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Debra Sanders, Outskirts Press, Inc. (page 1 of 4) Page 1 of 4
A Career in Public Education, a Traumatic Brain Injury, a Memoir of Surviving Both
School psychologist Debra Sanders doesn't believe anything is wrong after crashing her pickup through Bluff, Utah's "Welcome" sign one day in April 2003. After all, she feels no bumps, breaks, or even bruises. Then the trouble begins — difficulty concentrating, poor memory, excessive sleeping, and extreme irritability. And that's just for starters. Suddenly, someone who has built a thriving career serving public school special education students is in need of help herself.
This excerpt — taken from Ms. Sanders' book — takes place in the hospital after her crash. Her truck is 45 miles away, totaled, and being hauled away from the crash site. She has been evaluated and released. Feeling enormously lucky to have emerged from the crash unscathed, she sits quietly in the hospital visitor's lounge, looking straight ahead and having no idea what to think or do next.
Chapter 17: Keyless Gates
Sheltered by the Abajo (Blue) Mountains on the west, and the San Juan Mountains to the east, it is rumored that at one time in the 1800s, Monticello harbored so many fugitives that it was known as the Outlaw Trail. It's hard to say if this is just folklore or not, but it's easy enough to imagine bandits, cowboys, and American Indians finding enough places to hide in the mountains and canyons surrounding the town to think it could be true.
Twenty-five miles north of Blanding, and with a slightly smaller population of about two thousand residents, Monticello is the county seat for its fourteen thousand citizens. Although the Lymans received their revelation in Blanding in the late 1800s, fulfillment was not to occur until 1998, which is when the Mormon Temple was built and dedicated in Monticello. And while there are numerous wards throughout the region, Monticello houses the only Temple for the area's thirteen thousand members.
Monticello also houses the county's only hospital.
Shortly after arriving at the hospital, a state trooper met me in the X-ray room in order to take my statements. Confidently, I assured him that I was unscathed and functioning perfectly well. No, I hadn't rolled the truck or lost consciousness, I told him. I described for him where the accident occurred on the north side of the canyon, and in answer to his question, I explained that no, I hadn't made it to Bluff.
"Well, actually," he said, "you did make it to Bluff."
I looked at him in surprise.
"Yeah, you rolled your truck on the south side of the canyon, not the north. You were just on the outskirts of Bluff."
"Really? Wow." I was sure I hadn't gone through the canyon, despite recalling the splintering of the Welcome to Bluff sign. I obviously was not making any sort of logical connection between these two facts.
"Oh, well." I smiled, still somewhat perplexed after hearing that I had actually been on the other side of the canyon. "I'm just glad no one was hurt, and that I'm coming out of this without so much as a bruise."
Actually, once the technicians began taking their requisite scans and X-rays, I did discover that the bottoms of my feet were slightly bruised, as was my hip bone, where I must have seriously challenged the seat belt's ability to keep me confined.
Still, aside from these inconsequential owies, and the oddly constricted feeling around my head, I was pronounced fine and released to go home.
My truck, forty-five miles away, had been declared totaled and was in the process of being hauled away from the accident site along with my now defunct bike.
I was sitting quietly in the hospital visitors' lounge. I had no way to get home, and I couldn't imagine what I should do at that point.
I apparently looked as confused as I felt.
"Can I help you, honey?" I glanced up at the woman behind the receptionist counter, thinking how kind it was of her to call me honey, even though we must have been approximately the same age.
"Oh...no, I'm okay, thanks," I said. I thought about this for a second and added, "Well...actually, I was in an accident this morning, and I...I don't have a ride home."
"Are you from here?"
"No, Blanding."
"Well, is there someone you could call to pick you up? A husband, a friend?"
"Oh, no, they're all working." It never occurred to me that this might be a legitimate reason to call someone and ask if they could help me out.
Actually, it never occurred to me to make a call at all.
I fretted over this dilemma while the receptionist stared at me. Most likely she was contemplating the oddity of my not having family to call on for help. The large and extended Mormon families that heavily populate Monticello and Blanding make it very unusual for a person to be without someone nearby to pitch in and help out in a crisis.
Or, maybe she just wondered why a fairly well-dressed and professional-looking woman was acting like a lobotomy patient from the state hospital.
"Excuse me...maybe, well, actually, maybe I could call someone I work with. May I use your phone?"
"You bet, honey. Just dial nine first."
I placed a call to my office in Blanding and spoke with my coworker and friend, Alta Begay. Alta indicated that she (and pretty much everyone else) had already heard about the accident, and she would be happy to pick me up.
Within less than two hours, Alta had me back at home, and I was sending out emails telling everyone about my morning — describing how lucky I was that absolutely nothing was wrong.
Then I crawled into bed and promptly fell asleep.
* * * * *
I woke up Wednesday. At least that's what I remember doing. Apparently, between Monday afternoon and Wednesday morning my mental Palm Pilot experienced an electrical outage. As far as I could tell, I had slept the better part of nearly forty hours.
Walking into work early that morning, my head felt like it was stuffed with a mountain of cotton batting. Gosh, did I even feed my dogs? Oh, I must have. How odd it is that it is Wednesday. Did I eat? This is so weird; I can't believe it's Wednesday. Jeez, I feel like a Martian's taken over my brain.
The thoughts bobbled around like anchorless buoys in high seas.
Oh, well. I shrugged. This will clear up once I've been awake a little longer.
From A Matter of Panache: A Career in Public Education, a Traumatic Brain Injury, a Memoir of Surviving Both by Debra Sanders, published by Outskirts Press, Inc. Copyright © 2008 by Debra Sanders. Used with permission. www.debrasanders.com.
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