The Hit on the Highway

On the morning of January 27, 2007, my car kept stalling and I wasn’t feeling well. I finally got the car to start and took it to our mechanic. They checked the car and said there was nothing wrong with it. I decided that I would still go to Universal CityWalk’s Saddle Ranch, even though my car was acting strangely. Around 1:30 A.M. I got in my car alone and got on the 101 freeway, while my friend was driving in front of me. As I approached the Coldwater Canyon exit, my friend’s car stalled, so I put my hazard lights on to indicate that there was an issue. I was trying to find the right time to switch lanes, and I suddenly saw two bright lights heading towards me, in my rearview mirror at a high speed. 

I remember hearing the crash, but nothing else. With the impact, my car ricocheted and spun a couple of times and ended at the slow lane. A Ford pick-up truck hit my car on the passenger side, and after that I just remembered screaming and I passed out. I was whisked away in an ambulance and taken to Providence Holy Cross Hospital, in Mission Hills. My Dad was called by a police officer and was notified that I was in a serious car accident and on life support. 

My devastated parents asked the Trauma Surgeons and Neurosurgeon, what my prognosis was. Doctors said they weren’t sure, since I had two hematomas on my frontal and occipital lobes. My situation was touch and go, meaning that the doctors didn’t want to give false hope. Doctors also commented, If she comes out of the coma, she may not have a memory, and may not be able to talk or even walk.

My parents didn’t leave my side. My dad had the night shift, and my mom took over the day shift. On the thirteenth day, two surgeons told my parents that they would have to perform a Tracheotomy and G-Tube, since I was still in a coma. They were concerned that I might be in a long-term comatose state and suggested that my parents find a hospital that would take patients with long-term comatose. The same day, my mother was sitting next to me and talking to me, when she saw a small silhouette of a woman wearing a light blue shroud over my head. Immediately, she felt a calm and positive feeling that I would be alright. 

On the day of the surgeries, my parents were at the hospital early. In my ICU room, a matronly-looking lady walked in and introduced herself as Sister Lorraine from the order of Saint Joseph. The sister said, “Somebody told me you want me to pray with you.” She sat in between my parents and held their hands while she prayed over me. Then, she just wished them a good day and left. My parents wanted to thank the nurses for sending her to them, but none of the nurses knew of Sister Lorraine. My parents believed that this was just another way of letting them know that I would be alright.

On the morning of February 10, 2007, my mom went to Cedars Sinai to admit me for the long term. Suddenly, my dad saw that I started blinking my eyes. My dad alerted the nurses and doctors right away. One of the doctors said, “Time is on our side.” There were pictures and emotions with words that I pointed to in order to communicate, which surprised the doctors. 

A week later, I began to cough. Apparently, my cough loosened my tracheotomy and blood flew across the room; and I started hemorrhaging. The nurses started holding down the bleeding area to control it, and then took me in for emergency surgery to be cauterized, for the area that was bleeding.

I was at Providence Holy Cross for a month and then went to Rancho Los Amigos National Rehabilitation Center, in Downey, for another month. On the first day, one of the ENT doctors, Dr. Passy, came to remove my tracheotomy and replace it with a passy valve while a urinary catheter was removed by a nurse. Then they scheduled me for physical therapy. For the following 30 days, I had to learn how to walk, talk, and how to control my bodily functions. Every professional did their part, and I was so grateful. One nurse, in particular, was from Africa, she would always come into my room with a big smile and dance for me.

It's the little things I took for granted, like being able to walk or take a shower on my own. I was in a wheelchair the whole time, learning how to walk again or having other people bathe me. I felt very restricted, as well as frustrated, not being able to go where I wanted and not being able to do things on my own. It took away my independence and this pushed me to be determined. I started to push myself to regain my independence and start walking again. On the second day at Rancho, the physical therapist began to work with me to walk again which motivated me to work harder.

