I was getting gas the other day and, since I am in the process of a major promotion for the We can Make a Difference Benefit Ride, I went inside to pay and drop off some fliers, Unusual since I always pay at the pump for speed.
The helpful clerk directed me to a bulletin board near some tables in the back where several were sitting, likely staying cool on one of our "rarely gets to 100 degrees" days.
As I approached it appeared that a couple of men at one table were involved in a very agitated discussion.
The bulletin board was so close to their table that I had to stand next to them to pin up my flier.
Customary greetings were exchanged: How are you? Hot enough for ya'?
I couldn't help but notice a massive, still stapled surgical wound on the younger mans shaved scalp. Curving over his ear in a wicked looking arch, there was no way I could look away, especially since I was only 2 feet away.
Seeing my look he made eye contact and said very matter of factly, "I have to have brain surgery"
"It looks to me like you already have" I said. "are you going to be OK?"
He went on, "I was in a fight. I was drunk and beat up two guys, but I fell and hit my head on the concrete, and now I don't even know my family."
How do you respond to something like that?
"Oh, my gosh, What are they doing for you?" was all I could manage.
"I escaped" he said.
Fear was written all over his face. The older man with him, head down, may have been a friend, but I think the relationship was closer than that.
"Escaped? From where? Why?"
"The hospital. They told me that I have an aneurism and that I have only a 20% chance of making it thru the surgery".
But I did know how to respond.
"You know, I know a guy..." I started, and had the undivided attention of both of them. It was obvious they were hopeful that I did have something to say.
"He told me a story one day about what happened to him. When he was 16 he was a rising star in the newly popular sport of off road motorcycle racing. This was before the high tech safety equipment and materials that protect riders today. Aggressive and fast, he knew he could win. And win he did. But it's a brutal and dangerous sport, or at least it was when he was a kid.
One day, during a particularly challenging race against opponents who were as determined to win as he was, and at any cost, he didn't make it to the finish line.
He claims it was intentional, but I'm sure no one will ever really know. The accident nearly took his life.
But it didn't.
He told me there were days he wished it did.
He woke up in a hospital room and didn't know the strangers who sat by his bed. He couldn't remember the accident, or the surgeries.
He realized he didn't know a lot of things anymore. But he was alive. And in time, he gained back some of his memories. Not all. But enough to build his life back. and it is a good life. Working, spending time with his family and friends, having a home."
"So, I can see how scared you are. Anyone would understand that. But you need to go back. Even a small chance to get your life back is worth it."
The older man reached for my hand.
"Thank you, he said. "It really does make a difference".
"You're going to be OK" I told his struggling friend as I left.
And you know what? I believed that.
I couldn't help but notice a massive, still stapled surgical wound on the younger mans shaved scalp. Curving over his ear in a wicked looking arch, there was no way I could look away, especially since I was only 2 feet away.
Seeing my look he made eye contact and said very matter of factly, "I have to have brain surgery"
"It looks to me like you already have" I said. "are you going to be OK?"
He went on, "I was in a fight. I was drunk and beat up two guys, but I fell and hit my head on the concrete, and now I don't even know my family."
How do you respond to something like that?
"Oh, my gosh, What are they doing for you?" was all I could manage.
"I escaped" he said.
Fear was written all over his face. The older man with him, head down, may have been a friend, but I think the relationship was closer than that.
"Escaped? From where? Why?"
"The hospital. They told me that I have an aneurism and that I have only a 20% chance of making it thru the surgery".
But I did know how to respond.
"You know, I know a guy..." I started, and had the undivided attention of both of them. It was obvious they were hopeful that I did have something to say.
"He told me a story one day about what happened to him. When he was 16 he was a rising star in the newly popular sport of off road motorcycle racing. This was before the high tech safety equipment and materials that protect riders today. Aggressive and fast, he knew he could win. And win he did. But it's a brutal and dangerous sport, or at least it was when he was a kid.
One day, during a particularly challenging race against opponents who were as determined to win as he was, and at any cost, he didn't make it to the finish line.
He claims it was intentional, but I'm sure no one will ever really know. The accident nearly took his life.
But it didn't.
He told me there were days he wished it did.
He woke up in a hospital room and didn't know the strangers who sat by his bed. He couldn't remember the accident, or the surgeries.
He realized he didn't know a lot of things anymore. But he was alive. And in time, he gained back some of his memories. Not all. But enough to build his life back. and it is a good life. Working, spending time with his family and friends, having a home."
"So, I can see how scared you are. Anyone would understand that. But you need to go back. Even a small chance to get your life back is worth it."
The older man reached for my hand.
"Thank you, he said. "It really does make a difference".
"You're going to be OK" I told his struggling friend as I left.
And you know what? I believed that.
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