However, my broken bones were on the mend, and the surgeons in Albuquerque had repaired my ear and nose. Amazingly enough, in a few months no one would be able to tell I had ever injured them. But my back was another story. I was in constant pain. Though the cuts from the sunroof glass were healing, I had searing nerve pains shooting up and down my spine. I never knew when they would come or how long they would last. I was taking strong painkillers just to get me through each day.
When I thought about what we had been through, I was still amazed that our lives had been spared. My mom and dad had gone to the wrecking yard in Gallup to see if they could find my wallet in what was left of our car. Our brand new Escort was completely crushed, and the inside was covered with bloodstains and hair. It looked as if no one could have survived the accident, but amazingly all three of us did.
Once Krickitt was on the road to recovery, I was able to turn a little bit of my focus to filing insurance claims and organizing the medical paperwork that was already starting to stack up. During our first days at Barrow, when Krickitt was still in a coma, we had gotten a call from one of the emergency equipment providers. Much to my dismay, they already wanted to know when they might expect their check. I hadn’t realized the financial pressure would begin so soon.
In the midst of all the stress and uncertainty, I was beginning to wonder if I could keep it all together. My wife had an unknown level of brain damage, I was in a state of constant pain and worry, and I was already being pressured to start paying the astronomical medical bills. How was I going to cope?
At times I would momentarily forget about the enormity of the situation while I remembered the few happy moments or funny things that had happened over the past three weeks. But then I would start thinking of Krickitt lying in the dark in her hospital bed. I would imagine her there asleep, taking one slow breath after another. Would one of those breaths be her last? I knew she was getting better, but what if she had a setback? What if the doctors hadn’t discovered some major injury that could kill her in a heartbeat?
Then I would wonder what my wife would be like when her rehabilitation course was finished. We hadn’t even been married three months—less than one season. We’d had a fantastic wedding ceremony and Hawaiian honeymoon. Then we’d moved into our apartment in New Mexico, unpacked, and started our jobs. That was it—the sum total of our married life. Will Krickitt ever be the same person as the woman I married? I wondered. Will she recover enough to have a career? Will she be able to have children?
All these thoughts tumbled around in my head night after night as the darkness turned to gray and finally the colors of the day would appear. Then I would get up, get dressed, and head out for another day at Barrow.
I intended to stay in Phoenix for the duration of Krickitt’s rehabilitation, so I had moved in with Krickitt’s parents once we arrived in Arizona. I had no idea how long I would be there. During those first couple of weeks I hardly thought about my job or any of our responsibilities back home in Las Vegas.
Gilbert Sanchez, the president of New Mexico Highlands University, had tried to call me at the hospital in Albuquerque when I was still in the ER. He was finally able to connect with me soon after we got to Phoenix. I told him what I could about our situation. There was still so much we didn’t know, though, and I explained that I had no idea when I’d be able to get back to New Mexico and my job. After Christmas vacation my team would need to start working out and getting in shape, and there were other athletic department responsibilities I—or someone—needed to deal with. I knew I should have been in touch with someone at the university to tell them what was happening and to work on finding someone to take my place while I was gone, but I just hadn’t had the time or the energy to do it. I had more or less deserted my team and my bosses in the midst of my tragedy.
Gilbert was characteristically generous and matter-of-fact. “Take all the time you need,” he told me on the phone. “You’ll always have a job. We’ll get whatever help we need for the department until you get back.” He also made me promise to give him weekly updates on Krickitt’s condition.
Our friends back at Highlands were already helping us in other ways too, without us even asking. My friend Mike collected our mail and sent it on to me in Phoenix. Some cheerleaders had temporarily moved in to our apartment to take care of things there. And when our landlord heard what happened, he told me not to worry about the rent. If we could pay him later, that was fine, but if not we should just forget about it. I was stunned by his generosity and grace.
Some of Krickitt’s friends had come to visit her while we were still in Albuquerque. After she was moved to Phoenix, other old friends came to visit and decorated her hospital room with Christmas lights and a little tree.
Krickitt’s two former roommates, Lisa and Megan, weren’t able to visit from California until after Krickitt was moved to Phoenix. By the time Lisa and Megan came, Krickitt looked much better than she had in the Albuquerque ICU, but she still didn’t look anything like her normal self. However, because she had improved so much since the wreck, and since I saw her every day, it didn’t occur to me that somebody who hadn’t seen her since the wreck might be shocked by her appearance. Therefore, I hadn’t said anything to prepare Lisa and Megan for the sight of Krickitt with her partially shaved head, her doll-like stare, and the general look of a person who has been in a coma for three weeks. When they arrived, Lisa eagerly rushed into the room to see her friend. She took one good, long look at Krickitt and started trembling. She opened her mouth but was unable to speak. I quickly escorted her to a private family meeting room down the hall. We spent several minutes there, crying together, before Lisa was ready to return to Krickitt’s room.
