171 days ago, on ANZAC day our much loved son, brother, grandson and friend of so many Darryl Sabin, entered a monumental battle of his own, the fight for his life. Today, after surviving what seemed unsurvivable and drawing on every ounce of character, spirit and determination over the past five months Darryl has made his way back to us and is home again.
Yesterday was our last day at the rehab that Darryl spent over four months at and I made good on a promise I made to Darryl on the first day we arrived there in an ambulance; we walked out of there – literally. Flanked by three of the staff from the rehab who have been so much a part of Darryl’s life and recovery, Darryl and I walked from his room, up the driveway and out the gateway and across the road to where I had parked the car.
When we got to the end of the driveway Darryl and I stopped and I turned to him and said, “you did it mate. I am so proud of you”, shortly after which we both dissolved into tears and galvinised our feelings in a hug. At that moment ,the thousands of hours of hard work, pain, tears, share grit and determination became one of freedom and achievement. There have been so many poignant moments on this journey to date but few compare to that of watching Darryl pick up the last handful of stones from that mountain which he has moved.
The day was filled with symbolism and meaning. We were privileged once again to have a visit from All Black coach Graham Henry, who made a special trip out to see us. Why? Well Graham told Darryl as he shook his hand. “I’m here because you are an inspiration Darryl, you are an inspiration to all of us and you have touched a lot of lives”. Darryl’s eyes sparkled with absolute pride (well deserved as it is) as the leader of All Black rugby, whose eyes also filled with tears, expressed his total unadulterated admiration. I have the utmost respect for him and the sincerity with which he has stood by my son. He was there on day one, just by a twist of fate and he has continued the journey wth us.
And to complete the day of symbolism we also made something of a pilgrimage back to where this journey began on D-Day. Another promise I had made to Darryl was that before we left we would go back to critical care and allow those so dedicated to saving life to share in the spoils of their labours. It was with a significant degree of trepidation that Darryl, Brenna, Catherine and I walked back up to those fateful doors into ward 82. Those doors that for so long I couldn’t even bear to look at let alone walk through. Strangely enough, as we stood waiting for one of the doctors who was expecting us, to let us in, those feeling melted away and were replaced with a sense of pride and tinged with excitement.
We met with two of the doctors who were at the coal face of Darryl’s survival, along with a lovely nurse who had been something of a rock to us in those early days. I am sure they were thrilled to see Darryl, to shake his hand (right hand at that) and to talk with him. The mortality rate from that ward is something in the order of 14 percent. Over 80 percent of people that pass through those doors will not come out alive. The fact that Darryl was one who cheated the odds, is humbling beyond anything a parent should ever experience, but something I will treasure selfishly.
Having shared our journey with the staff we went to the exact area (or space as it is called) that Darryl was in while in that ward. It was like stepping though into a parallel universe, but this time with a suit of armour adorned to deflect the thousands of knives that had previously cut away at vulnerable emotions. Darryl was shown around the space and was wide eyed as the nurse talked him through the equipment that supported his survival as he clung tenuously to life. It was a surreal experience and one that will hopefully give Darryl a mental reference point of the journey at its outset and for us a degree of closure and a step towards healing those scars which remain unquestionably raw.
It was literally a case of closing the door as we walked back out of those doors and turned around to look back and share another one of the hugs. (photo below) ’Clunk’….. another door closes.
It was a day of reflection, a day to celebrate and a day to set free the months of hurt which can now make way for the months of healing and growth. Today as we drove north for just the second time since D-Day, we did so with the burden lifting from our hearts and a sense of simmering excitement and anticipation.
When we get home, rehab will take on a different look and focus. Living so close to the beach will provide great opportunities to improve his walking, going to the shop will double as speech language therapy and going to the gym, Jim will be as we know it now. We are fortunate enough to live within a short walking distance of the Mangonui Health and Fitness Centre, which is a great gym and somewhere we both used to go before D-Day. We have been talking for months about getting back up there and doing a real workout programme and tomorrow we’ll be straight up there. Just settling back into a normal gym routine amongst friends will be something to cherish and I am confident it will take Darryl to the next level again which is where we need to be heading.
