It was a beautiful summer day in Brooklyn, NY. I had spent a good portion of the day with my over protective yet sweet and awesome pit bull named Leroy. For the past 6 years, I had tended bar from 6pm to 5am and spent most of the day with my dog. In fact I would have most likely been working this night if I wasn’t currently looking for work. Working nights was a great scenario for Leroy and I especially because I lived with my oldest friend and we shared ownership of Leroy. It was perfect because he worked days, so when I left at night for work at the bar, he would be home shortly after to take the dog out. I liked to skate with Leroy on my 80s style Natas cruiser board during the day. We would skate around my neighborhood in Bushwick, Brooklyn and sometimes venture about 5 miles away to Williamsburg, Brooklyn and then back. He was probably about 9 years old at the time and he was in such good shape.

Later that night a group of friends and I saw a punk rock show at a venue in Brooklyn within walking distance from my apartment. The venue smells of stale beer and urine and looked and felt like a musty unfinished abasement. The band I saw was ironically called Brain Killer.

I grew up listening to punk. I suppose my interest started commercially with Green Day, in middle school, and grew broader with california punk bands like NOFX, Bad Religion, and Pennywise and later I began exploring older fundamental punk like The Dead Kennedy’s, Black Flag, The Ramones, and The Sex Pistols in High School. I absolutely fell in love with the political and social sentiments expressed in the genre as well as the aggressive tempo and driving rhythm. That doesn’t mean that I like ONLY punk. I like all genres of music really. I can appreciate anything musical, regardless of genre, if it is done well. I feel like music is one of the most incredible forms of human expression and I have learned so much about the brain function involved in playing an instrument. The creative process, however, is far more complex and is an absolutely beautiful mystery to me.

After the show, a group of us were hanging out on the roof of a different loft building. In all of NYC, there are water towers on the top of many buildings. In fact, buildings with more than six stories are required to be equipped with a rooftop water tower. The reason for this is to provide water pressure to tenants of these buildings because getting water up several stories with any water pressure to spare is difficult against gravity.

We were on top of the water tower, drinking beers, and enjoying the night. The scene was beautiful. We had a 360 degree view of the city. When looking west, we could watch the glow of the Manhattan buildings framing the shine of the Empire State and the Chrysler buildings. We would enjoy the summer night and take in the glow… We would take in the lights. We would gaze upon millions of lives happening all at once and raise our glasses to being a part of the living, breathing organism that is NYC.

Hanging out on a water tower was a rare occasion, but definitely not an unheard of activity for me or my friends, nor a large number of youth that live in Brooklyn. I would bet that the majority of the youth in Brooklyn have at least once climbed a water tower on top of a building to see the view. It’s spectacular.

I am told that a friend of mine wanted to join us and asked me how I climbed up. He was at the base of the water tower. I said “I’ll show you” and proceeded to make my way down to show him and I slipped… I showed him what NOT to do! I fell about 20ft and I’m told that the front of my head hit the steel scaffolding on the way down (probably near the left eye because my left eye was black and blue and swollen) which put my feet under me when I landed, but my legs collapsed on me and I fell to my back and I hit my head on the concrete rooftop as well… Hard!

I was instantly unconscious. A friend that called himself Seattle Steve used to be an EMT and he came to my lifeless body to check my pulse. He felt a pulse and yelled “somebody call 911!” Some of my friends say that I soon began snoring. In actuality, I was most likely inhaling a mixture of my own blood and vomit (aspirating). The police arrived first and said that someone fell from this water tower last month. Seattle Steve wouldn’t let anybody move me except the EMTs. When the EMTs came they planned to take me to Woodhull Hospital in Brooklyn. My oldest friend and roommate along with a our friend, Chloe, wouldn’t let them take me there. They knew that Elmhurst Hospital in Queens is a trauma hospital, and Woodhull is not. My roommate’s mother was a trauma nurse, so he kinda cut his teeth on the importance of getting to the right hospital. Apparently he almost got in a fist fight with one of the EMTs over the issue. Chloe and my roommate’s persistence and wisdom may have saved my life. Seattle Steve’s know how and diligence to protect my body definitely saved my life.

