How a woman survived a crash and a traumatic brain injury
BY Bill Hangley Jr
27th Feb 2024 Life
8 min read
She survived the car crash, but would her mind ever be the same? Her boyfriend was willing to take the chance and a traumatic brain injury led to cognitive rehabilitation therapy
The snow came earlier than they’d
expected, but Jeremy Osheim wasn’t
worried. He’d driven this route a
thousand times, and he knew exactly
what to do. Take it easy. Watch the
road. You’ll get there when you get
there, and when you do, it’s going to be
awesome.
It was January 2016, and Jeremy
and his girlfriend, Molei Wright, were
leaving Denver for a weekend of fun
with friends on the slopes in Breckenridge, Colorado. They were two
like-minded Colorado natives: ambitious, gregarious, and thoughtful,
both lovers of books, plays, music,
the outdoors. Jeremy, then 29, was
a PR specialist who moonlighted as
a mixed martial arts fighter; Molei
(pronounced “Molly”), then 28,
was the first in her family to graduate from college and worked selling
mutual funds to financial advisers.
They’d been together for less than a
year, but it had taken only a few dates
to realise that they clicked. They’d
never formally professed their love
for each other, but Jeremy was pretty
sure that Molei was the one. As the car
began the twisting climb toward the
resort town, Jeremy felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude.
“Life was really great,” he says.
“Probably the best moment of my life,
just feeling so good about what was
ahead for us. Then, within a blink of
an eye, everything was shattered.”
The crash
The truck that hit them came out of
nowhere. One minute, Jeremy’s Mitsubishi Montero was rolling smoothly
through the falling snow; the next, he
was sitting by the side of the road in a
mangled SUV, pinned to his seat by the
steering wheel, his body screaming
with pain. To his right he saw Molei.
Her eyes were open, but Jeremy could
tell they saw nothing. He could think
of only one thing to say: “Don’t die. I
love you. Don’t die ...”
Statistically, she should have died.
Inside her neck, Molei’s vertebrae had
basically been crushed. Her head was
attached to her shoulders by nothing but skin and muscle. Doctors call
it cervical occipital dislocation. The
more common description is internal
decapitation. The odds of survival: a
hundred to one.
Henry Rodriquez, an Army lieutenant on holiday trained in emergency
medicine, was driving on the same
road not far behind the Mitsubishi
and pulled over instantly when he saw
the wreck.
While his wife calmed the trapped
and terrified Jeremy, Rodriquez
worked swiftly. One wrong move
could have left Molei dead or
paralysed. Protecting her head
and neck, he carefully extracted
her from the twisted wreckage—
“scrap metal,” he said at the
time—and laid her on the road
by the side of the car, covering
her with coats to keep her warm.
For 45 harrowing minutes, as
snow whirled down from the ink
black sky, Rodriquez pounded
her chest to bring her heart back
to life. As the ambulance rushed
to her, she showed flickers of
consciousness and movement.
Those signs would soon be gone.
The fact that she made it to Lakewood’s St. Anthony Hospital alive
was a miracle.
Molei's extreme injuries
Jeremy and Molei, about five months before the accident, in the Rocky Mountains. Credit: Molei Wright
By the time her mother, Mo
Wright, finally saw her, Molei had
sunk into a coma and was hooked up
to a half-dozen tubes and machines.
The doctors could tell Mo almost
nothing beyond the obvious: It was
extremely serious. At any moment,
fever, infection—anything—could
carry her off. And even if her body stabilised, her brain might never recover.
“One doctor took me aside and said,
‘I need to be honest. There’s a chance
she’s not going to make this,’” says
Mo. “And I remember saying, ‘Molei
is a fighter. She’s competitive. She’s
not one to just lie back and take this.’”
But doctors knew it might not be up
to Molei. In addition to her shattered
neck, Molei had suffered fractures in
her ribs and other vertebrae, bruises
on her lungs, and damage to the major
arteries bringing blood to her brain.
Scans showed what Dr Philip Yarnell,
a trauma neurologist since 1967, called
multifocal shearing injury inside her
skull—haemorrhages all across the surface, blood vessels and brain stem.
