Seventeen Miraculous Seconds

By Janice Lee

"Don't go in there and tell him goodbye! No matter how bad he is, tell him you will see him again soon. He will give up before even trying if he hears you say goodbye. Tell him you will see him soon, Mom. Don't tell him goodbye," Russ pleads.

A devastating car accident leaves Ty Boyd in a coma and his life hanging by a thread. When doctors gather around to coax the family into accepting his inevitable demise, the Boyds instead rally into a force even death can't reckon with. A living force that gained momentum as real-life angels joined their efforts to seek far more than mere survival for Ty. One is awestruck by the energy, stamina, and resiliency found through faith and prayer.

This true story focuses more on the faith journey of the Boyd family, as seen through the eyes of Ty's mother, Janice. She recalls a time when she thought she might witness her son's last breath and how loving, courageous people came to help them nurture Ty through rehabilitation, physical therapy, depression, and the other life-altering consequences of his acquired brain injury. This is truly a heartwarming gem among spiritual memoirs.

Finding and holding onto faith amid emotional trauma is harder than it sounds, but it's precisely what the Boyd family set out to do. Janice's narrative captures the sparkling personalities that saved Ty's life and kept her family whole. She recounts, in simple yet mighty scenes of faith and love, a wave of blessing through one of life's most destructive storms.

This optimistic family autobiography will inspire, comfort, and encourage readers from all backgrounds who face life's countless trials

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889432296

Book preview

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Seventeen Miraculous Seconds

Janice Lee

ISBN 979-8-88943-228-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88943-229-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Janice Lee

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

For my archangel and husband, Donnie. Also, to the earth angels appearing in our lives at the most desperate times.

Preface

Chapter 1

Raspberry Iced Tea

Chapter 2

Don't Say Goodbye

Chapter 3

Purple Golf Balls

Chapter 4

Prepare for Battle

Chapter 5

Ignorance on Fire

Chapter 6

Brain Injury 101

Chapter 7

For Every Thorn, There Is Mercy

Chapter 8

Rebirth

Chapter 9

Life Does Push Forward Even after You're Gone

Chapter 10

One in a Million

Chapter 11

And My Dog's Name Is Max

Chapter 12

Seventeen Miraculous Seconds

Chapter 13

You Have Faith, Use it!

Chapter 14

Healing Garden

Chapter 15

Dandelions

Chapter 16

Happy Birthday!

Chapter 17

Applesauce

Chapter 18

Discombobulated

Chapter 19

Sign Language

Chapter 20

Hey, You!

Chapter 21

I Need Therapy Too!

Chapter 22

Emerald City

Chapter 23

No Food by Mouth!

Chapter 24

Three Meals a Day!

Chapter 25

Run Like Hell!

Chapter 26

More Angels Are Coming

Chapter 27

A Beer, Please

Chapter 28

Mainstream, Finally!

Chapter 29

You're a Liability

Chapter 30

Frog

About the Author

For my archangel and husband, Donnie. Also, to the earth angels appearing in our lives at the most desperate times.

Preface

First, as you will know, I am not even remotely connected to any medical field. I am, however, a regular mom. Up until the injury, my job was pretty cushy. Then suddenly, I had to test my mothering skills. Not just to pack a healthy lunch or help pick out required college courses. Of course, those are good parenting skills, don't get me wrong. The test is when faced with placing your twenty-four-year-old son into a nursing home on life support for the rest of his life when just a week before, he was healthy, surfing, working construction, and dating. You have two choices when you absolutely cannot believe what life has placed before you. Two choices only! One is to be so overwhelmed that you get a cardiovascular disease from the stress or, my favorite option, push for more recovery while maintaining a sense of judgment and reason. Since we couldn't undo what had happened, we did as life intended and went for recovery. We learned along the way that love, laughter, and appreciation for a sense of humor were crucial points toward recovery for all of our sanity. We also learned to keep a cunning eye out every day for the smallest blessing sent our way.

Please do not take this the wrong way, and I know nothing is humorous about anyone obtaining life-altering injuries, no matter how mild or severe. I feel that all the energy spent on anguish and frustration is wasted and will not help anyone heal. In my opinion, it will only make this worse because your loved one is seriously injured, and you are on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

At this time, it is essential to savor your precious energy. Use it wisely. Be extra kind to yourself. Breathe deep, down past your navel, trust your instincts, and be kind to others. Try not to blame the ones trying to help. It is not the medical staff's fault. Yet they tend to be the targets of our frustrations. In my experience, the nurses gave more help and inside information because they felt our sincere appreciation for them. They genuinely went beyond the call of duty for our family, even without asking.