My father got the call because my roommate and I were neighbors and best friends and had been since age 7, so he knew the telephone number of the house that I grew up in by heart. My father still lived in this house on Flagstaff mountain in Colorado. My father then called my mother who got the first flight to NY and stayed by my side for the next 5 months. She left for LaGuardia Airport in Queens at 7am central time on May 8th from Austin International Airport. It was Mothers Day, 2011. MOTHER’S DAY OF ALL DAYS! Happy Mothers Day, Mom. I’m sure this wasn’t the call you were expecting.

She sent periodic emails to friends and family. I will provide emails written by my mother to show her perspective throughout this period. This was the first which was written the night after she arrived:

In a message dated 5/9/2011 11:52:47 P.M. Mountain Daylight Time, k*****@aol.com writes:

Dear sisters of mine on Flagstaff, (and their guys)

As I’m sure you know At 4am Sunday morning I got a call from Ammon telling me that the police had called and that Cavin was in critical condition at Elmhurst Hospital in Queens. He fell 20 feet onto a concrete rooftop from a water tower scaffolding on top of a building. He is in the intensive care unit. The call every parent dreads.

I took a 7am flight to New York that morning

They did a full body CAT scan, intubated him etc. and began assessing his injuries.

He didn’t have a broken neck or broken back… and no signs of brain injury…. He has a broken hip, broken tailbone, 3 broken ribs, a broken nose, concussion,and lacerations on his kidney and severely bruised lungs. They have him tied down and sedated and are mostly worried about his lungs, right now. He’ll remain in intensive care for several days.

As of right now (2:00am Tuesday morning), Cavin is still unconscious – we have been unable to bring him to consciousness – he is in post concussion syndrone…which means that his head and mental functioning isn’t sufficiently together enough to be conscious… he periodically moves and tries to break out of restraints in a primitive response to pain, but shows no response to being spoken to or being able to respond meaningfully (ie hold up 2 fingers, wiggle your toes if you can hear me etc.) If they can’t get him to wake up tomorrow, they will get another CT scan and get neurology involved.

They have him on a breathing tube and want to take it out but can’t until he is alert enough to breathe on his own. There is a problem with fluid in the lungs… they have been suctioning that and taking followup chest xrays. They want that tube out because it increases risk of infection, but if they take it out prematurely and his lungs fill with fluid they will have lost their airway. Thats why he has to be able to breathe on his own…ie conscious and able to process information.

Ammon (my father) is flying in Tuesday night. We are one day at a time and sometimes one hour at a time with this… Hopefully we will get through the critical milestones soon and then just deal with the rest of the injuries as we can.

Please send me cell phone numbers so I can reach you if I need to. Marlene, I have yours.

PRAY PRAY PRAY

Love you,
Kris

When my mother arrived in the afternoon of the 8th, several of my friends were at the hospital. The doctors really didn’t know if I’d live through it. The medical reports say that I was immediately intubated when I arrived at the hospital. An intubation is actually called an endotracheal intubation and is done by placing a metal laryngoscope in the mouth and partially down the throat and then a tube is inserted through the laryngoscope and into the trachea and passed the vocal chords. The laryngoscope is then removed while the tube stays in the trachea. This tube is then connected to a respirator that breathes for the patient by pumping air in and out of the lungs by way of the trachea through the tube. It is life support. It breathes so you don’t have to. I was also kept alive by intravenous fluids. An IV was inserted into my arm and essential nutrients were fed directly into my blood.

This was the day that it all changed. This was the end of my life as I knew it at that point. This was the day that the lives of my family and closest friends changed forever. This was the most horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day that I have ever lived through.