#Thumbs Up 4 Chris!

The remarkable story of a young man,
​and a family's brush with the unthinkable

by Pamela Hemmen

The author Pamela Hemmen with Husband Geoff

​Ever feel like everything in your life is perfect?  Yeah, we did at one time too.  Three healthy smart kids, a pretty house, plenty of food, Geoff has been successful in his career, my real estate business has never been better, and our friends are abundant and always ready for laughs.  We were living the dream!  In late June of 2017, my son Chris dragged me along to a traffic counting job, life had been so hectic it was nice to have a few hours of only Chris and I sitting on a rural corner, in the shade, counting cars, talking about life and how blessed we are.  How perfect things seemed to be.  Not knowing that three short weeks later we would go from “living the dream” to “living every parent’s nightmare”.  Our perfect world flipped upside-down with that one phone call….. Chris.  Accident.  Severe Brain Injury.  Hospital.  Get here quick.  Phone drop.  Heart stops.  Mind blank.  …….Please God No!

Chris was on his way to work Sunday, July 23, 2017, at 9AM.  He coached 3-5 year-olds, teaching them the basics of sports.  Chris loved his job and loved working with kids.  This particular morning it was not raining, but for some reason, water had pooled in the road in this one large spot.  According to the driver behind Chris, he was driving the speed limit when he hydroplaned and slammed headfirst into an iron fence, then slid sideways where he quickly hit a fire hydrant causing the Jeep Liberty to begin to flip and as the car was in mid-air it hit a tree right at the top middle of the frame of the driver side door.  Right where Chris’ head was.  The structure of the vehicle did not hold up to the mid-air collision with the tree, his head took the majority of the impact before the car bounced back on the ground.  He was wearing his seat belt.  He was not speeding.  He was not texting & driving.  He was not on his cell phone.  He was doing everything right.

As I pulled into the Emergency Room bay, I swung open the car door before the car actually came to a stop.  I ran to the officer waiting to shuffle me into the room that was obviously only used for the most traumatic of patients.  The grim, dark look on all the faces of those wearing scrubs told me exactly what I prayed I wouldn’t hear.  This is not good.  My boy, my sweet 16-year-old boy, was laying there, motionless, wires connected to his head and to his chest, IV’s in his arms, and tubes in his mouth.  The machine to the right is rhythmically pumping air into his lungs, breathing for him.  The doctor tells me he has a Severe Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), his brain swelling is significant and increasing, his temperature is rising, and the prognosis is not good.  His brain injury was so severe that this hospital could not handle his case.  They would stabilize him then we needed to quickly move him to a hospital with a Pediatric Trauma Center, UF Health’s Trauma One was suggested.

That was the beginning of our nightmare.  A nightmare that continued for many weeks with every moment unsure if he will live or die, be a vegetable for life or somewhat recover, the outcome was uncertain.  The only thing we knew for sure was that our life, as we knew it, would never be the same.  Our perfect life we worked so hard for, we sacrificed for, we saved for, we fought for….was no longer.  These were the darkest and most broken days of my entire life, and I've had my fair share of both dark and broken.  But at this moment, a machine was breathing for my handsome, smart, active, thoughtful, caring, motionless, unconscious, brain injured son.  The future of our family is unknown, but will definitely involve a very long road and a very strong will to survive.

We were definitely grateful for the closeness of our family which would only grow closer.  The four of us leaned on each other, cried with each other, supported each other, and talked about what was happening, how to manage our emotions, and how to handle the way other people are handling the situation.  This was a hard one.  As we are going through this tragedy, we are also having to navigate the fields of how other people handle our tragedy.  Some not as good as others.  Some we learned to hold closer to our hearts and others we learned to remove from our lives forever.  You learn about priorities and you have lots of regrets.  Why didn’t I just keep him home and tell him he could not go to work today?  Why didn’t I just have him take the truck?  What if I didn’t make him give me another hug before he left the house, maybe those extra 5 seconds would have made a difference?  Yes, they made a difference… because I got one more hug that I may never get again.  I may never have those tan, soft, teenage arms and hands pat me on my head while saying “you’re cute when you’re short Mom”, or hold my hand in church, or wrap them around me in a bear hug while saying “squeeze!”  Yes, those 5 seconds made a difference.  All the difference in my world.
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During the next 21 days of Pediatric ICU at UF Health, we learned far more about the brain than I ever thought I would.  From brain swelling, possible surgeries, brain bleeding, tracheotomy, feeding tube, therapists….   So, so, so much MY brain hurt!  The doctors did not want to give us false hope by telling us Chris would recover, instead, they explained that he likely would never walk or talk again, would need constant supervision and should always need medications.  We all cried knowing our family will never, ever be the same.
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With much support from our village and a few family members, Chris’ siblings were adjusting surprisingly well.  Nolan would sit by Chris and play his ukulele while Sarah would hold his hand and tell him things going on at school or with friends.  Chris was still sedated and could not respond, but it felt good for the kids to try to communicate.

