Saturday, August 25
My birthday weekend started with the most incredible day long music festival in Monterey that Mumford & Sons hosted. This is before they got really really big, so the intimate gathering was something to remember. I bought a shirt there as a goody to remember. I still have that shirt. It's bloody, dirty, tattered and cut up the side so they could get it off of me in the hospital. Surely a different type of keepsake. But man that shirt was great for the one day I used it.
Sunday, August 26
Morning: A little groggy from the festivities the night before, my friend Jared and I slowly made our way to a yummy breakfast and headed down the 1 to trailhead of Sykes Hotsprings in Big Sur, CA where our 2-day (turned 5 hour) backpacking adventure would begin. We arrived around noon and laid out all of the stuff for packing. We quickly realized there was WAY TOO MUCH. I was wearing my dad's North Face steel framed backpack from the 70's so that didn't really lend itself to a lot of extra weight. But with a birthday to be celebrated, we stuffed little goodies in with the essentials. Our friend Danny was planning to meet us the next day with the finer luxuries. We departed the trailhead around 1PM.
The trail to sykes is a moderate hike with a steep climb in the beginning to kick your booty and then a winding path taking you away from the ocean and up the canyon following the Big Sur River. There are several creek crossings along the way to take breaks.
4PM - Our last break was on a log about where we scarfed a Cliff bar that would hopefully carry us through the last couple miles to dinner. Addmittedly, I was a little cranky. A tad hung over, a tad tired, a tad hungry and ready to be there. But still with 4 miles to go. I tuned on some music to change up the headspace and we continued on our way. If we had just stayed on that log for 30 more seconds...
5:30PM - About a mile past Barlow Flatts camp, I was leading the way up a slight incline. On the right was a bank of hundreds of trees continuing up the mountain. And on the left was a steep slope covered in remnants of trees past fallen. I heard the crack of a tree in front and to the right of me up the mountain. This is all I remember.
I have a brief flash of memory during the fall of getting the wind knocked out of me and feeling a blow to my forehead. The next memory I have is being about 15 feet down the steep slope on my stomach with my head down the mountain. My waist strap had broken and my backpack had flipped over my head with the chest strap choking me. I had no idea what had just happened, but I did know that I was in trouble. I let out some gasping calls for help.
Jared had ended up further down the mountain, but unharmed. Within a short period of time, he had crawled back up to help. We managed to unbuckle the chest strap and get the pack off providing a brief moment of relief. I slowly started to open my eyes and take inventory of what was going on. blood. lots of blood. Without moving my body too much, we took inventory of the situation. Blood coming out of mouth, nose and head. Giant abrasions along most of my body, hard to breathe and intense throbbing in my head and upper abdomen. I passed out and came back a couple times until I was stable enough to comprehend what was going on.
6PM: At this point, I was sitting against a tree when I heard the familiar jingle of oncoming hikers. We yelled up to them for help. Nia, Rachel and their sweet black lab were on their way back from their hot springs day trip when they heard our cries from below. They had heard the tree fall from a ways back, but had no idea what the result would be shortly thereafter. Coincidences that are not coincidences at all:
1. Nia and Rachel are runners.
2. It isn't that common to do a day trip to Sykes. It's about 22 miles round trip, so it's much more common to hike in, spend the night and hike out the next day. Because of this, they didn't have a lot of stuff and were able to get out to call for help fast.
3. These are the last 2 people we saw that night.
Without hesitations, the girls threw down a clean towel to help clean me up. They talked us through the situations so we could evaluate and make a plan. At this point, we realized that the blood from my mouth was from biting my tongue when I hit my head. Phew. Also at this point - shock and adrenaline kicked in. And for whatever reason, I just tuned over on my hand and knees and started to crawl over the fallen tree to get up to the trail. All 3 of them were trying to stop me. I don't remember much, but the tunnel vision to get my ass up onto a flat surface. So I did that. Shock is an incredible thing. I went from writhing in pain and tears to climbing back up within minutes.
Once up on the trail, I decided that I also wanted to keep hiking to the hot springs bc that apparently sounded like a great place to wash my wounds. I'm really glad there were other people there who were more rational. We decided that the best thing to do would be to get to a place where we could set up the tent and get my wounds taken care of while Nia and Rachel ran out to call 911 (cell service was 9 miles away.) So we slowly hobbled back to barlow flats to make camp for the night
6:30PM - Nia and Rachel set off on their way for help - my fate in their hands. Incredibly Vulnerable moment #1.