There is a long way to go – yes, but being home will provide the right environment to move forward with real purpose. Darryl has moved one mountain but behind it lay many other hills. But the way is now clear, the future he so nearly lost now lies ahead of him again. And with every milestone achieved and each challenge surpassed has come a sense of belief that fosters the hope and possibility that is the fabric of a truly fulfilling life.
Darryl will never know the horror he lived through in those early days. His life will always have a blind spot where ours has blinding pain. It is an ironic relief that hand in hand with his brain injury comes complete amnesia of that period that of his life that was resting on a knife edge. Perhaps one day he will read these entries and know in some way just how frightening the journey was at it’s outset, but I am grateful beyond words that any awakening to this reality will be from the outside, in.
It has been a long five months, for my family, for Darryl’s family on his mother’s side and for all who have been close to Darryl in this part of the journey. Everyone has hurt, everyone has cried, everyone has lived through a nightmare of unique and unparalleled proportions. For my family personally this has been a long standing challenge. Over two years ago we were faced with what has amounted to a prelude to this life-changing event and we have lived with fear in our hearts ever since. On D-Day myself, Catherine and Brenna packed up our lives in a matter of minutes and relocated to Aucklnad where we have all been throughout this journey. While I have kept my focus on Darryl, Catherine, to her credit, was determined to keep us all together as a family and just got on with making that happen. The power of family is something you often take for granted until it comes to the fore in times of need.
On behalf of everyone close to Darryl I also want to thank those of you who have supported not only Darryl, but us. This has affected all of you too, I am sure and we are grateful to you for being strong enough to share in this journey with him and us. The strength, hopes, prayers and good wishes of so many have I’m sure contributed to this day.
So what have I learnt through this ordeal? I’m not sure there is any one lesson I can take from this given the multitude of challenges that confronted us, not to mention the emotional turmoil that rained monsoon-like throughout and no doubt still will. For me, in many ways being focused on Darryl’s survival was a key to my own. There were many days that if I had stopped to think about what was going on and what I was trying to deal with, all while fending off the doubt that pervaded any quiet moments, I could have quite conceivably unravelled. Therein lies one of the most important lessons I think. That is, when all around you seems to be falling apart that somehow you must summon the power of the human spirit to overcome the adversity and push back against the doubt.
How is this achieved? I’m not really sure other than to say that Darryl did it even while in a coma. He did it when there seemed on a flicker of hope and when doubt and pain filled the air all around him. The human spirit exists in us all and perhaps it is when life begins to slide through our fingers that it comes to the fore. Or perhaps it is fear that drives it. I do know that I relied on Darryl to ’survive’ as much as he relied on me. I focused on nothing other than being everything he needed and my strength came from knowing that he needed all that could be given, something heightened by the thought of losing him. In any event, when the going gets tough, there is only one way to go and grief, self pity and sorrow have no place in ‘getting going’. Believe in what can be and needs to be achieved and seek out and find strength from that part of you which remains untapped until you show the courage to reach out for it through the fear and pain.
Beyond that, I think the most valuable lesson I can share is that your instinct as a parent, is at it’s heart, unquestionable. Relying on instinct in a life or death situation is the most frightening thing I can possibly think of. Instinct is typically something you question until you have the benefit of hindsight to confirm its validity, or lack of, as the case may be. When life hangs in the balance there is cold comfort in the fact that your instinct is telling you something that your eyes and ears are not seeing and hearing. But time and time again through this, my instinct has proven itself right. It seemed to be heightened to some extent and I quickly learned to trust it , albeit feeling as if I was trapped in a game of medical Russian Roulette with my son’s, life on the line. Of course it is easier to say this now that I can look back, but the reality is in these situations, you don’t have that luxury at the time, you just have to act or react on what you feel.
There is an incredibly steep learning curve involved in reading and understanding your instinct in these circumstances, but again it seems to me that the higher the stakes, the more keen the instincts are inclined to become. Having the courage to act on them and trust them is where the challenge really lies. But if the feeling in your gut persists and grows, it is something that you ignore at your peril, or even worse, possibly at someone elses.
