Determination: Surviving a Devastating Brain Trauma

By Keith Buff

In an infinitesimal tick of time, my life changed forever. I will tell you my story, and you decide whether it was for the better or the worse. No one in my family had heard of it before. The words AVM (arteriovenous malformation) were to become part of their everyday language. Of course, as soon as other people heard what it was, everyo

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781948262095

Book preview

Keith Buff

Determination

Surviving a Devastating Brain Trauma

Copyright © 2017 by Keith Buff.

Paperback: 978-1-948262-08-8

eBook: 978-1-948262-09-5

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Acknowledgments

This story is dedicated to all the friends and families who have to deal with the enormous pressures of seeing loved ones disrupted on their life path. There is no easy solution to these difficult situations. In my case, the magnitude of support in every aspect was extremely helpful and inspiring.

There are so many people that I want to thank. Friends babysat for my three children and visited with me in the various hospitals. When they found out that my condition was not going to improve for a long time, they were nice enough to bring food to my family. So many kept me in their prayers. I am sincerely grateful for their very kind gestures.

Stafford Smith and my parents, Bill and Cynthia Buff, provided me with all the necessary tools from office space to the many copies needed to share this story. My mother devoted many hours a day to bring this book to market. She lived through the horror of my situation and sacrificed her free time to help edit my words. This has made it her story too.

I owe a deep debt of gratitude to all the doctors, hospitals, nurses, technicians, and therapists who worked so hard to support my recovery. I could not have done it without their expertise.

I thank all for their kindness and generosity. However, the moral support of my family and friends is what I appreciate most. Without them, I might not have attained my goals.

Chapter 1

I never saw it coming! In an infinitesimal tick of time, my life changed forever. I will tell you my story, and you decide whether it was for the better or the worse.

No one in my family had heard of it before. The words AVM (arteriovenous malformation) were to become part of their everyday language. Of course, as soon as other people heard what it was, everyone seemed to have a cousin, sister, or acquaintance who had suffered an AVM in one form or another. Unfortunately, most of the other victims had died.

The AVM struck my brain, in the cerebellum and brain stem—the parts responsible for balance and coordination. The malformation caused a weakness in the blood vessels. When it burst, it partially wiped out those abilities that had served me so well throughout my life.

On the fateful day of July 18, 1999, I was playing golf in the club championship at the Rumson Country Club in Rumson, New Jersey, one of the biggest events of the year at the club. On the way to the course, the thought never occurred to me that I would not go home or see my kids again for months. I was thirty-six years old, and my young children were at a very vulnerable age.

Life was good. I was on top of the world—no thought in anyone’s mind that tragedy lurked just around the corner.

On the drive to the club, all I could think about was winning and how to secure a victory. The stress of the event was always very hard on me. There were so many details and intricacies I needed to remember in order to conquer the challenges of the golf course and play my best.

As the temperature soared to one hundred degrees on that sweltering summer day, my opponent and I toughed it out, drinking lots of water as we sweated our way through an eighteen-hole match, a preliminary round of the club championship. My game was smooth and strong that day—victory was my prize.

At the end of the match, we headed into the men’s locker room for a welcome drink of cold water. Just then, out of nowhere, a sudden and excruciating pain struck me in the head. It felt like I had been hit with a golf ball. I became sick to my stomach and passed out; everyone thought I was having a heatstroke.

Chapter 2

In the locker room, my friend Doug insisted on calling 911. He had a feeling it was more than a heatstroke. His decision basically saved my life. The ambulance whisked me off to Riverview Hospital in Red Bank New Jersey. In the emergency room, a CAT (computerized axial tomography) scan revealed a brain hemorrhage, not a heatstroke. These scans use x-rays to create a series of cross-sectional images of the brain and are especially useful in revealing the presence of a hemorrhage.

