What We Found That Worked for Our Brain Injured Son

In April of 2002, our eldest son fell asleep at the wheel on his way to an English Composition class. He stayed up late that night to finish the paper he planned to hand in for the class. In just a few weeks, he would graduate from the community college at the age of 18.

His car crossed the center line of the well traveled country road. Then it met the back wheel of a tractor trailer carrying several tons of steel pipe and traveling in the opposite direction. The truck’s axle bent and the resulting flat tire deflated, sounding like an explosion.

Thank God, no one else became involved in the accident and the skilled driver managed to keep his pipes onboard.

The car spun around and landed on the shoulder of the road.

After 45 minutes, the Jaws of Life freed him from his vehicle. A helicopter arrived just in time to take him to a nearby hospital - one of the best in the area.

When we arrived there, they told us he showed no brain activity. During the next 4 days, he began to show signs of reacting, only to experience spikes in  his inter-cranial pressure. The spikes returned him to a “no brain activity” state.

During that time, we relied on little more than prayer, because we signed paperwork forbidding us from bringing any supplements or anything from outside in to him. Our children grew up knowing only natural remedies for their few ailments.

However, my husband and I needed essential oils, along with our prayers, to keep us calm and focused. Recently, studies show that if a certain area of the brain is kept from firing during those critical first hours and/or days, it decreases the incidence of PTSD. We used a bunch of Peace and Calming (P&C). Perhaps his smelling the P&C on us helped him during the ensuing years.

After four days, he began to show more consistent signs of reacting. The medical team remained very guarded, if not somewhat pessimistic, about his prognosis. The neurologist told us she never saw anything like this. Her description of his becoming more reactive after experiencing no brain activity: “Usually, it only happens once....”

A nurse friend of ours noted to the nurse in charge of his care that his home smelled unlike a hospital. If we wanted him to come out of his coma, she advised us to bring in things that smelled like home. The nurse agreed. So someone brought a bunch of essential oils to the hospital.  We also shared our oils with other families in the waiting room.

Our first thought, once we could use the oils was: Valor! We knew that he was literally fighting for his life and needed all the courage he could muster. In addition, our Raindrop training taught us that essential oils increase the oxygenation of the blood.

Of course, we were not allowed to use anything around his head because of the monitoring apparatus attached there. His crushed left leg was in a cast with the oxygen monitor attached. They figured that if his blood oxygen was ok there, then the rest of his body should be just fine. Since our only access remained to his right foot for oil application, whenever we went into his room, I headed for that right foot while Hubby headed for the monitors.

The first time I put the Valor on his foot, within just a few seconds, Hubby shouted: “Whoah!”

Apparently, there were two monitors for the oxygen level. Fortunately, his blood oxygenation level was solid throughout his stay in ICU. Of course the percentage never exceeds 100, but Hubby saw the other gauge jump dramatically. The next time we went in the boy’s room, we called in the nurse, who confirmed that it indicated that the oxygen in the blood rose dramatically.

While we maintain our gratitude for the medical help that supported him when he remained in such dire straits, the interventions are not without risk. Before long, our son had major infection issues: meningitis from the monitors in his skull and pneumonia from the respirator. An infection specialist was called in and he was put on 4 very strong antibiotics: “for at least two weeks, then we will see....”

At this point we began using ImmuPower and Thieves. We alternated the two. In four days, there was no sign of the meningitis. The immune specialist thought the lab made a mistake, but repeated testing confirmed the infection was gone.

Two and a half weeks after his accident they finally spoke to us about him leaving ICU (other than under a sheet). After a month in ICU, the boy moved to skilled nursing because he was still in a coma. By this time, he had a tracheotomy and a feeding tube and the monitors were removed from his head. Now we could put the oils anywhere on his body.

His face, left arm, and left leg were covered with scars. I put lavender on the scars. One nurse, after her 4 day weekend, declared that she hardly knew him because of the improvement in his face during that time. Only the name on his chart assured her he was the same patient.

Soon after he arrived at the skilled nursing facility, the head nurse pulled me aside to tell me her nurses were suffering with headaches because of the lavender oil we used. However, one staff member advocated for us, saying that the oils really made a big difference for him. So she required us to close the door and open the window whenever using the oils. No problem, springtime provided very pleasant outdoor weather.

Oddly, however, a few days later several of the nurses seemed to find reasons to come into his room whenever I applied the lavender and/or Valor. One even came in one day, took a deep breath and declared that it smelled like he had been to church.

Gary Young always tells us: “Don’t put anything on your skin that you would not put in your mouth.”

We turned this concept around and applied nutrients to his arms, legs, and torso since he could not take anything by mouth. I diluted Mineral Essence and used a liquid B complex to do a massage.

His left leg was wracked with muscle spasms. We massaged it with basil, marjoram, cypress, and peppermint.

With the apparatus removed from his head, I finally used a tofu plaster on him (a couple Tablespoons of tofu mixed with enough flour to hold it together, placed in a cotton sock and applied to the injured area). After applying the tofu, he spoke his first words since the accident - two months to the day and on his brother’s birthday.

