon…keep up the recovery!
Thanks for writing this down, Bill…You are an inspiration!
Thanks for sharing Bill. What a great reminder to be grateful, thankful and patient with our lives. Still think of you and your recovery all the time.
Wow Bill, what a crazy story (and might I add you are no doubt a skilled writer and have an alluring way with words). A relief to hear that you are out and about and a reminder about what is one of the greatest parts of Salida – the community (perhaps the reason for the large heart on the side of what is otherwise a desolate little hill). Thank you for sharing this story – as it is a reminder that you never truly know what life is going to bring you each day and that even what could be considered the worst thing to happen on a pleasant spring afternoon can be a very important reminder as to why we are given this time on earth. All the best to you and your family and might you be 100% in what seems to be a blink of an eye.
Bill, good one friend. Can’t help but think of my own Salida experience. When Read, Syd, Homer and I came limping back from the woods last winter, it was as if Salida opened the door, ushered us to the fire, made us meals and did whatever it could to soothe our souls. What a town…… Can’t tell you ………. tell all you people….. just how happy I am to have found the place where I undoubtedly want to raise my family, live, play, work, and die. And I am really grateful that you, Bill, are still here to do it with us!
Love to you, brother, and to all who have rallied to be there for you – near and far.
Hey Bill. Chris’ friends from SC…SO GLAD you are mending (I use that word very respectfully) at home now…we’re not taking you off the prayer list for a while, if that’s okay…we figure it won’t hurt!!
Peace.
Thanks for the update Bill……so very happy to know you’re surrounded by people who both care and empower you. Best of health to you as time goes by. Much love and energy from Mad Town. Hope to see you back for a visit sometime.
Jay
Excellent writing Bill! So glad to hear you are on to your recovery and moving forward. “Narcotic Summer” and the (docs who cannot refrain from asking you to put quantitative value to your pain)…….. I can relate to! Anyway, much love to you and yours……….and continue to be patieint with your healing! Love and Peace!
Les
Bill, You are an inspiration. Thank you. Lots of love and healing, Crissy
I am blown away. Well said Bill…
Bill,
It’s great to see you recovering and even better to see you haven’t lost that spit fire attitude that you are famous for. You are a major part of the backbone of this community that stretches for miles. And it’s just great to have you back even if it is at a slower pace.
Billy, billy…so great to hear your words. You’re a true sage, my friend. I’m still trying to pick a worthy theme song to accompany your wise words. I think we’ve all been blessed in this whole ordeal, in many ways we’ll never quite understand. Godspeed in all that is ahead…we got your back the whole way. Much love to you and your family.
– Pete (& Allison, Francesca & Eva)
Bill,
We are so happy to hear that you are progressing each day. You and Laura have overcome such obstacles together. Salida is lucky to have you and we are all learning lessons of love from your misfortune. The best of luck and speed in your recovery. Hugs to all of you,
Dana and Karen Lemmerman
We’ve been thinking of you and your family every day since the accident and sending you our healing thoughts. It seems the same of all of Salida and beyond. It’s so great to see you out again, even if it’s only for brief moments. We wish you the best of luck in your record breaking recovery.
Bill,
Don’t fret. The Bowflex people have the Thighmaster. You can still do commercials! Glad to see you back in the game brother.
wow, Bill, intense, scary, inspiring. Thank you. Salida has really missed you this summer. heal-on
You are to be with us always in heart, mind and spirit.
Steve
As a writer I am awed by your story and your eloquence. Bill, you don’t know me but I was in your sister’s first wedding (and she in mine). She and Bruce came to visit us last year and they accompanied us on a shakedown cruise for our sailboat.
When you feel up to it, Darren and I would like to take you, Laura, and kids on a cruise in the San Juans for a long weekend.
Our thoughts are with you.
thank you for this – I need to keep it handy for all the times I get upset over nothing to remind me to have a little balance when it comes to what’s important. I wish you all the best and many happy healthy days to come.
Thanks to ALL!
Blush.
Check this out..Last night The Salida Fire Department received special recognition by the Mayor, and their Chief, for saving “the lives of two citizens.” This took place in a surprise ceremony. Laura and I had been sworn to secrecy for a few weeks. They deserved it.
Here’s a statistic…within 15 minutes of receiving the call, they had a van lifted in the air, and two people on the way to the E.R. That’s training. That’s teamwork. That’s freakin’ fast! It was an honor to be there for their well deserved medal ceremony.
Thanks again for all your nice words..bd
Thanks for sharing your experience, Bill. Keep firing on all cylinders. You’ll be up on that half pipe in no time!
Hugs to the DD. Nathan, Andrea and Kian
Hi Bill. Your beautifully written account of the accident is a tribute to the amazing person that you are. Looking forward to seeing you again soon, and thanks for always being supportive no matter what you’re going through!
This is beautiful, Bill. Thank you to all the lovely people who have helped you through this, especially Laura. Someone passed along a book about kindness to me and there’s a poem in there speaks so well to the connection between pain/loss and kindness. Here are a couple of the lines that rang true for me:
“Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things
feel the future dissolve in a moment…
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letter and purchase bread..”
Anyway, you said it best…
it is humbling and beautiful to see this outpouring of love. But there are SO many people who love you, cry with you, laugh with you.
Hugs,
Karen, Ben and Aidan
Bill,
Thanks so much for sharing your heart with us. I am sure to relive it while writing it was very hard for you. You are still much in our prayers as is your family.
Bill — the love and kindness bestowed upon you, Laura and the boys is but a mere reflection of that same love and kindess you all have so naturally given to others your entire lives. Life is a beautiful thing, man, and I’m glad you’re still here to participate in it.
Bill,
After reading your words I was struck with the realization that the transformation of survival is permanent. We are all survivors. We all collectively felt your pain, our pain. And we rejoice in your survival. Our survival. Somehow, concealed in the most unimaginative circumstance can be found a mystery that many of us have been trying to unravel.
Namely, that we who survive through horrible experiences are left with an indelible lasting aftertaste of how beautiful it was and how we wouldn’t trade the experience for anything in the world. A short turn of the pedals from “I’m going to fuckin’ die” to a view of heaven.
I have felt deep compassion for your pain and abject joy for your newfound wealth and wonder in the face of calamity. Love to you and family.
Thank you, Bill, for sharing your story. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this event. I’m glad to have the opportunity to get to know you and your family. It’s rather amazing that our family’s lives have intersected in such a dramatic way. We’ve tried selling lemonade again a few times, but I’m not sure we will ever sell it again like we have before. Emily is fine with it but some of us have a hard time. Maybe next summer we’ll be ready to try again. I’ll let everyone know when we are up and running and you can all stop by for a glass.
May you never sneeze again. This had me in tears. SO GLAD you are healing, BD. So glad. Love, Laura M.