Rise of Lazarus – or –Jammy Dodger Strikes Again

Rise of Lazarus – or –Jammy Dodger Strikes Again

Today I have near normal energy levels, which is good for a change. But it hasn’t been this way for a while. I’ll explain.

For all my adult life I have been a keen outdoor pursuits enthusiast. Mostly running (the harder the better), but also cycling, walking and general adventures. Last Summer, not being a triathlete, I decided this would have to change, so I did a half-ironman-distance event in Shropshire, and loved it; perhaps the first of many. For my 25th wedding anniversary, I persuaded my long-suffering wife that the proper way to celebrate was not lethargically on a tropical beach but with a good walk; so we walked coast-to-coast, almost 200 miles across the Lake District and North Yorkshire Moors. Best holiday she’s ever had, I’m told.

In 2019 I ran and completed The Dragon’s Back, said to be the hardest mountain race there is: a week down the length of Wales, including all the lumpy bits along the way. I loved the challenge and made lifelong friends while I was at it. In June this year, I joined friends hiking in the Picos mountains in Northern Spain. You get the picture.

Then in mid-July this year, I went for a routine, post-work training ride and crashed. Badly. I don’t remember any details, but I have since pieced together the basics. An error triggered by a mechanical problem, bad road surface or lapse of concentration led to me colliding with a row of parked cars. I was unconscious immediately. The driver following me was an off-duty medic and called an ambulance, who in turn called the air ambulance, and I was air-lifted to a specialist trauma hospital in Coventry. I had critical care in the helicopter and at the hospital. I lapsed into a coma for 2 weeks during which I had more treatment and was monitored. My brain had ‘diffuse axonal injury’, which is a wide-spread neural disconnection caused by trauma.

I scored quite well on the Glasgow Coma Scale on admission to hospital – this is the way medics grade how profound a coma is, ranging from ‘rather sleepy’ to ‘a gonner’. Top marks are in the teens, up to 15. A score of less than 5 means the patient is unlikely to recover independence, so is likely to need 24-hour care for the rest of their life. In the ensuing days, I stubbornly refused to wake up, my score plummeted to 5, and my family had many awful meetings, at the end of which they said their goodbyes and I was scheduled for my life support to be switched off. I was placed on palliative care ready for my organs to be extracted, as I am a donor, so at least I could give others a chance (every cloud, eh?). Obituaries were written. Tears were shed.

Then, on the day of switching-off, a miracle. One of the doctors, who’d seen me admitted a couple of weeks before, got wind of the plan and although he was not on duty on my unit that day, he paid me a visit. He then told his colleagues he thought I should be given some more time as I might revive. The planned switching-off was put back a week. On the rescheduled switching-off day, there was to be a final meeting in the morning, before the switch-off in the early afternoon. However, the hospital had to postpone the meeting to early afternoon, owing to some other crisis, so switch-off was also put back to late afternoon. Family were told to pay me yet another final visit to say goodbye. The first lot filed in, and I was awake, looking at them. When they reported this, of course I was then reprieved.

All of this had been a terrible roller coaster for family and friends; however, I had slept through the lot and was almost entirely unaware. I do have some recollection of my wife singing to me and a few other fragments of the experience, so I can say it seems to be true that those in a coma are receptive to being spoken to, touched, cared for. My family and friends had been committed and caring throughout, and it seems to have contributed to my recovery. I have thanked them profusely since waking up!

After a few further weeks in the hospital, I was transferred to a rehab facility in Leamington Spa. This was fantastic. A collective of all the necessary professionals required for the rehab of those with acquired brain injury. In hospital, I had relearned the art of breathing, eating and speaking. I now set about adding walking and personal care to my repertoire. This stay was also a sobering experience, because although I had had a rough time, there were others there who were far worse off in terms of capacity and prospects. After 4 weeks I was discharged home. Towards the end of my stay, I was doing laps of the corridors to practise my walking. I also had a tentative go at running in the grounds, with my physiotherapist in tow. Old habits, eh?!

I am now taking an extended break from work, during which I will work out what I want to do: either a return or some other focus. My brain seems remarkably recovered, although I do get quite tired by simply concentrating on mundane things like socialising or reading and no doubt work: I have learned that 25% of our body’s total energy needs are required by the brain, so mental fatigue is an issue I am having to get used to! I have an issue with my shoulder, which is holding up the rest of my rehab, but otherwise, things are gradually returning to how they were. I will go back to running certainly. As for cycling, the family is not keen on that yet!

My son now calls me Lazarus.

I have also returned to writing poetry, and penned this on the eve of my discharge home:

Venture for Vicki

I ventured out,

Like countless times,

Quickly, of course,

Testing, trying, tinkering,

Tumbling

In the dark

Always an uncertain outcome,

An edge,

To allow for gain,

Only this time the machine strained

And failed,

Spilling precision pieces carelessly,

Needing painstaking

Reassembly,

This trickiest jigsaw.

We did it together,

Me with silent focus,

You with wet-eyed commitment,

The longed-for outcome

Never in doubt,

Just uncertain.

And now we venture out again,

This time together,

With just the loosest idea,

The route and outcome unknown,

Our dedication grown.

Chris Knight (Gr ’87)