Moment of Impact, Part 1

Did you ever think that running into someone from your past would start out like “Wow, I heard you died”?  

Thankfully, I haven’t heard that in years, but before MySpace, Facebook & Twitter, word of mouth was really the only thing people had to go on.  From the time I started writing this, it’s been 13 years, 9 months, 1 week & 1 day since that almost became a reality. Approximately 7.2 million seconds ago, something happened to me that has literally effected every day since, and will continue to until my last breath.  Some of you may know the story, others may know parts of it.  I’ve always wanted to get this “on paper” so to speak.  Not really sure why, but now that I have the opportunity to do so, here goes nothing.

It was Friday, February 9th, 2001, I was working as an hourly supervisor in the kitchen at the 99 Restaurant in Danvers, MA.  We lived in Woburn at the time & my parents were up at a friend’s house in Maine for the weekend, so Cyndi & I were going to enjoy an empty house like any normal 22 yr old couple would…  I left work around 10 or so, heading 128 southbound.  The last thing I remember to this day was driving, nothing special, listening to music as I always do.  

The accident was the result of a drunk driver.  The man was driving south on 128, hit one of the ramp signs & spun out, facing north.  He was so loaded (2.5x the legal limit in MA) that he started to drive the wrong way on 128.  I was driving a 2001 Plymouth Neon and he hit the front quarter panel on my side, sending me across all four lanes. Apparently there was a nurse a few cars behind us & she pulled over to keep me with it until help arrived.  I was med-flighted to MGH and had to have 128 shut down to allow this to occur.  Some people I know were actually stuck in that traffic that night, as weird as that sounds.

Next thing I remember after that was waking up to a nurse (or doctor) standing over me.  The lights pierced my eyes, like when you wake up and the sun shines on you for the first time.  The next few hours/days is, between going thru withdrawals from some heavy pain meds & numerous panic attacks, a blur.  I remember hearing that I was in a really bad car accident.  Bad enough that I was lucky to be alive.  Bad enough that I was in a medically induced coma for around 3 weeks.  Bad enough that I have zero recollection of any of it… still.  I only know what was told to me by the staff at MGH, my family & my lawyer

I broke my left elbow, needed a plate to keep that together, which I had removed the following year. The lower part of right leg was shattered & the upper part of my left leg had a break in it as well.  Both needed metal rods to heal.  I lost my spleen & needed a graph on my descending aorta.  I was told the severity of my injuries & how the chances of a full recovery were slim.  Docs told me that I may need assistance walking for a long time, cold and damp weather would cause pain & that my cooking career had more than likely come to an end due to the stress on a chef’s legs.  

I had a great support system, my family & Cyndi rarely left my side, and my 2 best friends visited often, bringing things to make my stay better. I was in such a mental funk, depression maybe, who knows. When I was alone, I wanted company. When I had company, I didn’t want to have visitors.  I’d never been so helpless in my life & it’s a horrible feeling.  I remember feeling pity for myself for a few days, asking why this had happened to me, what had I done to deserve all that had gone on.  I can’t pinpoint when that pity faded, but I started to feel lucky to be alive.  I knew the road was going to be a long one, but I couldn’t let some doctor tell a stubborn kid from Somerville that I wasn’t going to be able to do something.  Anyone that really knows me understands that I’ve never done well with people telling me that I can’t do something.  Call it being defiant if you will, it’s gotten better with age & maturity, but to this day, I still credit that defiance for being a catalyst for me to start the road to recovery

I was to be sent to a rehab hospital to stay there until I was well enough to go home, however, how efficient that “well” was going to be was up in the air.  Little did I know, that ride from MGH to the rehab was going to show me the biggest act of kindness by a group of people that I had ever seen…

(To be continued)

Paul Dube

Host of The Sports Den & Chef at Smokey Bones.

Defiant by will.  A true life miracle by every other standard.  

No Regrets . . .

I have this motto, this aspiration really, to move forward each day with no regrets.

This applies to things as small buying the silly item that caught my eye to the big things like saying "I love you" even when it's scary, overdue or the opposite thing your temper really wants to spit out.

Sometimes I'll hesitate, allow myself to sit with whatever it is for a minute or day or two and then straighten my posture and go for it...whatever "it" may be.   Occasionally it's easy, most times it takes some real zest to leap into it.

For example, when I first started free diving with Bobby everything in the tropical waters were new to me. My long list of "firsts" included my first time swimming several football fields out into the turquoise ocean. The first time my lungs took me diving 20+ feet below the surface. My first time seeing a nurse shark and my first time swimming with a sea turtle.  All of these sound super cool, right?  Yeah, well let's flip the coin to the other side, like when I was having a full blown panic attack as the jellyfish were so plentiful there was no way to avoid them. None. They were everywhere, only inches apart from each other for as long as my eyes could see.  Insert "Motto No Regrets" here please.

Let me walk you through what this really looked like...

I'm chest deep, still able to stand and I'm frozen with panic.  My breathing is quick, really quick, and the color in my cheeks is gone.  Bobby is coaching me along, he's really great like that.  My fins are on.  My mask is on and fogging up because I'm hyperventilating which also means my mouthpiece couldn't possibly be in my mouth, again, because I'm hyperventilating.  I'm surrounded by these fat, light pink and lilac colored jelly fish.  They are everywhere and they are huge.  I'm being stung.  My mind is whizzing in a million directions.  I can see how close I am to the shoreline but I can't allow myself to move through this mess and mass of jellyfish.  Then it dawns on me. Bobby isn't wearing a rash guard.  He's in the same mess I'm in.  I'm certain he's being stung to bits too, however, he's fine.  How is he fine?  He still wants to swim out and dive?  I tell myself he's clearly insane.  At this point  I'm just staring at him.  And then it happened....my "stop being a pussy, Tara" pep talk.  If he can do it, I can do it too.

And so I did.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I was stung more times than I care to say that day and spent more time diving below to the ocean floor than usual to avoid those slimy suckers.  However, I also completed our dive and made it back to the beach knowing that I was proud of myself for doing it because now I know.  Rather than wondering if I could have or what would have been....I knew.   And frankly, it was worth it because when there are jellyfish there are sea turtles.  

Now, let's get back to the "living with no regrets" part of this.   I can't say I live with "no" regrets.  Truth is, I have more regrets than my heart can hold.  I regret not having more confidence and self respect as a teenager.   I regret missing too many of my brother's football games when they were young. I regret the times I ignored my gut instinct.  I regret any holiday I didn't spend with my family while it was whole.  I regret not giving my dad a hug when he needed it most in his life and I regret not taking my mum in my arms and telling her it's all ok, all of it, and that I loved her before she left us.

So, you see, those regrets are so heavy I can't allow for many more.  My regret cup is full, so full it's spilling over. Now, out of necessity (and experience) I coach myself on choosing the "no regret" route as often as possible.

That means I tend to swan dive into things.  Some awesome things.  Some less than awesome things.  But all "no regret" things.

Insider tip:  The route marked "no regrets" has amazing sights to be seen.  Five star rating.  I promise it's worth it if you decide to leap.

Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective, 

Curator for Bohemian Living, Owner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 

and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  

She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:

a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 

deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.