“No one can tell you what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of that change. You just come out on the other side. Or you don’t”

— Stephen King

I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I drove through Calgarys’ city streets, while looking forward to quieter roads. Chris sat beside me, uncomfortable, but still happy. We were excited to be heading home. We had a long drive ahead of us, but we were finally out of the hospital, thankful for the shining sun and the warm summer air coming in through our open windows. Chris was still in considerable pain from sitting in the passenger seat, leaning awkwardly to ease the discomfort. Tylenol 3s can only numb so much pain. He would shift his position every few minutes, and I felt a sense of stress each time he did. It was my job to get him home in one piece. He was already broken, and comfort was not an option, so it was not an easy task. Though elated to be headed home, the amount of pain Chris was in made the journey uncomfortable for both of us.

I would not let him lay on the bed in the back as I drove. Looking back, I wonder if this was perhaps a cruel decision. I did not mean it to be. He would have been so much more comfortable on the bed. I had visions though. Visions of me having to swerve quickly, and him sliding across the bed and to the floor, not having the strength to keep himself upon it. Doing damage to the parts of his body that were working so hard to heal. I worried I might have an accident, or I might have to stop quickly. I worried so much about him getting hurt again. About something happening to him that would take away the miraculous amount of healing he had already done. I did not want it on my head. I did not want to own something like that. So, I made him sit uncomfortably beside me. We would stop when the pain grew too strong, and he would lay on the bed and rest while I waited to hit the road again. I felt so conflicted. I guess I still do. I did not want him hurt again. He had been hurt too much already. Me keeping him safe though, caused him more pain.

This was a worry I would carry with me for a long time. That something would happen to him. A blood clot. Something they may have missed among his injuries would make him sick. One of the injuries was not healing properly. There was something we were missing. That I was missing that would cause him harm. His care fell upon me, and I would never have forgiven myself if he relapsed because of something I missed. He could not take care of himself, there, in the place where he was. So, it was up to me. It was up to me to make sure our family stayed together. When we were in the hospital it was up to the doctors and the nurses. There, on that road. It was up to me. There was nobody else. It had become my job. A job I had no idea how to handle if anything went wrong. So, I would look at him nervously; stressed, as he shifted in his seat yet again. Knowing he would be so much more comfortable in the bed in the back, but also knowing it was up to me to get him home safely.

To this day, I do not know how it is we ended up on the road alone. Just the two of us. Side by side. Thinking we were okay. That we could handle it. Another vision I have. What if the worse case scenario had happened? What if sitting in the seat beside me had contributed to a blood clot. What would I have done? Alone on that lonely highway home? To this day it gives me the shivers. I do not like to think about it. What a horrible thought. There we were though. Alone. The road stretched out in front of us, with fields, mountains and forests meeting us for most of the journey.

Later on. When the anxiety hit me, many months later, I had a hard time going on road trips into unpopulated areas. Far from a hospital. Far from an ambulance. What if something happened to one of us? I wonder, was it the fear I had suppressed on our long journey finally surfacing that tortured me so many months later? Driving down the highway with a man who had barely survived a helicopter accident by my side. Remembering the nurse’s final words of caution to us were the signs of a blood clot. To be honest, I do not know why I had the fear so much later. When driving down a different road, I found myself so uncomfortable in the wilderness I thought I might have a panic attack. I have never been like that. I have never found the middle of nowhere uncomfortable. Is there a connection? I think, yes. The brain is a wonderful, amazing, yet complicated world. It makes links we do not know it is making. Shock held the fear at bay. I would deal with it instead many months later.

Back to the above thought. How did we end upon that road alone? It was not because there were not offers. There were. I did not want to put anyone out. To cause any complications to the lives of others. I think it was the shock as well. I thought we could make it without any worse case scenarios. Thankfully, I was right. When I look back though, I am more aware there could have been some. I have also had time to think about how devastating those complications could have been. I thought I was okay to make a decision of that magnitude. To drive that highway alone. I thought I was strong enough to carry the burden that came with the stress and the worry. In many ways I guess I was. I paid for it later though. I now know I took on too much. I should have let others help lessen the load. I should have asked instead of feeling I would be putting people out. Perhaps not everyone would have stepped up. Perhaps many would have surprised me and pulled their sleeves up. We will never know this now. Instead we ended upon that road on our own. Hoping all would be okay. Living on faith the motorhome in which we drove would take us home.

I have talked to loved ones and some of those close to us also wonder how it was they let us go it alone. I believe they also were in shock. Chris’ accident. It was a huge shock. So unexpected. And we seemed just fine. Well, I am not sure if I can include Chris in that category. Major injuries. Pain killers. He seemed so certain though. I think I held onto some of his faith. His excitement on going home. Looking back. I was not fine. I believe now you can only be a certain level of fine after an incident of such magnitude enters a life. We humans are survivors. Adaptors. We meet odds that should make us crumble, but somehow we do not. Shock often helps. Shielding us from the full weight and seriousness of the experience. We were in such shock. The world was surreal still. So, there we were. Like I said above, just the two of us. Two shocked human beings. One injured to a inch of his life, and one believing she was strong enough to take on the world. A world she knew had changed, and had not yet come into focus. When I see us though, cruising down the highway, listening to music like there was not a care in the world. Like we had not just left the hospital. Like Chris had not almost died. I think in some ways it makes me love us even more. How brave we were. The courage we found to believe in those moments. How sure we were everything was going to be A okay. It led us to the scenario we found ourselves in. So sure. Still. I don’t think we should have gone it alone. Hindsight. Twenty twenty.