After spending a month in Rancho, I came home, and nothing was the same anymore. I lost most of my friends, except for a few, since I had “changed.” I spent several days crying and saying “Why did it happen to me?” My life has changed, but I am grateful for regaining my independence and still being a productive person. I also learned who my true friends are, and who I always cherish. There is still one thing I have yet to learn and conquer. I would love to learn to drive again. There is still a lingering fear of getting behind the wheel of a car, but I’ve come this far; so I know I will do it.

In addition, I am grateful to my parents and my best friend, Jose. They were always there for me when I was in the hospital. It affected me in a positive way, because knowing that I had support meant a lot to me, and still does to this day. They were always helping me and guiding me in the right direction. I’ve gained more independence and emotionally, I’m able to talk about my accident more. I sometimes feel a little bit of frustration and anger, but not like before. It would help me keep my focus at first, it was definitely not easy. I experienced emotional growth. I would go on an emotional roller coaster ride that went between either really sad or “Why did this happen to me?” 

I was angry and frustrated about the whole situation. The anger would happen out of nowhere, and outbursts were out of control sometimes. I got through it with understanding and emotional support. I wish I had it more under control at that time. I see things have improved more than before. I realized a lot of things, like a little voice telling me not to go and I didn’t listen. Now I go with my gut, if I’m not comfortable, I won’t do it. Also, through this, I’ve learned what could’ve been different and who my real friends are; unfortunately, I lost some people that were considered good friends.

Ojen and I (Sophia) talked to Lori a bit more about the coming summer. She is taking a little bit of time off during summer, although she is keeping an eye out for jobs that are available, such as a Hotel Front Desk Agent to gain administration skills and move up the corporate ladder. She has maintained a Public Notary and Signing Agent for Home Loans license. Another step she wants to take is to tackle driving. However, brain injury rehabilitation helps her refamiliarize herself with her driving skills since she has not driven for over fifteen years.

Lori mentions, seven or eight years ago, she attended a support group at Northridge Hospital Medical Center which helped her tremendously with the support the attendees had for each other because they had gone through similar situations. Additionally, the support groups helped with the anger and frustration that might come with a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). She also went to Independent Living Center in Van Nuys and Santa Monica College to gain skills such as searching for and applying to jobs. 

Nowadays, Lori continues with counseling, support groups, and physical and speech therapies while attending BrainFlex for cognitive refinement. 

Lori explains that after having had a TBI there’s still hope, there’s hope for everybody, who’s gone through something like she had, and how things are still possible like going back to school to receive degrees. Because she has — Lori has achieved an AA, BA, and a notary license.

Lori emphasizes that she gained strength going through the loss of her “going out friends” who moved on without her. She explained, that before her accident, she would go to Karaoke with friends and then after her accident, she stopped talking to them. Lori believed she and these folks were great friends. She was there for them and their families for on-call transportation to go places, which she never minded.

One of her frustrating days of anger led her former friend to say: “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t come here anymore, maybe we should stop talking.” and that was the end of that friendship, rather than her friend trying to understand Lori’s frustration. Lori reiterated that she grew sad, and lonely at times, and occasionally she cried– emotionally hurt. 

Although Lori went through a lot and lost some people during hard times, she treasures a few great friends she’s had for 25 years and shares a deeper connection with, Jose, Margaret, and Sharon. She’s overjoyed and feels wonderful that they are in her life and that they have remained friends for so long, regardless of their ups and downs. She highlights that there is an improvement in her anger and frustrations since she is able to catch and control them.

Everyone goes through their share of problems and situations, and it can be overwhelming while it consumes them, though they don’t realize the consequences. Lori went through a lot. She told us a few times about how she felt anger and frustration during her hard times, causing her alienation by friends. 

The Problem Collective sees this situation as an opportunity to promote empathy and support, regardless of the measure. To accomplish this, perhaps view each other’s perspectives and ask yourself: “How would that make me feel?” The idea is to be supportive in any way, rather than no way. Some people can’t even look at someone that they love because it’s so hard, and we are aware of this. However, a short phone call or “Hey are you hungry, should I bring you anything?” or “How about a visit or a movie night?” These simple and friendly gestures show kindness and empathy without taking on responsibilities or obligations to avoid abandonment.