A month passed in skilled nursing before we transferred him to a rehab hospital.

We grilled the officials at each hospital we visited. Since we gained so much success with the oils, we insisted that we be allowed to continue to use them.

Most places dispensed a firm “NO!”

We finally found one that allowed their use, as long as we gave a list to their pharmacist.

At the rehab hospital, they removed the trache and the feeding tube. We worked with the kitchen staff to make sure that most of the food he got was nutritious. He had fresh fruit and veggies with each meal.

We continued using Valor and the leg oils. We added frankincense and Brain Power. His college buddies borrowed the Brain Power for finals week and were thrilled with the results.

We also gave him scullcap and gotu kola herb tea with each meal. A few days after we started, he declared to the internist that the herbs gave him more pain relief than the drugs. You could have knocked the poor fellow over with a feather, because he had never heard the boy say two words, but this was delivered clearly, in full sentences.

Four weeks to the day from when we started giving him the tea, he made a major cognitive leap. The speech therapist, who tried to push ritalin felt victorious that we had finally given in. We made sure she knew that was not even a possibility.

We also found out that the antispasmodic medication he took sent his blood pressure into the basement. So, between getting him off that and giving him the tea, he made steady progress.

He finally came home, four months after his accident - on no medication at all. Many people find that radical. Government organizations refused to provide help to us because he is not on medication.

Of course, still severely impaired, he remained wheelchair bound and needed constant attention. So we continued with the oils we had been using and added various other oils as the need arose, and as new ones became available.

I also facilitate Raindrop on him, learning in a dramatic way that the direction of motion is opposite from the way we usually perform it.

We use many of the nutritional products as well: Super B, Super C, Mineral Essence, the enzymes.... And we fed him a nutrient rich diet.

Six months after he came home, he suddenly left the wheelchair behind (except when we have long distances to cover), much to the surprise of his physical therapist.

As time went on, we found several other useful resources:
•    Extra Virgin Coconut Oil has been shown to improve cognitive function in Alzheimer patients.
•    Branched Chain Amino Acids help to rebuild damaged brain tissues. This has been observed in studies with rats with induced brain injuries.
•    Chia Seeds contain very concentrated nutrients and they help to keep the digestive channels healthy.
•    Sea vegetables (we prefer dulse, but also use kelp and nori) provide a wide array of minerals which also help to repair damaged tissues and enhance the immune system.

Traumatic Brain Injury is not a simple issue, so it takes a good bit of resources and a great deal of commitment to wade through and get the best results possible. Many dire prognoses were put down on our son, and he surpassed every single one of them. He has slowly, but steadily progressed over the past 11 years, even after we were told we could expect no more progress.

We still face a very long road to his full recovery. Many tell us we hold impossible objectives for him and I have been told that nothing I do makes any difference. However, we continue to hope for the highest caliber he can attain.

Chapter 3, Part 2: Our New Home

Arif was brought up to the third floor by the back way. We were instructed to go to the ICU waiting room until they got him settled in his room. It was time to settle into what would become our new home.

Visiting hours were posted at the entrance to the waiting room - 9 AM, 1, 5, and 8 PM for an hour each time. The doors to the ICU wing were closed and locked the rest of the day. Hospital personnel came and went, punching in a code on a keypad on the wall next to the waiting room door. A phone without buttons hung next to the keypad.

The ICU waiting room was bright, but stark. The floor looked to be a shiny oak laminate. Wooden chairs with blue padded seats lined the beige walls. A dozen chairs sat in three neat lines to the left as we entered. A small, dark table lay between the two rows which faced each other. People of all descriptions slumped sleepily, read magazines, or fidgeted nervously in the chairs. An empty table stood in front of the only window in the far right corner. The television hung in the upper left corner, droning the current soap opera. A pay phone adorned the center of the wall to the right. Next to the phone hung a sign and a white board. The sign asked people to respect others’ needs and limit calls to fifteen minutes. On the other side of the phone, the white board had blanks for names, and columns to mark whether they were ‘in’ or ‘out.’ On the table under that phone perched an off-white hospital phone with half a dozen buttons.

The three of us wandered into the room and found seats together near the window, with a lovely view of the parking lot.

We sat down, feeling dazed. No words came to express what each was thinking and feeling.

We waited outside of time. Was it a few minutes, or several hours? There was no counting of time as we were accustomed to its passing.

A man entered, inquiring for the Marshalls. Was he bringing news of Arif? He was not dressed like a doctor, but wore a dark suit.

“We are here.” Joe responded, standing up.

“I am Ed Hahn, hospital chaplain.” He extended his hand.

“Like Scott Hahn?” Joe responded. “He is one of our favorite speakers. Are you related?”

“No, not as far as I know. ... I was told you were here. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know I am available if you want to talk to someone. My office is on the second floor if you need me. But I am not there very much. Here is my card. Call my office and someone can page me if you need to get in touch with me.”

Then he was gone.

The phone on the table rang. Someone picked it up.

