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I think he has done so well to come this far and his wife has been so supportive, I hope things will work out for them and their new baby will arrive safely and will help bring more joy to the family.
I think the reason many marriages or relationships break up is because the person injured changes a lot sometimes, in temperament and behaviour so they aren't the same person any more. Some can become violent and it must put a huge strain on the partner and children to have to adjust and know how to cope with those changes.
Lizx
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Jean,
I agree with you - they seem to have a very sound marriage. I suppose as he is a physically exceptionally fit, his body came away with just a severe head injury. I hope his great determination throughout his Olympic training will come out again, and get him back to health.
Elisabeth x
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What a wonderful lady his wife must be! To cope with all that and still carry on. I hope their marriage survives all this, it seems a good one. Good luck to them all.
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I found the 'sister' item, written by his wife, Bev Turner, very moving.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/8023933/Beverley-Turner-James-was-lying-seriously-ill...then-I-discovered-I-was-pregnant.html
The fact that she was told that 75% of couples in this situation divorce, must have been terrifying, when she just found out she was pregnant with their third child.
Elisabeth x
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Thanks for this Liz, James is a man I admire for the commitment he gives to his sport, one of my favourites so it was a good read.
Caz xx
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It's great that he has done so well and shows how necessary a bike helmet is, they should be compulsory wear for all cyclists. My o.h. won't wear one but his son does as he cycles to and from the station every day and the same at the home end of his journey.
I hope the new baby will be fine and will help James recover even more from determination to be there for all his family.
Lizx
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Measuring and improving my physical condition is a useful goal. My in-depth understanding of physiology means I know exactly where 10 weeks of inactivity have left me and the work required to get back to where I was. But it’s also shown me that the same time and effort is also needed with my psychological recovery. Otherwise, like so many brain-injury victims, I’ll drive away the people who love me. I admit that I’m quicker to get frustrated, lose my temper and train of thought – all of which Bev above all has to cope with. But those situations are reducing and I’m more aware of myself.
Aside from looking after our two children, dealing with doctors, press, insurance issues and worrying about other family members, Bev also found out she was pregnant while I was talking gibberish and nobody knew if I’d make a full recovery. How she coped with all that only makes me respect her more. There have been plenty of faces I’ve failed to recognise since regaining consciousness but never hers.
We had our 12-week scan this week. We’re lucky that it’s our third baby – but Bev’s reaction was totally different to the scans of Croyde, six, and Kiki, one. The stress and emotion of the past nine weeks came flooding out when we saw that there was a heartbeat on the screen. I’m so proud of her and our unborn child for the way they have looked after each other and I’m determined to make sure I make a full recovery to be there for Croyde and Kiki – not to mention Bev and junior.
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While I knew my body wasn’t working – I had an injured foot, sore head and felt unusually weak – mentally, I didn’t feel any different. I felt able to reply to emails sending me best wishes, even though everyone else knew I was rattling off rambled responses. A close colleague changed my email password and she was absolutely right to do so – I have no recollection of ever trying to send an email from hospital in America. I was also furious not to be allowed to have my mobile phone, but when I did sneak it back, I caused confusion back home by making calls I still don’t remember.
Eventually the American doctors decided I was fit to fly to the UK with a medical escort. In order to keep me quiet on the flight, Bev gave me back my mobile phone and I spent 16 hours writing texts that I planned to send on landing. I felt entirely ready to go home. Only now can I see that I inhabited my own happy bubble. Everyone around me knew that I wasn’t right.
While I knew my body wasn’t working – I had an injured foot, sore head and felt unusually weak – mentally, I didn’t feel any different. I felt able to reply to emails sending me best wishes, even though everyone else knew I was rattling off rambled responses. A close colleague changed my email password and she was absolutely right to do so – I have no recollection of ever trying to send an email from hospital in America. I was also furious not to be allowed to have my mobile phone, but when I did sneak it back, I caused confusion back home by making calls I still don’t remember.
Eventually the American doctors decided I was fit to fly to the UK with a medical escort. In order to keep me quiet on the flight, Bev gave me back my mobile phone and I spent 16 hours writing texts that I planned to send on landing. I felt entirely ready to go home. Only now can I see that I inhabited my own happy bubble. Everyone around me knew that I wasn’t right.
Tests and conversations with a neurologist revealed some harsh truths. There is a crucial window of three weeks from the accident to regaining consistent memory. Within that window a full recovery is on the cards; outside of that and there are no guarantees. I have ''islands of memory’’ but no consistency, so there are no guarantees. I can’t drive and will have to be reassessed. I can’t drink for between six months and a year as the neurons in my brain rejoin. I will never be able to work at the same pace as before or be able to grasp complex theories. Although to be honest I’ve always tended to steer clear of the latter.
The aural tests revealed that my vocabulary is now below average. I had always tended towards ''concrete thinking’’. This means my flexibility of thought, stubbornness and impatience are now in the bottom 2 per cent. (Regarding the last two as positive characteristics, I said: “Surely you mean top 2 per cent!”) I protested that I was no more stubborn or impatient than people I associated with. This was met with a polite smile by the medical team – until Steve Redgrave paid me a visit and then they could see what I meant.