Possibly by sharing, our story will or can help even one person or family. Keep your sense of reason, sanity, and even a tiny taste of humor. No kidding, it's that hard. So may you be as blessed as we were and still are, my friend. Everything is going to be okay.

Give me a heart like thine, grant vision clear to me, and stronger arms to lift with fuller sympathy (A verse from a hymn, A Morning Prayer, copywritten 1938 by The Rodeheaver, cowritten by Virgil and Blanche Brock).

Chapter 1

Raspberry Iced Tea

Did you see what that crazy bird did just outside of the front door? I yawn while taking my first sip of morning coffee. He made a nest for his baby birds in that funky little plastic fake birdhouse that I bought from the ninety-nine-cent store.

No, I hadn't noticed, but what makes you so sure he built it? my husband, Donnie, replies. Maybe she did it.

Well, of course, he did it. He's the guy bird, I respond.

Okay, Donnie replies sarcastically. They probably built it together, but she undoubtedly had most of the say in where they should build it and what material to use, and he just did what she told him to do.

It was easy to build and convenient to fly home to, I say in a sassy tone.

Well, then—Donnie smiles—maybe she loves him so much that she accepts anything that he is capable of giving her, including a close-to-the-ground apartment.

I take another couple of sips of coffee and think aloud, Should I try and move it up higher?

Hey, he says, what if you take it as a compliment that this father bird found the shelter near your front door in the great plastic ninety-nine-cent birdhouse where he can raise his beloved, hungry clan? Take your coffee, sit down, and listen to the birds chirp back and forth to each other.

Darn! That man always makes common sense out of any situation. We kiss goodbye for the day, and I watch him leave out the front door. He stops and notices the birds. Probably to make sure that papa bird is doing his expected job, Donnie leaves for his construction job in his '93 diesel Ford utility truck.

A few nights pass, and the birds settle into their nest despite my concerns. The front room window closest to the plastic birdhouse stays wide open so we can enjoy the chirping of the two newlywed bird parents in love. But honestly, the windows are open so we can hear that the babies are not fretful. For goodness' sake, they are only the size of a cotton ball. I pour myself a tall glass of fruity raspberry iced tea and curl up on the overstuffed chair to visit with Donnie. It is Saturday in August. The weather in Southern California is always so hot this time of year that it can be unbearable. The payoff, though, is the fresh, comfortable evenings. A perfect refreshing breeze floats in from every window and screen door. The sprinklers are clicking with a rhythm in the yard, making that ideal breeze even more pleasant. At this moment, we are taking for granted our extraordinary, lovely life.

Donnie is catching the tail end of a fishing show. During commercials, we're talking about how his day was on the job and my day. His issues seem huge and very stressful. A homeowner change, the wrong hardware delivered, plans that need bidding by Friday, and so on. However, after more than twenty-seven years in the construction business, we have become pros in how to manage the unexpected.

Chirp, chirp comes from the front room window.

We never rush into a decision but have learned to take the time to absorb issues, sort out the problem, and act in the best solution for everyone involved.

With the evening winding down, our conversation switches to the family. Russ, our youngest son, is nineteen and plans to move to New York. Exciting for him and devastating for us, but we can never let him know that. The little valley we live in is becoming a bit stifling for him, and he feels the need to change things up to something bigger. He can look forward to new opportunities and live differently compared to the humdrum life in a small mountain community. I can look forward to losing fifteen pounds from worrying about him.

Russ graduated high school with a 4.0 but has no interest in college. He never liked the classroom. Russ loves being creative with music, computers, gardening, and biking. When he was fifteen, he cultivated the side yard and planted a garden with squash, beans, tomatoes, and rhubarb. He spent hours barefoot working that garden. If not for Russ, Donnie and I would have lived sheltered lives, not knowing the taste of pad thai, wheatgrass, hummus, and even papaya enzymes. Maybe that is why it seems so odd that he wants to try out New York. Perhaps he can find a rooftop with some built-in planter boxes to grow peppers and tomatoes; I've seen that on TV. Those gardens are very Manhattan chic with trellises and apple trees trained to grow up the sidewalls.

Last month, Russ and I made a trip to Manhattan for a few days to secure an apartment for him. He found a dinky little studio apartment above a restaurant on Lexington and Seventy-Second Street. The unleveled floor is darn near-rotted wood dating back to roughly 1901. The kitchen can easily be mistaken for a laundry room, but the dollhouse stove quickly gives the idea that it is a kitchen! The bathroom is perfect as long as you can walk in, do your thing, and then carefully back out without turning your body. If your shoulders touch the walls simultaneously, the possibility of getting stuck is an actual reality.