I was totally unconscious. My wife Lisa and good friend Rick McCoy stayed by my side. My mother had just returned from Ohio with my sister, Ginger, and her family, who were arriving for a week’s visit. They were all at the country club pool house waiting for me to emerge from the golf course. Everyone was concerned about the fate of John F. Kennedy, Jr. The news announced that he had been lost in his airplane. Little did my family know that I was fighting for my life at the same moment.

When my mom arrived at the emergency room, the nurse, Pat, a former neighbor, comforted her. My mom noticed that while I lay unconscious on the stretcher, I acted as if I had apnea—I stopped breathing periodically and then took a deep breath to overcome it. As the results of the CAT scan came in, the nurse rushed me off to be intubated; I was unable to breathe properly on my own because of the bleeding in my brain.

As the horror of the situation began to evolve, Pat asked my mom if she wanted to contact the rest of the family, in other words, this was extremely serious. The police were summoned to inform my dad and brother Mark who were running a driving-school class in southern New Jersey. My brother Bill and sister, Ginger, were contacted at the country club pool, where they were waiting for me to join them.

The medical staff knew, at this point, that a brain surgeon would be needed. Dr. Bruce Rosenblum, reputed to be one of the top in the country, came in right away even though it was a Sunday. An angiogram, a procedure where a contrast dye is injected into an artery and then x-rayed to reveal the structure of the blood vessels, was performed. Doctor Rosenblum had his map of my brain.

He virtually saved my life, performing an emergency craniotomy, an operation on my head. As word spread, many friends and family gathered in the hospital waiting room, anxious for any news. Eventually, someone brought pizza and sandwiches for sustenance.

Chapter 3

My life, as I knew it, was changed forever. I was unconscious at the time, leaving my family to suffer through the horrors of not knowing whether I would live or die.

However, let me start at the beginning. I was born into a wonderful family, three boys, one girl. Since we were all one year apart in age, we were a close-knit group and enjoyed a multitude of activities together even though there was the requisite sibling rivalry.

Billy was born in 1960, Mark in 1961, I was born in 1962, and then our sister, Ginger, came along in 1963. She actually greeted the world on the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, November 22. With blue eyes and blond hair, we reminded my parents’ friends of a small cadre of angels. As luck would have it, the boys got the curly hair and Ginger got the straight, which later in life proved to be a blessing so she didn’t have to straighten it.

We grew up in the comfortably affluent community of Rumson, New Jersey, a town of approximately four thousand people. Nestled between two rivers, the Navesink and the Shrewsbury, we were only minutes from the Atlantic Ocean. This proximity to these bodies of water had a major influence on my life.

Rumson is home to many large, stately mansions. Tree lined streets, manicured lawns, lush gardens, friendly people; our town was a wonderful place to grow up in. Part of the beauty of Rumson Road, which runs the length of the town and ends directly at the ocean, is that there are no telephone poles or high-tension wires in its entire length. All the wires are underground. This adds to the charm of a rural community.

In 1963, two weeks before Ginger was born, we moved from a small country home in Tinton Falls, to the house on Rumson Road that my parents had just built.

A white wooden sign, Rumson—settled in 1665, sat by the road in our front yard. With majestic black walnut trees at the edge of the road, lush maple trees in the backyard always filled with chirping birds, and two and a half acres of grass, our home was handsome. A two-story house with a Cape Cod gray cedar-shake exterior, it had a gray and beige river-stone facade around the front door and was enhanced by attractive landscaping.

The ornamental cherry trees in our front yard produced cotton candy puffs of pink blossoms each spring. The reds and pinks of the rhododendrons and azaleas followed close on their bloom, and we had a gardener who trimmed and manicured the bushes and trees. Of course, weeding and cutting the grass became our responsibility as we got older. A small English-style garden enhanced the entrance to our back door. One of my mom’s friends said that our house always looked like it was smiling.

Mark_Ginger_Keith_Billy_1965.jpg

(left to right)

Billy, Mark, Keith, and Ginger

1965

Chapter 4

Growing up, we were basically good kids. I don’t remember anyone throwing a tantrum or whining