Like all the thoughtful friends who came to see us, Lisa and Megan were almost like visitors from another planet. They were from a world where people got up, ate breakfast, went to work, watched TV, ate in restaurants, read magazines, took care of the yard, and did all the other normal, everyday things of life without even thinking about them. My world had become a world of doctors, hospitals, hospital food, therapy, living with my in-laws, dealing with collection agencies and medical bills, making calls to our insurance company, and spending as much time as I could with Krickitt. My job, my team, my friends, my married life—it was all like a distant dream.
After only a short time in therapy, Krickitt was obviously improving. Each morning she seemed stronger, more alert, and more talkative. The disturbing stare was nearly gone and she was beginning to interact more naturally in conversations.
The therapists were still being very careful with her, though. They had her move slowly, walk with a harness, and work simple puzzles. Once she could understand conversations and answer questions, the doctors started assessing her memory and other mental skills. At first she sounded like a little girl when she responded to questions. She would speak in a few one- and two-syllable words after long pauses. She had to concentrate hard on what she would say, shaping the words slowly and carefully as though they felt unfamiliar. Yet she improved every day.
I wasn’t surprised that just a few days after Krickitt started emerging from the lower levels of the coma scale, she wanted to write in her journal. She slowly and pain-stakingly dictated the words while her friend Julie wrote them down. “Life is very good. Therapy is very confusing at times. I miss the way things used to be with steady Bible study and church meetings, but I know that’s the way things are. The Lord is constantly teaching us. I know He has me in His right pocket and I’m very safe there. I love to see Him really work in my life, and I know He’ll use me in His due time.”
My wife may have been confused, she may have lost some of her memory, but she still knew her God. She knew he was in control, and she knew he was working in her life and intended to use her to do his work in his time.
Not long after that I was sitting with Krickitt, who was talking with a therapist that was probing carefully for what Krickitt could remember. Her “I love you” had been the
first sign that things were slowly moving toward normal. Her words about God were another sign. Now I was ready for even bigger proof. I wanted my wife back.
“Krickitt,” her therapist began in a soothing voice, “do you know where you are?”
Krickitt thought for a minute before replying, “Phoenix.”
“That’s right, Krickitt. Do you know what year it is?”
“1965.”
She was born in 1969, I thought, somewhat frantically. That’s just a little setback—nothing to really worry about, I tried to convince myself
“Who’s the president, Krickitt?”
“Nixon.”
Well, he was the president when she was born, I justified.
“Krickitt, what’s your mother’s name?” the therapist continued.
“Mary,” she said with no hesitation . . . and no expression. Now we’re getting somewhere. Thank you, God!
“Excellent, Krickitt. And what’s your father’s name?”
“Gus.”
“That’s right. Very good.” He paused before continuing, “Krickitt, who’s your husband?”
Krickitt looked at me with eyes void of expression. She looked back at the therapist without answering.
“Krickitt, who’s your husband?”
Krickitt looked at me again and back at the therapist. I was sure everyone could hear my heart thudding as I waited for my wife’s answer in silence and desperation.
“I’m not married.”
No! God, please!
The therapist tried again, “No, Krickitt, you are married. Who’s your husband?”
She wrinkled her brow. “Todd?” she questioned.
Her old boyfriend from California? Help her remember, God!
“Krickitt, please think. Who’s your husband?
“I told you. I’m not married.”
Krickitt and Kristi Pinnick were gymnasts together at Desert Devils Gymnastics Club. Krickitt then went on and received a full gymnastics scholarship at Cal State Fullerton.
My official photo as Coach Kim Carpenter of the Highlands Cowboys. Krickitt said the uniform made me look like a little boy.
With help from her roommates, I sneaked up and surprised Krickitt under this balcony to propose.
Our engagement photo. The matching outfits recall our first meeting—on the phone discussing an order for athletic jackets.
Mr. and Mrs. Kim J. Carpenter, September 18, 1993.
The wedding party. Some of these friends and family would soon play a part in our lives we couldn’t possibly have imagined.
Honeymooning on Maui the first time. Krickitt will never remember it; I will never forget it.
What was left of our car after a collision the night before Thanksgiving 1993. This angle shows the crushed driver compartment and the sunroof that sliced up my back.
This angle shows where rescue workers cut the roof and door apart to get Krickitt out. The car landed upside down, and she hung suspended by her seat belt for more than half an hour.
Krickitt at Barrow Neurological Center in Phoenix, Christmas 1993. The fact she was alive was a miracle; at this point we didn’t know what level of recovery to expect.
Krickitt, her sister-in-law Gretchen, and brother Jamey at Barrow, January 1994. Jamey and Gretchen were strong spiritual supporters during Krickitt’s rehab.
Krickitt with her mom, Mary Pappas, about two months after the accident. Krickitt had graduated to outpatient status.
Krickitt and me in the courtyard at Barrow with my parents, Danny and Mo Carpenter.
Scott Madsen, Krickitt’s “physical terrorist,” became a real friend who helped me keep my perspective during the inevitable setbacks in her therapy.