But the coolest part about this little pad is—hands down—the fire escape. You can crawl out the window and sit on a small ledge. It makes a noisy town almost animated with the sounds and hustle.

Russ will be leaving at the end of August. Scheduling the whole turn of events that need to happen is a bit challenging. Still, Russ has planned carefully, so we won't worry. It's only New York—right? I am savoring the last few weeks that he is still home. Shopping, planning, more planning, and a ton of talk about what he can look forward to in New York.

Have you talked to Ty today? Donnie asks.

Ty is our firstborn and is now twenty-four. He learned the construction trade from his dad and started working after school when he was about sixteen. He seems completely satisfied with living in a small mountain town community. I'm not positive, but the thought of leaving this little mountain community has probably never occurred to Ty. For the time, he is working for another local contractor, who Donnie knows exceptionally well. It's good for Ty to break away from the family construction business occasionally. Working with his dad every day can feel like he is always under a watchful eye.

Even though he moved out of the house when he was nineteen, he has always been close. He only lives about twelve minutes from us. He pops in and out for laundry, pays bills, eats a healthy meal, and does laundry again. The typical postteen stuff never seems to go away soon. I love it. I love that he comes home all the time. Ty was born in 1982; however, he is an old soul. He loves classic rock and knows every member of almost any classic rock band and nearly every song they sang. It's just nuts.

For Ty's eighteenth birthday, Donnie and I bought him four tickets to see the Rolling Stones in Anaheim. Anaheim is about three hours from our house. We spent days planning this for him. We found a choice hotel within walking distance of the event, so they didn't have to drive in an unfamiliar town. In the end, he would be able to tell his grandkids that he saw the Stones live, just like my father used to talk about seeing the Beatles in concert.

Ty loves surfing, hanging out with his friends, and working hard for the weekend. It is later that I discover his deep inner connection to Pink Floyd.

Our sons are both so different. I am always on one end of the scale or the other with them. Never am I on an even keel. I know that no matter what problems they come to me with, I should stare at them blankly and not rush to an emotion or a solution, no matter how disturbing it may be. Sometimes it is hard not to cry or laugh. And if need be, I seriously bite my tongue—superhard because for some reason, they tell me everything.

When the house phone rings, I am three sips into my yummy glass of raspberry iced tea. Automatically, I rise to fetch it, as Donnie is seemingly more absorbed in the fishing program than the phone call. I am joking and mumbling, It's probably just a solicitor, and you know what? If it is, I'll tell them it's technically after nine, and I think there is a law. I get to the phone. Hello?

Hi, Janice, this is Alec, Ty's friend.

Oh, hi, Alec. What's up?

Ty was hit by a car. Pause—massive pause on my end.

How bad is it, Alec? Pause—colossal pause on his end.

Not that bad. Ty is at the critical care unit.

Alec begins to explain more about what is happening. Still, oddly, suddenly, his words sound more like the teacher from the old Charlie Brown cartoon: Maw, maw, maw, maw.

The thought of giving the solicitor a piece of my mind flies out the window with that perfect California August breeze. I hang up the phone but, for some reason, don't feel hysterical like some people might feel. That freaking-out reaction doesn't surface. Maybe that is because Alec is playing it so cool. It can't be that big of a deal. I console myself. For sure, it is a minor accident. Why else would he be so calm? I walk over to the couch where Donnie is sitting and tell him about the phone call that just happened.

Don't worry, I assure him. It's probably just a broken arm or a fractured leg. Stay here, and I'll call you after I get to the critical care unit. Donnie flicks off the TV.

Concerned, he says, Are you sure you want me to stay here?

You know Ty just as well as I do, I reply. It's always something with him. I give Donnie a relaxed smile. I will call you the minute I know more.

We're used to broken limbs and stuff with Ty. In his twenty-four years, his arms have been broken three times, along with both jaws, to the point that the doctors had to replace his jaw sockets with titanium balls so they could open and shut. Yeah, I know! He had over half of his teeth replaced with implants and an extra earlobe removed (a charming minor birth imperfection, so that was probably my fault). With all that, I think I had a right to be nonchalant when Alec called to tell me that a van had hit Ty. I am not surprised that this has happened to him. Besides, some people who unfortunately are hit by vehicles get broken legs or broken arms. Still, they live to talk about it, and I am sure Ty will tell us about it too.

Chapter 2

Don't Say Goodbye

It is my nature and self-proclaimed title to keep a peaceful and calm tone in the family, which is stressful, but it is my job, and I try to do it well. I leave the house and head toward the hospital with a calm feeling that I will go and handle this emergency, a typical crisis: dislocated shoulder, broken arm, broken leg, or any other bones that can break. I am manifesting regular distress.

