Moment of Impact, Part II

My case worker at MGH wanted to send me to Spaulding Rehab to continue my physical & occupational therapy. However, my mother fought on my behalf for me to go to one outside of Boston, closer to home and easier for me to have frequent visitors.  

They decided to send me to HealthSouth (currently New England Rehab) on the Woburn/Winchester line.  Having previously worked at the 99 Restaurant nearby, I knew exactly where I was headed.  The EMTs that were in charge of transferring me to the rehab facility were a great pair of people.  They made me as comfortable as possible, which was difficult considering all I could move without serious issue was my right arm and my head.  

We got to talking on the ride and I had mentioned, in passing, that I had worked at the 99 Restaurant down the road from the rehab facility for a few years and had just recently been transferred to another location due to a promotion.  

I didn’t think anything of it when the ambulance started to slow down.  One of the EMTs had gotten out and a few minutes passed by.  I had never been in this situation before, so I assumed that she was just prepping to get me into the rehab facility.  

When she opened the doors in the back of the ambulance, I could barely lift my head. Remembering what I saw is making my eyes water as I type this.  We were in the parking lot of the Four Corners 99 Restaurant, my old work.  There was a line of people waiting to see me. Line cooks, servers, bartenders, prep cooks, dishwashers, managers & even some regular guests that I knew, had one by one been allowed into the ambulance with me. Some laughed with me, some cried with me, some did both at the same time.  They all expressed their well wishes for a speedy recovery, gratefulness that I had made it thru & support on anything that I would need going forward.  I used to joke with my fellow restaurant workers that I’ve been involved in some long ticket times in a restaurant, but that one took the cake.

I wish I remembered the names of those EMTs, I would love to be able to thank them to this day for that.  

Don't miss out on Moment of Impact, Part I

Paul Dube

Host of The Sports Den & Chef at Smokey Bones.

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

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.  

My Choice: Part II

I remember this day so vividly. I was sitting on the back porch of my apartment on Marshall St., having a smoke. My dad came up and knocked on the window, not knowing I was on the porch. Not anything new, as my parents lived a block and a half away and would bring mail over for me to read since they couldn't read English.  I thought it was just a normal day.

"Your mom has a brain tumor."

I just got a chill typing that. She made me her favorite meal just two days ago. The only symptom she had was numbness on the right side of her cheek. It had to be a pinched nerve, not a tumor.

"She's having surgery in two weeks to remove it. Can you come with us?"

"Yes, of course," I said, still in shock. I still remember the helpless look on my dad's face when he said, "I'm going to need your help with her after the surgery." Without thinking about it, I told him I wouldn't renew my lease in a month and move back in. No need for him to ask, I knew what needed to be done. It was an easy choice. Go and help.

Seven years later, I'm still living with my parents. Caring for them as much as they care for me through my illness. Having to make sure my mom's pill box is filled correctly and trying to change their diets slowly. Keeping an eye on my dads's feet as he has lost six toes to diabetes. Doctors appointments, paperwork for Medicare has to be filled out, etc...with a smile on my face. I know it's odd that a 37 year old, single man is living with his 80 plus year old parents but I wouldn't change my choice for anything.

Unfortunately, I have seen many friends lose a parent or both at a young age. Not me. I get to see them every morning as my dad still goes into his garden, my mom makes way too much food and they sneak hand holding when no one is looking.

I'm blessed to have made this choice.

My brother and sisters have lives that wouldn't be conducive with caring for them. That doesn't make them bad people. They do what they can, when they can. I'm in awe sometimes when I see my sister, Filly, come on her only day off in thirteen days to clean the house, top to bottom. No questions asked, she just shows up and does it. My brother Steven takes the time to help my parents with the paperwork that I don't understand as he goes through his own medical struggles. Never a "no".  Laura comes by with fresh fruits and Maria comes by to check on them in-between cooking for her husband and daughter. Fran drives an hour just to sit with my mom and kibitz about whatever the topic of the day is. All while knowing my oldest brother, Joey, is above watching us all be a family, as it was always him to get the family together before he passed.