"One doctor told Mo, 'I need to be honest. There's a chance she's not going to make this'"
Like anyone who has suffered a
traumatic brain injury, she’d entered
a realm of mystery. How well a given
mind recovers is completely unpredictable. In fact, doctors have a saying: If
you’ve seen one brain injury, you’ve
seen one brain injury. Sometimes
victims come back fully capable and
healthy. Sometimes they linger forever
in the twilight of consciousness.
And sometimes their brains survive
but their personalities don’t. “They
get angry, they have temper problems,
their families are afraid to be around
them,” says Dr Yarnell. Such cases can
be devastating, shattering relationships and ending marriages. “You’re
with one person, and then you’re
with another, and it’s not the one you
started with.”
Dr Yarnell knew the Wright family
would want answers. But he knew that
only time would tell the full story.
“You don’t give a long-term prognosis,” he says. “You can be fooled.”
So as Molei lay silent and still, the
best the doctors could do to save her
brain was to save her body: Drugs to
fend off fevers and infections. Machines for food and oxygen. Surgeries
for injuries. Constant monitoring for
signs of consciousness. And above all,
patience.
“We don’t have a medicine to make
the brain heal,” Dr Yarnell says. “We try
to let the brain heal by itself.”
Darkest days
in the weeks after the crash, a pattern
set in. Molei lay in her bed being fed
through a tube, breathing on a ventilator. Dr Yarnell and his team would
come in every day to test her reactions and see whether her brain was
responding. Poke her arms and feet.
Pinch her shoulders. Move objects in
front of her face to see whether her
eyes would track them.
But as the doctor’s log documented,
Molei showed little reaction:
February 6: Not following commands.
February 11: Not following commands.
February 15: Not following commands.
“It was killing us,” Mo says. “Every morning I would get in the car and drive to the hospital, and every morning was my lowest moment ... What are they going to tell us?”
February 11: Not following commands.
February 15: Not following commands.
“It was killing us,” Mo says. “Every morning I would get in the car and drive to the hospital, and every morning was my lowest moment ... What are they going to tell us?”
Jeremy, who by now had recovered from his own serious injuries—a
broken hip and scapula, as well as
heart and lung contusions—followed
the nurses’ cues and talked to Molei
as if she could hear him, clinging to
the slender hope Dr Yarnell had given
them: that she could recover.
“I just kept thinking, She’s going to
come back to me. I know it, I know it,”
he says.
But with every passing day, Jeremy
also knew that Molei’s chances of recovery grew worse. At one point, her
wrists and hands started to curl inward, a phenomenon called posturing
that can indicate serious irreversible
regression.
“I was heartbroken,” says Jeremy.
Signs of life
And then, about three weeks after
the crash, Molei began to show signs
of life:
February 25:
Moving the right leg spontaneously.
February 29: A focused gaze.
March 1: Off the ventilator all day. Looks to both sides.
February 29: A focused gaze.
March 1: Off the ventilator all day. Looks to both sides.
"The signs were tiny but they were enough. Somebody was in there. But was it Molei?"
The signs were tiny—sometimes
so tiny that only Dr Yarnell could see
them.
But they were enough. Somebody
was in there. But was it Molei?
Molei's memory of her recovery
Molei can still remember seeing the
date on the whiteboard at the foot of
her bed and realising that three full
months of her life had disappeared.
“It said, ‘Hello, Molei! Today is
Wednesday, May 18,’” she says. “It
was confusing ... like, Wait! What happened to February and March and
April?”
Molei didn’t know it, but she was
now in Craig Hospital in Englewood,
one of the nation’s leading rehabilitation centres for brain and spinal injuries. Three months after the crash,
Dr Yarnell had seen enough consistent response to get Molei admitted
to Craig. There, therapists worked to
revive her with regimens of wake-up
drugs and physical therapy.
Molei was largely in a fog the first
several weeks after coming to. She
knew she was still Molei, but she also
knew she couldn’t connect with staff
or even loved ones, and she didn’t
know whether she ever would.
And then one day, Jeremy made
her laugh. It happened in the workout
room at Craig. Jeremy had taken her
there himself.
By this point, Molei was in a sort
of half-conscious limbo. She couldn’t
direct her own movements or talk.
But if Jeremy or her therapists moved
her limbs, she could sit up and even
stand. That day, Jeremy was doing just
what he’d been doing for weeks: helping and hoping.