Throughout this I have come to know my son in a way that few will do. I have found strength that only the fear of losing your child can bring and I have needed every last drop of it. Darryl’s life has been redefined by this experience as mine has been equally enriched. There have been many days when I have had to cling to the slim threads of hope I convinced myself must exist. There have been many days when the tears have been hard to hide from Darryl and my heart has ached to the point I swear it could have slowed to a stop. This has been a test for us both in many ways and one that we both had to face front on. The options, as in the Shawshank Redemption, were simple – get busy living, or get busy dying. He chose life and I chose to help him get it all back. From there it was just hard work and never stopping to let doubt catch up.
And today is V-Day. He has made it back. He has made the long way home…..
This will be the last message posted on this site. This door needs to close now too, but now he is back it is fitting that Darryl is the one to close it. So this evening I spoke with Darryl about his journey and I have written below his words and thoughts for you.
When I started to come around I didn’t feel good. I was really confused about where I was and what had happened to me. I was sad because I was going to have to dig myself out of it. I didn’t know what had happened to me or how. It seems like not very long ago I started to realise what actually happened to me. I started to ask Dad whether it happened playing rugby. My gut feeling told me it was, but it was pretty hard to comprehend.
When I asked my Dad if it was rugby that caused it and he told me it was, I disappointed and hurt because I nearly lost my life playing the game I love. I was also so confused about my body and the way I felt trapped in it. The care I was receiving and the motivation from my Dad helped pull me through that until things started to make a bit more sense.
I don’t remember anything about what happened or a lot of the things leading up to my injury. My first real new memories start around the time of going to the first All Black test match and going to the captain’s run and meeting the All Blacks. I was elated by that and I remember how I felt standing with the All Blacks to have a photo taken. Sitivini Sivivatu was standing next to me, holding me up. Standing up for the anthem at the game the next day was special and being beside the reserves on the sideline is something I’ll never forget.
Graham Henry is a ‘good bugger’, he came and saw me on my last day at the rehab and of course he came when I just got there too. I can’t remember that but I ‘ve got the photos and video to prove it. Sandy, the All Black’s manager has been so good to me and allowed me to get involved with the All Blacks and feel a part of the team. He’s a good bugger as well. Stephen McDonald and Tanerau Latimer have been amazing as well. I know they came to visit me in those early days (according the photos) and they have always come and talked to me and shared their words of support each time I have caught up with the team. I feel really lucky and proud to have been a part of that All Black culture .
Rehab has been a tough process and I am glad I had so many good people helping me out there. I know they were all working hard to try and help me get better. I was glad that I was there, but I am really glad I have left there too. I want my life back and I am so glad to be home. Dad and I walked out of the rehab and that felt good. I was overjoyed. I have achieved what I needed to and it was time to move on. It was good having a ‘man love moment’ with Dad when we had walked out of the driveway. It was a damn good hug.
Yesterday, Dad, Catherine, Brenna and I went back to critical care at Auckland Hospital to see where I was when this first happened. It was an overpowering experience. It was an unreal feeling to see the people who looked after me when I was so sick. When we went to the space in the ward where my old bed was it stirred my feelings and gave me a sense of how bad things must have been. But it also gave me a sense of how good it is to be alive. It was a powerful experience and I’m so glad I had such good people looking after me.
I am lucky to have had the family and friends that I do to support me through this. It’s meant everything to have that support. From my close family and grandparents to cousins, workmates and friends from school. Jason Barrell has been an inspiration to me and I am glad he came to see me. Brenna, my sister has been a helpful nurse and her and Catherine being around made me feel that things were kind of normal. That was a good thing. Lots of hugs and cuddles from Brenna was a good thing for both of us I think. I am proud of my brother Brook and how well he is doing with his job on TV, all while keeping an eye out for me and coming to see me whenever he could. In particular, my Uncle Len has been ‘O’ for awesome for helping me through so many hard times and being there for Dad too. He’s a good bugger too. And then there’s my Dad.
Dad, I love you. You deserve a medal for what you’ve done. It’s meant the world to me to have you there with me every day. You’ve helped me through all those hard times. You picked me up when I was down and put me back on my feet again – literally.
Our relationship has grown stronger with every minute we have spent together through this tough ordeal. I am so thankful that you were always there to fall back on when times were tough. You worked so hard every day to help me get better and get my body working again. We are as strong as an ox together.
I am so proud you are my Dad and I am so lucky I had you to help me get home and get my life back.
I love you very much Dad.
Darryl James Sabin
7th of October 2009
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