APPAMADA

A Year of Mystery: Recovering from a Life-Altering Accident

December 5th is the one year anniversary of a car accident that altered my body and changed my relationship to everyone and everything around me. I left the 2010 Integrated Intensive a day early, on Sunday, to drive north on Highway 281 to my Aunt Lucille’s home in Burkburnett, Texas. My brother, Karl, chose our mother’s birthday for a reunion with relatives he hadn’t seen in twenty years. He lives in Bellingham, Washington, and commutes to Oman for work, so he had chosen the date carefully.

I didn’t make it to Burk; only twelve minutes away from my destination, my tiny Honda Fit crashed headfirst into a large pickup truck. Whether I feel asleep or fainted is not clear; my only memory of the accident is the image of a cracked windshield and Trooper Kelley saying, “We’re trying to get you out, ma’am.”

I spent the next five months in five different hospitals, none of them convenient for my family or friends. And yet family and friends came to support me. My daughters came from Oregon and from Pennsylvania; my sisters-in-law each came twice, from Fairbanks, Alaska and Bellingham to sit with me. Karl came several times and drove through the night to Austin to get my legal documents and then to move belongings out of my condo and back into my house.

Karl didn’t leave my side for the first three days after the accident. I was aware of a rough hand firmly holding mine, when I was aware of nothing else and didn’t know whether I was dead or alive. He held me to life. During that time I had ICU psychosis and hallucinated a telegram from Appamada with the words printed in black, “We regret your loss….” I was so confused that I thought I must be dead!

Somewhere in those first months I found myself in a Marc Chagall-like haze. I still didn’t know whether I was dead or alive, but I started thinking of Jill Bolte Taylor’s My Stroke of Insight. Well, I wasn’t really thinking at that point, but because of stored information and Zen training I watched as cognition entered drop by drop into the boundless oceanic state I was in. As I remember that, I am moved to tears. I had an intense awareness of how the cognitive portion of my brain was starting to categorize, compare, and analyze.

Although I was in ICU and in a medically induced coma for three months, apparently my brain was busy without my knowledge! One of the first things that came to me when I “woke up” was that I could not continue my relationship with my partner, John. There was neither malice nor anger, just certainty that I needed more care than he could give me. It was a difficult time for a break-up, but it was crystal clear to me that I was not able to sustain that relationship.

Why I lived is a mystery to me and to the medical staff that worked on me. The sangha held me in compassionate thoughts, I was on prayer chains, friends, and family were incredibly attentive. I’m certain I would have died if it had been otherwise; I still don’t understand why I lived, I just have to accept it.

Why I don’t have brain injuries is another mystery. The medical staff and psychiatrist were positive that I would not recover mentally; my family insisted that I receive appropriate attention and medications. I responded favorably. Somehow, my brain came through intact even after my body was crushed and jolted.

The journey of recovery over the past year has been challenging and fascinating. At times, I have been certain that I could never be happy again if I couldn’t walk, since I loved to walk. Before the accident and partial amputations of both feet, I was intensely aware of the pleasure that I took in walking, including walking meditation. Slowly, slowly, thanks to the mindful care of those around me I am learning to inhabit my new world and sometimes feel joy.

With gratitude,
Lisa

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Comment by Robin Bradford on December 31, 2011 at 4:59pm

Lisa,

You communicate so much in this email, much more than the words themselves. One thing I won't forget about what you shared is your ability, because of zen practice, to turn towards your mind and your experience with clearness. That "clear care" Flint talks about. There are a lot of mysteries in this life - no one can answer yours. But what I know is that I still hold dear the Dec. intensive 2 years ago when you and Craig and I sat in a triad and shared our internal experiences of sitting zazen. It cast me into your world &, perhaps you into mine. That meant that a year later, even though I couldn't take part in that year's intensive, I was with you in some vague but intentional way right when I heard of your accident and through all the emails from various people on your healing journey home. I chose cards and wrote notes that might be a small gift. That practice was dear to me. I'm glad you are back home & sharing your story. Keep writing about it or expressing it in your art. It's rare that an artist/writer/creative has such a journey & only one such as you can tell it and teach it. Strange and unrequested as that role might be for you. Hugs & gratitude, Robin

Comment by joan mueller on December 19, 2011 at 9:38am

Dear Lisa,

You responded to my plan to start a discussion group about Jay Earley's book.  I have been trying to find out who you are and find out if we have met before.  Reading your entry about your accident has let me into your world and I look foward to being with you. I have been attending about six months and feel at home already.

I have talked with Peg about how to begin a small group and at this point the idea would be to meet once a month early evening for probably an hour and a half.  I had suggested Central Market upstairs, the Lamar and 38th store because it is central.  This is just forming so your input would help.  Are you mobil?  Are you where we could come to you?  What are your needs now.

Peg said she would be able to come the first few times while we start until her school schedule gets too tight.

Do you already have the Earley book?

I look forward to meeting you. Give me your thoughts.

Blessings,

Joan MUeller

Comment by Peg Syverson on December 10, 2011 at 3:00pm

I've been thinking a lot about this date too, Lisa, as we completed our December intensive this year. I remember first hearing about your accident and that you "might have broken your wrist." I assumed you would show up in a few days with a cast on your wrist and a story to tell. The news of your condition as it unfolded kept getting more and more worrisome, and after a long time, we learned just how extensive the damage to your body had been. By that point, visitors were discouraged, and all we could do was wait to hear how things were going. John did a good job of keeping us informed, and we really appreciated his updates. It is truly amazing that you have survived such a huge impact so well. I am grateful you are telling your story so others can benefit from hearing these inspiring words. 

Comment by Mary Beth Laye on December 8, 2011 at 1:53pm

I am so touched by your story. Thank you for taking the time to share it.

Comment by Eric on December 6, 2011 at 12:50pm

Beautiful Lisa! I am so grateful that you lived through this to share your story. It reminded me that life and death truly are of Supreme importance. "Awake, Awake! Do not squander this life." It also gave me hope in that sometimes, even when things seem impossible and life hangs on a thread, with support, we can return to life in a way we never could have imagined. Your story is truly inspirational.

 

 

Appamada is not just the occasional mindful thought or attentive state of mind, it’s actually a commitment to being attentive. It’s more than just a meditative state of mind, it’s more than just being mindful. It has to do with that primary ethical or moral orientation we have in life, with which we bring into being whatever activity we’re engaged in. Whether in formal meditation, in our interactions with other people, in our social concerns, or in our political choices, it’s the energetic cherishing of what we regard as good.

—Stephen Batchelor

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