Suddenly, however, about five minutes into my drive to the critical care unit, a feeling comes up from my lower gut, telling me that something may be very wrong. This accident may not be a typical emergency. As this feeling rises, a pulse begins to beat in my throat, and I subconsciously start to pray.

Dear heavenly Father, please let me know your strength, warmth, and security. Please be there and walk in front of me into that emergency room. Please be with him, I repeat over and over until I spot a parking space. The spot seems a bit too far away from the emergency room to suit my anxiety, but it's the only one I can find without driving around the lot again, so I whip in and park my SUV.

Without hesitation and still consciously keeping my award-winning composure, I head directly to the main entrance of the critical care unit emergency room's automatic sliding doors. Before pushing the big red emergency button that will open those two-way glass sliders to the room, I hear a loving voice, saying, I am already with him. My desperate prayer has been heard. I take a grateful breath so deep that it reaches past my navel, and then I slowly let it out. I push that bright-red button.

I'm heading to the nurse's station. I see three people sitting in chairs in the waiting area. Oddly, as if they are watching a tennis match, their eyes quickly dart between the nurse on duty and me. I feel these folks probably already know more about what is happening than I do. Small town, a small hospital, and the most action they have seen in months. However, before I can become as tuned in as they are, a soft authoritative voice says, Are you Tyler's mom?

Yes? I say with a question mark. Why did I say yes with a question mark? I will never know, but she continues without waiting for another second, even to let me catch my breath.

My name is Mary. She takes my hand. Mary continues, Tyler's injuries are very severe. Very severe.

She says it twice to make sure I understand. And Tyler is unconscious. She says unconscious once, probably not to overexcite me.

He has a lot of internal bleeding, and his injuries are extremely critical.

She pauses briefly. I ask point-blank a reasonable question that every typical, regular mom would ask, and the most obvious question anyone would want to know: Are you telling me that he could die?

Nurse Mary closes her eyes for a solid five seconds, and I feel she does not want to say it aloud. Nurse Mary nods her head slowly up and down and forces out the word yes.

That's all she says, but she keeps a close eye out for my reaction. I know she is waiting for me to respond with a hysterical outburst. More to her surprise than mine, that doesn't happen. I stare blankly at her, but I feel the pulse in my throat and a massive, heavy heart.

A priest from the sheriff's department has been called in for you or your family if you need him. We have prepared an ambulance. They will be taking him to the intensive care unit at the trauma medical center. However, when you go to see Ty, Mrs. Boyd, you should say your goodbyes because he may very well not make it.

Nurse Mary is reading orders to me as if she is my assistant, briefing me on my itinerary for the night. I am still maintaining my composure, though. Is shock overcoming me? Am I so drained from years of bad news that I am not affected? No, I am in disbelief. I am in denial and disbelief, even at this early point in time. I will not go from sipping raspberry iced tea on a fantastic August evening to saying a final farewell to my child in a matter of thirty minutes. I will not allow Nurse Mary to come to me with the problem that one of her patients is dying. I will, however, think it through calmly and decide what is best for everyone involved.

Donnie quickly answers the phone because he has been waiting for my call.

Hey, hon. Ty is unconscious! Please come here as soon as you can. His injuries are bad. The ambulance is preparing to take him to ICU at the trauma medical center. I don't hear another word from Donnie, just a click of the phone receiver; he is on his way.

I make one more massive phone call, this one to Russ. Russell and his girlfriend, Meg, have been pricing objects to sell at their yard sale. They are trying to raise a bit more money for their New York move and, at the same time, get rid of some unwanted items.

Hey, Mama. What's up so late? Russ teases as he answers.

Russ, I am so sorry to call you so late with this news, but Ty was struck by a van while crossing the street! He is in the critical care unit. I think you should come up here.

Is it bad, Mom? Should Meg come too? he says very anxiously.

It would probably be good if she did, but I will leave that up to you, I answer quickly.

We will be right there, Mom, and everything is going to be fine. We'll be right there. Russ hangs up quickly.

Right now, I feel like someone violently tossed out of an airplane without a parachute. You know the outcome isn't right, but human behavior hangs on to hope. I don't want to see Ty in pain or hurting. I am so petrified for him. What am I going to say to him, and how am I going to react? I am irritated at myself. Please, God, let me be strong.

Suddenly, I starkly realize that Ty was born at this hospital, and now he may die here. Our doctor was so proud of the birth and that there were no complications. Our friends and family were popping in to congratulate us, and