Clowning around trying to get reacquainted, February 1994.
Hiking the summer after the accident. Behind the smiles, our relationship was coming apart. Divorce was never an option, but there were times we thought we could never live together again under the same roof.
Krickitt and her family at the North Eastern Regional Hospital rehab center where she worked before the accident, back on the job in the summer of ’94. That’s Gretchen, Grace, and Jamey up front, with her parents and me in back.
Building new memories.
Getting to know each other again while visiting Krickitt’s parents in Phoenix.
Our second wedding ceremony, May 25, 1996, at a remote mountain chapel in New Mexico. It didn’t even have electricity, but the view was awesome.
We had agreed to use our original wedding rings in the second ceremony. But each of us secretly bought a second ring for the other, so we had four rings to juggle.
The second wedding party, facing a throng of reporters and photographers from the London Times, Inside Edition, People magazine, Day and Date, and other media. For keeping our original wedding vows, we’d become celebrities.
At the reception after the second ceremony, three key players in our story: Scott Madsen, Krickitt’s physical therapist; Marcy Madsen, recreational therapist; and Bob Grothe, flight nurse.
Krickitt’s dad, Gus Pappas, with DJ Coombs, the EMT who overcame her own claustrophobia to climb into our wrecked car and treat Krickitt while she was still trapped inside.
Our second honeymoon in Maui.
In Maui our second time around, strangers recognized us on the street, and a California radio station woke us up at 4:00 A.M. for a live interview.
Backstage in New York with Krickitt’s parents and Maury Povich.
Relaxing in Arizona at the Miraval Resort, compliments of The Leeza Show.
Enjoying God’s great miracle—a new life together.
Our wedding rings. Special to me (Kim) is my wedding band. Made from the first wedding ring and a new ring Krickett gave me for the second wedding. The two were melted and shaped into one that has the look of both.
Kim and Krickitt arm and arm in the back yard.
Hanging out in the back with the kids, Danny and LeeAnn.
Having some yogurt at the local Aspen Leaf Yogurt Shop. The family favorite is Cake Batter!
A stroll along the local Riverwalk in Farmington, New Mexico. Still in love and always will be!
LeeAnn, Dad, Mom, and Danny sitting on the sandstone out the back gate of our home.
Hanging out at the Riverwalk in our hometown of Farmington.
The family, football, and the pups Muffin, Joey, Sugar, and Fritzi.
5
MOVING ALONG
When Krickitt made her declaration of singleness in such a matter-of-fact way, it felt like someone had thrust a knife deeply into my chest. I looked into her eyes, praying for even the slightest hint that she recognized me. She looked back at me with the gaze of a stranger. Until that point I had hope that my wife, at some level, knew I was her husband. After all, I had been with her for most of her waking moments since the accident. She recognized me when I walked through the door, and she answered back when I spoke to her. But I realized she did the same to the medical personnel. To my wife, I was just another person who was helping her recover. It finally hit me that she had absolutely no idea who I was. I staggered out of Krickitt’s room and into the hall, hammering the wall with my fist. Even the searing pain in my broken hand—still in a soft cast—couldn’t penetrate my rage.
As fierce as my reaction was, it quickly faded. Spent and defeated, I soon walked back into Krickitt’s room and stood beside her bed. She looked up at me without anger or curiosity. She just seemed to be waiting for me to speak to her as I always did. I opened my mouth but found I had nothing to say.
Krickitt’s neuropsychologist at Barrow, Dr. Kevin Obrien, explained Krickitt’s diagnosis to me in the most encouraging way he could. He told me that the accident actually had caused two kinds of amnesia. The first, post-traumatic amnesia, was a temporary confusion about where she was and what was going on around her. For Krickitt, this type of amnesia was already wearing away, and it would soon disappear completely.
The second type of amnesia was more distre
ssing, at least for me. Krickitt also had retrograde amnesia, a permanent loss of short-term memory. We already knew she had regained her memory of people and events from the distant past. She remembered her parents, brother, and sister-in-law. She remembered her old roommate Lisa. She even remembered her old boyfriend Todd, which didn’t bring me great joy. But she could remember nothing from the previous year and a half. And what had happened during those months? My wife and I had met, dated, gotten engaged, gotten married, had our honeymoon in Hawaii, and started our life together in Las Vegas. She didn’t remember any of it; she didn’t even remember anything about the accident.
Over the next few days I prayed a lot about the future—our future. Ever since I had watched the EMTs work on Krickitt while she was still strapped upside down in our car, my whole existence had been focused on getting her back. Miraculously, God had saved her life, and I had been impatient to pick up where we left off and build a future together. But that assumed we would be building on a shared past. Suddenly the past was gone. Now I had no idea when, if ever, my wife’s memory would return. Yet I knew that no matter what happened, I had made a vow not just before our friends and family, but also before God. I was Krickitt’s husband, for better or for worse. And this was just about the worst I could imagine.
The Vow Page 6