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​The outpouring of support from our community gave Sarah and Nolan the idea to host a prayer circle at our neighborhood baseball field -because Chris loved baseball.  There were over 350 people in attendance at this event, some we knew and some we had never met, but all were there to pray and ask God to please leave this child on this earth and please bring him to full recovery.  Deacon Jerry from our church came to see us at the hospital after the prayer circle, he had been to see us a few days earlier to pray over Chris and to give him his “Last Rights”.  Deacon Jerry said the prayer circle was absolutely amazing and that this was the first time he had ever performed any sort of mass while standing in the back of a pickup truck (the stage) in the middle of a baseball field.

After this, we began getting messages from our village flashing one of Chris’ signature poses “a thumbs up” and a message that Chris was on their mind.  This gave us an idea….and the Facebook page “#ThumbsUp4Chris” was born.  We had our village members posting positive notes, pictures of them with their thumbs up, celebrities with thumbs up, high school clubs, local youth teams, as well as college teams all sporting their thumbs up.  It was a great way for people who just wanted to “do something”, to be able to “do something”.  It also was a great way for me to be able to post updates on Chris for all the world to see.  The kids also mass ordered custom #ThumbsUp4Chris and #Pray4Chris bracelets…soon the whole county was rockin’ these red accessories!

After 21 days at UF Health, we were taken by ambulance to Brooks Rehab Hospital.  At this time, Chris still had the “glassy-eyes”, couldn’t walk, couldn’t sit up, couldn’t hold his head up, only nourishment came from the feeding tube, he was still on antibiotics form his second bout with pneumonia, and he had only said one or two words.  We got settled in his new room, which would be his home (and my home) for the next 6 weeks.  Then all at once, Brooks amazing therapists were all in the room evaluating him at the same time talking in what seemed to be code to me at that time.  Little did I know it would only be a matter of days before I understood that “code”.  While having so many bodies evaluating my son at the same time was scary, the look of optimism, and positive vibes from these miracle workers was felt in a way that just made me cry.  An ugly, wet, hard cry.
That was a Friday.  Saturday & Sunday was spent getting to know the facility, staff, layout, and how things work with only a few therapy sessions.  Monday the therapy really began, 6-7 hours a day.  By Friday they had him strapped to a machine and 4 therapists helping him walk!  Two sitting on the bottom of this contraption, each holding a leg & foot and moving it like he was walking, this was to retrain/remind the brain what it is supposed to do.  On this day as I was filming him, he looks up at me flashes a smile and a thumbs up as he says “hi mom”.  It was at this point I felt my heart and mind shift from “sit back, observe, learn, take it all in” to “he can do this, he will do this, we will do this”.

Over the course of the next 5 weeks, his therapy was intense.  He learned to hold his head up, then his torso, then catch a ball and throw the ball.  His mind was exercised as well with speech therapy helping with memory recovery as well as math problems.  It was weird to see he couldn’t quite grasp the easy 2+2 math but could remember how to calculate the diameter of a circle and the angles of triangles.  The brain is a very unpredictable organ.
His therapy began every morning at 7 AM and ended between 3-4PM.  He would take a nap as the therapy was exhausting, eat dinner, then Chris and I would extend his therapy on our own.  We would talk about how we’re here to get better, so let’s make every second count.  Instead of watching TV or sitting around bored, we worked on math games, practiced holding a pencil, writing his name, drawing a picture, listening to music and singing songs, played board games …all of this activated the mind.  Soon we worked on learning how to scoot in his wheelchair, with his own feet, without hitting the walls!  When the therapists were told how hard we were working in the evenings and realized how intense I watched everything he did in therapy, they began helping me learn and advising what to practice in the evenings.  Chris and I would get in an extra 2-4 hours of therapy most nights and lots of extra laughs.  My boy was working hard to come back to us and to just be Chris again.

On September 15, Chris walked out of Brooks Rehab Hospital.  Unassisted.  Walked!  Unassisted!  His only medication was allergy related.  His next 4 months were 8 hour days spent at Brooks Outpatient Program which helped improve his cognitive healing while sleeping at home in his own bed.  The evenings were for studying with teachers from his high school who came to the house to assist with his studies, he was hoping to stay on track so he wouldn’t be held back.  Luckily, my smart boy was ahead of the academic game already and he only “needed” to take 2 classes.  He completed these classes before Christmas break.

On January 6, Chris walked into Bartram Trail High School right where he left off.  He was greeted with hugs and high-fives!  Administration offered to allow him the use of the elevator, but he refused and chose to take the stairs because he could.  He completed his Junior year along with his peers and is now ready to graduate high school in May 2019 with a 3.1 GPA.  In the fall he will move into the dorms and begin his next chapter of life at University of North Florida, in hopes of pursuing a degree in Mechanical Engineering.  (If you know of anyone offering scholarships, please let us know!)
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Chris is currently back to hanging with friends, playing his guitar, schooling many around the pool table, he’s completed two 5K’s, he works out in the gym, he’s even been able to introduce a small amount of surfing and is driving again.  He’s started his own business “Barefoot Boys Pressure Washing”, plans to be a BBQ taste tester with his favorite PICU nurse, and hopes to one day drive a Ford F150.
Life is good again.  Life is perfect again.  But life is still unpredictable.  Please take a moment to put down your cell phones, turn off Facebook, close up your laptop, turn off the TV, read to your kids, throw a ball with your kids, take a walk with your spouse, talk to an old friend, smell the roses while you can with your family.  And always, always, always take the extra 5 seconds for the second “squeeze”.