See, we make choices and some you get beat down by but some build you back up. Choices turn into life experiences that no one can take from you, ever. I know how it is to hurt, seeing my dad cry over my brother's lifeless body. My dad! A man I had never seen cry until that day. I understand when my mom gets that look on her face because she is anxious. I grab her hand and no words are exchanged. Everything will be o.k., I'm here.

To my mom and dad, I love you more than life itself. Even when you do things like walk around with your walker, Mom, I still love you. I have no choice about the love I have. That's an emotion I can't control but I can make a choice everyday to make sure I show you that I love you with my actions.

So, to all the readers, make a choice today. It may end up badly but it can also turn into seven years you would never give up for anything in the world.

Donny Soares

Donny Soares is a Boston based stand up comic and actor living the dream.  

Caring for his elderly parents during the day and delighting crowds at night. Wouldn't want it any other way.  

A romantic at heart and is not afraid to show his softer side.  

A medical nerd, a lover of all animals, and a connoisseur of mid day naps.

Trail of Turquoise

My best friend introduced me to the white sands, swaying palm trees and turquoise waters of Florida when I was 13 years old.

It was on a sweltering August day that my plane touched down with a thud.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and thought to myself "I made it!".  It's all I could do not to clap my hands and shout in glee, like the child I was trying so desperately not to be. 

As passengers began to spring to life, I stuffed my camera filled with prized images of clouds (it was my first flight, give a kid a break) into my carry-on and with all the strength my tiny frame and oversized ego could muster, dragged my loot toward the exit.

After being collected by my best friend's family at baggage claim, we made our way outside.  It was within a few steps and one upward glance that I was greeted by two things I had been anticipating for some time: The majestic sight of my very first palm tree and the wall of humidity I thought I might have to scale in order to get to the parking lot.

For that moment, I stood there, giddy with excitement and without doubt, head-over-heels in teenage love.

As my years and story unfolded, my love affair with Florida never faded. There was no doubt that Florida and I were in a long-term, long-distance relationship.  No matter where my wanderlust had taken me, I always found a way to make it back.  My time was split, a weekend here, a week there, always pining for the next visit. Always flirting with the idea of moving there "next". 

The Universe, as always, has an amazing way of working things out because somehow, some way "next" happened.  

Just a few short years ago I found myself in the position I had been eagerly awaiting.  I no longer had to rendezvous with my sweetheart.  It was time to commit.  

As a recovering commitment-phobe, I'm happy to report that I'm still swooning.  I mean, how could I possibly resist the year-round smell of dewy grass in the morning, the pure delight of looking up at the swaying palms as they dance and the overwhelming gratitude I feel while gazing out at the turquoise waters with as much awe and with as much love as when I first saw this place through sparkling teenage eyes?

You might be wondering what the moral of all this is, right?  What's the story?  What's the parting note? Well, that's an easy one...

True love lives and true love lasts, friends.  Don't let anyone tell you differently.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

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.

My Moment Of Impact

I was 17 when life as I knew it ended.

Mortality became suddenly real.

I wasn’t invincible anymore.

I was broken.

My own body fighting itself. With no end in sight.

There’s no cure. Only treatment.

Nobody was to blame.

It came from nowhere. Or from within.

I couldn’t have stopped it.

I couldn’t even control it.

Why me? Poor me.

Fuck that.

Stand up.

Fight it.

Own it.

Win.

Live.

Survive.

Got knocked down? Get. Back. Up.

This will not beat me.

This will not define me. 

I am stronger than this. I have to be. I. Will. Be.

Jason Donoghue

Jason is a bit of a renaissance man.

A husband, a lover, and a fighter.

A fiercely loyal friend.

A pragmatist, but a dreamer.

An IT guy by trade, he is also a photographer, videographer, 

and director with his eyes set squarely on Hollywood.

Born and raised in the Boston area, his childhood was mostly nomadic, 

leading to his idea of “home” truly being defined by the people around him.

Always quick with a pun, and an answer for every rhetorical question, 

he’s frequently lost in his own thoughts, often “checking out” for periods of time 

pondering the world, the universe, and the people around him. 

His fight to live in the moment is equally matched by his view of the future, 

being blessed and cursed with the gift of foresight.