Jared made a fire and I tried to help myself. Tears of frustration started to fall as the shock faded and the realization of my current state set in. I was 9 miles into the woods, completely mangled head to toe, unable to do anything, pain worsening and I had just gotten hit by a 18in in diameter falling Bay Tree. what. the. fuck. How does one even start to make sense of that. A humbling moment to say the least. As night fell, the shivers that come after you get really bad wounds started to creep in. We had a tiny little first aide kit without bandages big enough to cover the wounds. So they stayed open, raw, susceptible to infection and sensitive to the crisp night air. I tried to stay warm by the fire, but my energy level was starting to drastically diminish.
8PM - by nightfall, I had no other option but to lay down. My breath had become very shallow as there was piercing pain in my chest with each breath. My abdomen and head pounded with an aching throb that worsened as the temperature dropped and time went on.
The next several hours were some of the most humbling, and miserable, of my life. The lowlights included:
1. Another search was going on closer to the road. So a helicopter flew over 4 times. I thought that it was searching for me and couldn't find me. I can't accurately describe the desperation I felt every time I heard it fly off into the distance again as my physical state was getting worse.
2. Coyotes. There was a pack of coyotes nearby that kept howling. All I kept thinking is "I'm a big bloody piece of meat. why is this happening"
3. Bc of my chest pain, I could on;y lay on my side. But both sides had burn wound degree abrasions. I'll let you use your imagination there.
5. Those abrasions started sticking to my pants. Fuck that hurt.
4. As time passed and the temp dropped, my body stiffened. This meant that I could not move to go to the bathroom, change positions bc my legs were numb, or do anything at all on my own.
5. I could't cry. This is the time where my (semi-concussed) head started to wander. It didn't go to many pretty places. Crying made the pain in my chest shoot through my entire body. To keep that in was pure torture.
Monday, August 27
Midnight - One thing that my brain loved to do during this time was calculate how long it would be until help arrived. The girls left at 6:30PM. It probably took them 2-3 hours to get to cell service. Then they would need to organize help and get to me. Midnight sounded about right. Midnight came and went. Nothing. 1AM came and went. Nothing. At this point, my hope was so small. Maybe the girls didn't tell someone - they are strangers (duh - this wouldn't happen, but at the time I was not rational), Maybe they couldn't find me. No helicopters anymore. Maybe we'd have to wait till morning and Jared would need to hike out and I'd stay here alone. Maybe I wouldn't make it until then. The rabbit hole was deep and endless.
1:30AM - In the midst of this emotional low, I was constantly scanning the dark surroundings in desperation to find some life. Someone to help us. It's probably the only time in my life that I will hope to see a human in the woods. And at 1:30 AM, that time had come. I saw a headlamp. I heard the loud footsteps. Like an army marching through the forrest, one headlamp after another rounded the corner. The place we were stationed was down a steep trail off the main trail. SO we started shouting. And this is where I can't quite describe the rebirth of hope. One by one, each of the 14 members *heroes* of the search & rescue team, who were the 2nd on-calls, came from all the way up from Santa Cruz, Monterey and Carmel to save my ass.
The next hour was spent taking inventory of the injuries, getting vitals/ IV situated, finding stabilization and loading me up on stretcher made to navigate the Big Sur Terrain. They wouldn't use a helicopter to get my bc there were too many trees. So it took awhile for them to assemble a secondary S&R team since the first was on another accident closer to the road (the heli I was hearing earlier), make a plan, get to Big Sur and hike in. Every man had at least 50lbs of gear plus their full uniform. They are truly remarkable human beings.
The next 5 hours were spent on said stretcher. This thing has a rope ladder on the front where 3 guys acted as the accelerator going uphill, and 3 guys on the back who acted as the breaks going downhill, Then one guy right behind my head who held the stretcher up and acted as the shocks while going over trees/rivers/rocks etc. I wasn't allowed any water or pain meds bc they weren't sure what was going on inside. I also couldn't sleep due to concussion. And bac to the chest pain - if I couldn't cry bc the movement hurt my chest too much, imagine what bouncing around on a stretcher for 5 hours felt like - on the wounds that were not completely dried to my pants. Yeah - fucking sucked.