First he hoisted her from the bed
and onto a kind of hanging chair that
moved on tracks, which in turn took
her to a wheelchair. From there, it was
down to a room full of padded platforms designed for massage and therapy. His plan was to stretch her limbs a
bit while he talked to her. So he laid her
on the therapy bed, sat at her feet, and
started flexing her legs, chattering and
spouting, as he called it, “nonsense,”
just as he’d been doing for months.
You're in there!
He wasn’t surprised when Molei’s
body suddenly spasmed and she sat
up abruptly. Without even thinking,
Jeremy responded, “Hey, we’re not
doing sit-ups. What are you doing?”
And she laughed.
Jeremy’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God!”
he shouted. “You hear me! You’re in
there!”
It was a watershed moment. “I don’t
know if I’ve ever laughed so much or
smiled so hard,” he says. “I knew then
that she knew who I was. She thought
my stupid jokes were funny still. She
knew who I was.”
It was a breakthrough for Molei as
well. “The way he laughed back, I just
knew,” she says. “He could tell, ‘Hey,
she’s still in there!’ I’m not just this girl
in a coma.”
In the weeks that followed, Molei
improved dramatically. Soon she was
watching, listening, focusing, and responding. She still couldn’t talk, so
she tried to communicate using the
sign language she’d learned in college.
Jeremy knew some sign language, too,
so he understood the first thing she
told him.
“It was, ‘I love you,’” Molei said.
“That’s the first thing I said to him.”
Cognitive rehabilitation therapy and love
Molei had spent a total of six
months in hospitals after the crash,
including two months at Craig, where
she learned to eat (carefully), talk
(slowly), and walk short distances
with a walker. Cognitive rehabilitation
therapy—puzzles, tests, medication
for focus and attention—had helped
her mind come back to life. The brain
is a remarkable thing, Dr Yarnell often says. If you keep exercising it,
it can find all sorts of ways to work around its problems.
So when the doctors said she was
ready, she moved back to her family’s home. There were setbacks and
frustrations; the simplest decision,
such as whether to use the walker
or the wheelchair to get to the living
room, could be fraught with stress or
danger. But every month, Molei made
progress. And eventually, once again,
the everyday became the norm: using
the bathroom, folding laundry, riding
the exercise bike. As her body revived,
her mind sharpened, just as Dr Yarnell had predicted.
"If you keep exercising the brain, it can find all sorts of different ways to work around its problems"
In what may have been her biggest
step of all, Molei moved in with Jeremy, 18 months after the crash. The
life they’d once imagined sharing
began to take shape. And even if it
isn’t exactly the life they’d expected,
Jeremy says, the love they share is just
as deep—maybe deeper.
“I liken it to going to war with someone,” says Jeremy. “We went through
something that is unfathomable to
other people. I shared some things
with her that I can’t quite explain.”
Challenges remain but Molei is back
Today, Molei Wright still faces her
share of challenges. Her left side is still
weak, her grip uncertain; her fused
spine means she can’t turn her neck.
Dr Yarnell says Molei will probably
always have some cognitive deficits.
Multitasking will tire her out. Holding
down a high-stress job might never be
possible.
And yet she now manages the couple’s household along with her own recovery. She meets with friends, shares
books and podcasts with Jeremy, and
volunteers to visit classrooms and talk
to students. She’s training for a bike
race. She’s considering a new career as
an occupational therapist.
She’s the Molei Jeremy fell in love
with, the one who’d never settle for
anything less than the best. “You just
can’t turn off this wild ambition,” he
says. “You can’t go through something
like this and be exactly the same person, but the core of who she is is the
exact same.”
Back to skiing
Jeremy and Molei returning to the ski slopes. Molei described it as "liberating". Credit: Molei Wright
This past February, two years after
she and Jeremy almost died in the
snow driving to Breckenridge, Molei
finally arrived at the resort town.
Using outriggers (poles with skis on
them), she skied down the mountain,
plowing through the snow as the trees
blurred by and her cheeks tingled in
the delicious crisp air.
She wasn’t a crash victim anymore.
She was just Molei Wright, out in the
sun with the man she loved, conquering the mountain she’d first set out to
run two years earlier.
Top: Molei and Jeremy in May 2018 at
Red Rocks Park in Colorado. Bottom:
“It was liberating,” Molei said of skiing
again after the accident. “I was like,
‘Oh my gosh, this is happening!’”
Banner photo: Shutterstock
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