“Is there anyone named Marshall here? ... It’s for you.” She handed the phone to Joe.

It was one of Arif’s friends from Crowder College. News had spread quickly about Arif’s accident. By eleven o’clock, it seemed everyone on campus knew about it and was praying for him. There was a somber air on campus. A blood drive was scheduled on Friday. People were planning to give blood on Arif’s behalf.

Joe told her: “We really don’t know much, yet. His leg is broken and he looks pretty beat up. They say he is critical and that there is no brain activity.”

We were assured of many prayers. Could they come up to see Arif?

Joe told them of visiting hours, but that we did not know, yet if people could see him. But they were welcome to come and visit, even if it was just with us.

A friend, another Mary, came in. She rushed over and threw big hugs around each of us.

“My daughter called and told me she was called for the home school group prayer chain. She said Arif was in an accident.”

“We really don’t know much, yet. His leg is broken and he looks pretty beat up. They say he is critical and that there is no brain activity.” Joe responded. He became our spokesman a good bit of the time.

Mary continued: “I go to eleven o’clock Mass here, so I thought I would bring you something to eat. I know you like to eat healthy, so I got these from Panera. They have a lovely chapel here. You should go on down there sometime.”

“Thank you. What a wonderful surprise. We had not even thought that we might be hungry. The chapel will be one of our next activities, once we find out what is up with Arif.” It was my turn to speak.

After she left, we munched on sandwiches. They were satisfying and we were touched by Mary’s thoughtfulness.

The phone rang again. Someone else from the home school group wanted to know what news there might be.

“We really don’t know much, yet. His leg is broken and he looks pretty beat up. They say he is critical and that there is no brain activity.” Joe found that he had a script. “We are waiting to talk with the doctor.”

As the day wore on, amidst the calls of concern, we slowly pieced together the story. What happened after Arif left home that Thursday morning.

Chapter 3: Finding Out, Part 1: Extent of the Damage

Honnah and I finally arrived at the hospital. We were ushered into a small room off the Emergency waiting room. The cell phone might interfere with some of the monitoring equipment, so we were instructed to turn it off as we entered the hospital.

Of course, Joe was already there, waiting. We shared vital hugs all around.

The two of us were anxious to hear the details. Joe filled us in on what he knew. It was not good news.

Arif was in critical condition. The trauma doctor was evaluating him. They were not saying more than that. We would be allowed to see him when they got him cleaned up.

What do you say to each other at such a time? We sat in stunned silence, holding each others’ hands. Drifting in a fog of distraction, I alternated between staring at the others and staring off in another direction. It was as if the room itself faded from my awareness. I felt as though I was afloat among a mass of nebulous objects and beings.

Tears still did not come. Those who know me find that amazing. I am a crier: I cry when I am happy, sad, disappointed, mad, touched, embarrassed ... pretty much whenever a strong emotion looks in my direction.

Our prayers became desperate. I prayed, as I began in the car: “Lord, You alone have the wisdom to know what is best. Your will be done. Please help us to make the right decisions as they are presented to us."

Our assistant pastor walked in with a somber look on his face.

Fr. Joseph was the first to arrive at the hospital – even before Joe got there. When Fr. Joseph saw Arif, there was such an air of Arif’s impending death that he gave him conditional absolution.

Absolution is the remission of sin, or of the punishment due to sin, granted by the Church. The twentieth chapter of John’s Gospel tells us that Jesus gave this power to His Apostles and their successors after His resurrection. Absolution is generally conferred during the Sacrament of Penance when a person expresses sorrow for his sin and a resolve to avoid the sin in the future. Conditional absolution is given in case the person has unforgiven sin for which he has repented, but has not had the opportunity to or is not capable of reconciling it (in Arif’s case, he was unconscious, but still alive). Sin is the obstacle to the soul entering heaven. What a comfort we have in the sacraments. Later we would find that was even more significant than we first thought.

We finally got to see Arif. We wanted to hear his cheery voice, looking forward to returning to school the next day. Nothing could prepare us for what we found.

He lay very still on the examination table in one of those fashionable hospital gowns. They had cut off his clothes. Cuts and bruises covered the exposed areas of his body. His left ear lobe had two stitches, holding it to his head. His left arm and leg and his face were quite swollen.

Routine procedure for serious injuries, we were told, is to ‘drop a vent.’ A breathing tube, ventilator, was inserted through Arif’s mouth into his lungs. Looking at the hose protruding from his face brought me back, momentarily, to the final hours of my mother’s life. This was just the beginning of our education in medical terminology and procedures. At this point, we were in no mood or position to question anything. Over the next months and years, we found that certain things are not negotiable, and others must be thoroughly researched.

Assessment determined that his left leg was shattered. Several pictures of his left arm were needed before they were satisfied that it was not broken. The liver was bruised. His right lung was punctured.

It was stated repeatedly that there was no brain activity. It is funny how the meaning of that last statement did not fully sink in until much later.

Arif was admitted to St. John’s Hospital and moved into the Intensive Care Unit.