6:30AM - we weren't to the road yet when they finally got cell service. First thing to do was call my parents. To call my parents in this state, after they lost their only other child, my brother, only 3 years prior, oh the heartbreak. I felt guilt for doing this to them, I felt their fear and sadness - everything I had already been experienced was now amplified by the fact that they were now feeling it too. Oh the joys of being an empath...
7:30AM - As the sun started to lighten the sky, we arrived to the ambulance that was waiting in the parking lot. Sandy was the paramedic, the sweetest man to meet that morning. In an effort to not let me fall asleep, he asked me everything on that hour ride to Community Hospital Of Monterey Bay (CHOMP.) He didn't ask how my body was feeling, he already knew. He asked about my heart, my emotions, my fears, my family and Brooklin and the next few days. You know how certain people are just placed for certain reasons? Sandy was placed in my life at that moment to help me process what had just happened and prepare me for what was to come. A transition that was critical in my mental wellbeing. He also asked if we should stop to buy a lotto ticket bc never in his 30 years as a paramedic had he heard of someone getting hit by a falling tree. (come to find out that the odds are 1 in 32 Million - maybe I should have taken him up on the offer. His sense of humor spoke my language and maybe even found a small smile.
9AM - I was checked in to the ICU at CHOMP and immediately scanned head to toe to understand injuries. I was forced to lay on my back in the CAT scan and the pain was so unbearable that I screamed. "Can we get some more morphine, please?" the nurse requested "Oh and by the way, can you try to stay still?" Sure... I'll get right on that.
10AM - The CT scan showed that I was bleeding internally, had badly bruised lungs and had hit my head. The hospital records noted that the liver laceration was a grade 2-3 on a scale of 1-6. A grade 3 or above requires medical intervention within the first hour (the golden hour) to stop the bleeding. Here I am - 17 hours later.
A helicopter was ordered immediately to transport me to the Level 1 Trauma Center at San Jose Regional Hospital where I spent the next 4 days.
The first order of business was getting my internal bleeding stabilized. Little did they know, my body had already done that on its own. Magical. This is where Brooklin saw me for the first time. She cried. I cried. I was unrecognizable. Not the mommy she knew. Not the way I ever wanted her to see me. And apparently my breath stunk - that's mostly what she remembers. Which I think it a good thing. I don't remember much of the rest of the day as they finally let me sleep. Phew.
Tuesday, August 28, My 26th Birthday
Things were almost stable, but they couldn't figure out why I was throwing up so much. Several times through the night I was up. Oh the pain of throwing up in pain. Yuck. Tuns out, I was allergic to Zophran. The medicine they administer intravenously to stop nausea usually caused by the pain meds. Oh the irony... To stop the vomiting, I was given a really intense medicine that put me to sleep. So that's how I spent my birthday from 2PM on through the next 14 hours.
Thursday, August 30
In the afternoon, I was finally able to go home. My dad loaded me up in the car. I looked like I had gotten in a fight with a tree... Ha!...oh wait... Twigs sticking out of my hair, blood and dirt still on my face, 2 solid black eyes. I asked for a burger on the way home. Needless to say, we went through the drive-through...
The next week was spent at my parents house where I was visited by a burn wound care nurse several times. She bathed me and teated all of my wounds including a gnarly infection I had gotten due to a laceration on my right hand. I already feel there is nothing I could quite do to repay all of the sacrifices my parents had made to raise us, but to be laid out on their couch as an independent adult and have them do everything for me again - that's as humbled as you can get, folks.
On day 10 of recovery, as I was just starting to bounce back, I was hit with the first bought of poison oak of my life. It had gotten in my blood and had delayed onset. It was everywhere. Just to throw Salt - Errrrr, Poison Oak - on the wound.
This concludes Part One of this story. Part Two will follow in the coming weeks. I'm sure you think that the actual act of getting hit by a tree is the catalyst of this story, but as the one who lived to tell the tale, I can assure you that the months that followed were just as transformative, tragic, resilient, sudden and juicy as the hours that followed - both physically and emotionally. Both of which I still deal with, I mean - invite with open arms - to this day. Stay tuned...