Someone once said, "If you can survive in Montana you can make it anywhere!"

Some guys have all the luck, some guys have all the pain

It’s August 1996 and I am still recovering. Though I am able to walk and lay down, sitting or standing for any length of time is painful. I have trouble remembering names of people and things. If two people have similar features I get them mixed up. I anger easily.  Loud noises terrify me. Being in a crowd makes me want to scream. I am not the person I used to be. I don’t know who I am. I am moving to Montana for a quiet place to heal and find myself.

Cyndi and I will share the driving. Riding with someone in a car can cause flashbacks.

As I recline in the passenger seat, Cyndi steers us toward Montana. Pete, her husband, follows along in the U Haul. Gypsy, my brindle dog, stands in the back, her head hanging over the console. She loves to ride and shows her appreciation by licking my face every few minutes. Rags and Nugget, my two marmalade cats, lay on the back seat in carriers. They hate the car and are not happy. After a couple of hours, they stop complaining and fall asleep.

We fly along the interstate. Fear grips me and I relive the accident three years ago.

I am in Tucson, visiting my friend Terry. We have spent the day shopping and sightseeing. Tired, but happy, we plan where we will eat dinner. The street goes under the freeway. We are following a police car. He hesitates at the stop sign, then moves through the intersection. Maybe he has a call. Terry doesn’t see the stop sign and blows past it. A flatbed truck on the freeway off ramp speeds toward us. He crashes into my side of the car. My head bounces off the side panel. Time slows. We spin in slow motion towards a cement pillar. Terry yells, “Ohhhhhhhh sssssshhiiiiiiittt!” Her voice sounds distorted. She is pumping the breaks. I see Larry and Misty’s face, my son and daughter. Will I see them again? We stop suddenly and my head hits the side panel for a second time. Quiet. Blank space.

I find myself sitting on the curb. A police officer is asking me questions. He sounds muffled, far away. My head hurts. I can’t form words. He asks, “Are you all right?  Do you need to go to the hospital?” I can’t think. I can’t answer. I hear Terry tell him “She’s fine. She doesn’t need to go to the hospital.” 

There are blank spaces. Missing time. I am at the airport. I don’t know how I got there. My head is pounding. Like a zombie, I walk onto the plane. The flight attendant helps me find my seat.

We land in Seattle. I don’t remember how I got home. It feels like my head is inside a huge jar. Everything echoes. Noises sound far away. I am standing at the kitchen sink and I feel tingling in my legs. Numbness creeps from my waist down into my legs.

My daughter rushes me to the nearest ER. I am laying on a gurney, waiting for the results of an MRI. The doctor comes and tells me several vertebrae are damaged and discs between them have collapsed. He would have to fuse my whole spine. It’s not an option. I later find that I am two inches shorter.

“Once the swelling goes down, you should get the feeling back in your legs, but you will have to learn to live with pain,” he says.  He stares hard at my face. “I don’t like the look of that redness on your face. It’s shaped like a butterfly. I am ordering a blood test.”

He returns later and talks about antinuclear antibodies in my blood. “Your blood test indicates you have lupus.” He explains that it’s called lupus because of the red butterfly on my face.

I have never heard of lupus. I am more concerned about standing and walking again. I am sent home with prescriptions for pain and muscle relaxers. A Rod Steward song plays in my mind: “Some guys have all the luck, some guys have all the pain…” My whole world has turned upside down. It’s a long road back.

“McKenzie? McKenzie! Helloooo”

I am back in the car with Cyndi, on the way to Montana.

“We are stopping for gas,” says Cyndi.  “Gypsy and I are going for a potty break. You coming?”

GETTING THERE

We leave Washington behind and cross the Idaho panhandle. The weather is warm and my excitement grows. We wind through the 4^th of July pass. It takes a little over an hour to blow through Idaho. Lookout Pass takes us out of Idaho and into Montana. The pass is long and steep as we climb to 4,710 feet. It seems to take forever to reach the summit. We both hoot when we see the sign, ‘Welcome to Montana’ at the top. I can’t stop smiling.

Western Montana is much like western Washington with lots of green trees, but without the heavy traffic. The similarity ends with the lack of towns and commerce along the freeway. Exits are few and far between. The rest stops are large, well kept and miles apart. I see only trees and highway. No towns. We pass a cluster of buildings with a big sign that says “Casino”. The divided highway is well maintained.

“Directions to Kalispell are easy,” says Cyndi. “Take I-90 east and turn left when you get to Montana.”

We leave I-90, and turn left onto Hwy 200, a two-lane road. On the left is a huge travel complex and we stop for gas and food. It’s late in the day, but it won’t get dark until 9:30 since we are so far north.  The glow of twilight lingers another hour after that. It’s so quiet. As I inhale, I can smell the rich earthy scent of forest.

As we get back on the road, tall trees block the setting sun, casting dark shadows onto the highway. We round a curve and a bull elk followed by three females stand frozen in the middle of the road, our headlights blinding them. Cyndi slams on the breaks and I hear the U Haul tires squeal as Pete avoids rear ending us. The elk bound into the dark forest.

“It’s deer-thirty,” says Cyndi. “The wildlife sleep most of the day and start moving around a little before sundown. Keep an eye out for deer, elk, moose, bear…any critter that moves.”

I am wide awake and alert the rest of the way.

When we reach Polson, we take Hwy 93 around Flathead Lake. I watch out the window as we pass several small towns nestled beside the lake. Civilization. The turn off to Big Fork takes us to Cyndi and Pete’s, where we will stay tonight. Tomorrow morning I close on the house. Once I have the keys, we will drive to Hungry Horse, unload, and I can start my new life. I have no idea how strange and alien that will be.