I was desperate to get out of hospital, but have realised that this is just the start of a long, final stage of recovery. Strangely, I don’t feel any anger, which might be partly due to the medication. I’m lucky to be able to look forward. Physically, I’m suffering little more than two fractures in my skull and a few broken bones in my foot (courtesy of the Death Valley run) and a shocking lack of fitness. In healing, the brain takes everything it needs from the body. Matt Pinsent took me out rowing as the neurologist thought it would redevelop my motor skills. At the very least, it showed us why we used to need to train for so many hours in the boat. Nobody would have thought two Olympic gold medalists were rowing past them. And I’ve gingerly taken two short rides to our local high street on a bicycle.
Surviving an impact at that speed, I thank Christ I’m alive and feel so lucky to be here for my family, but at the same time unlucky. I was riding on a public highway with bright lights on my bike and got hit from behind. My helmet, the actions of my support crew and the ambulance service saved my life. I’m determined to make the most of my family and of life. Does that mean I’ll go on another adventurous challenge? There’s a great deal of psychological and physical rehabilitation before that can even be considered and any decision will be made on behalf of and as a family unit.
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James Cracknell: I feel so lucky to be alive, but I’ll never be the same again'
Ten weeks ago, James Cracknell was knocked off his bike and left with severe head injuries. For the first time, he tells of his struggle to recover.
By James Cracknell
Published: 8:00AM BST 25 Sep 2010
The first thing I remember after the accident is waking up to see Mark Perkins – the physiotherapist who held me together for my multi-sport crossing of America – watching me. He’d normally eject me from sleep and straight on to a bike, but he just sat there. Thinking that slightly strange, and feeling surprisingly well-rested, I said: “Where’s the bike? Let’s get going.”
“The challenge is over, mate. You got knocked off by a truck 10 days ago.” Surely he was winding me up. The last thing I remembered was getting off my bike to have a sleep.
Oddly, Mark didn’t seem surprised by my question. I now know this was understandable, given that over the previous few days I’d apparently been convinced I was racing in the Tour de France for Team Sky and had asked for four plane tickets as I was “going loco down in Acapulco”. Worryingly, those were two of the few statements that are mentionable here.
My interrupted journey had effectively been a ''Greatest Hits Tour of America’’ for the Discovery Channel. The trip started at the terminus of Route 66 on Santa Monica Pier in Los Angeles and from there I cycled the 300 miles to Death Valley: the driest, hottest and – at 86m below sea level – the lowest place in America, not to mention home to the infamous shoe-melting Badwater Ultramarathon. I’d melted mine in searing 55+ degrees on a horrendous, but geologically stunning (especially to an ex-geography teacher), triple marathon.
The best sight, though, was my wife Bev, who had flown out to be with me when I finished the run, knowing that it would be hard, horrible and, if pace and hydration weren’t managed, I’d fail the endeavour less than 10 per cent of the way across. With the ''subtle’’ direction of my support team I’d balanced my fluids and speed but unfortunately hadn’t saved enough energy for a romantic welcome to my wife on her brief visit.
After food, massage and sleep, I cycled out of Death Valley and rejoined Route 66 for an epic 2,500-mile ride up the ''Backbone of America’’, or the ''Mother Road’’. The plan was to take in Arizona, New Mexico and the Midwest, with a detour to Toledo and one of the Great Lakes. I would row Lake Erie’s 240 miles, with some motivation provided by my old rowing mate Matthew Pinsent, a decade on from our victory at the Sydney Olympics. Then I would be back on the bike for the 500 miles to New York, finishing with a swim down the Hudson to the Statue of Liberty.
Unfortunately, just after 5am, I was knocked off my bike by a petrol tanker outside Winslow in Arizona. I didn’t get to see the impact crater at Winslow or the rest of Route 66 as I was taken to the local hospital and then flown by helicopter to Phoenix. When the truck’s wing mirror hit me on the back of the head some of the impact was absorbed by my helmet. Had it not been, this article would have been submitted by a ''ghost writer’’, and I’ve never wanted one of those.
I had several MRI scans in the States that confirmed I had “rung my own bell”. In other words, the brain had acted like a bell’s hammer, swinging forward and damaging the frontal lobes. This area controls personality, decision-making, planning, concentration and motivation.
Despite this, I think I had it easy compared with what my family were, and still are, going through. Watching someone you love on a ventilator, unable to function, only occasionally appearing conscious, and not knowing what level of recovery they were going to have, must have been horrendous. Their suffering was probably made worse by the fact I was normally so active. Being an observer to all this, and being unable to do anything, would have driven me mad.
Although I was very disorientated and agitated for some time, just knowing I’d been hit by a truck made me feel lucky to be alive. This gratitude was only strengthened by seeing my fellow patients on the rehabilitation ward: stroke victims and amputees who might never regain their independence. Their stories really put my injuries into perspective.
The complexities of the brain defy most mortals and with anything from 15 to 33 million neurons that’s understandable. Over the past 10 weeks I’ve gained some knowledge of the brain’s sensitivity and its effect on everything we do. But I’ve also discovered that so much of what the brain does, how it works and – importantly – how it repairs itself, remains a mystery.
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