My name is Beth and I’m fundraising for my brother’s care. Coyne (Butch to me) was hit by a drunk driver while crossing a crosswalk at 11:30 in the morning of December 2. His care since then has been a roller coaster, one that often requires my presence, though I also have to work to keep the bills paid. Contributing to this GoFundMe gives me time to help him heal without putting my own health in jeopardy. Most of you know that’s exactly what happened on December 29, when I also wound up in the hospital. Now I have much more insecurity about our home life, while I’m still needed to be present for Butch. I may have lost my driving privileges too, so visits will now require rides, some of which are expensive

Any gift helps, including offers to get the kids to and from school. Butch’s progress is slow but it is present. I need to keep it going. After yesterday, it’s pretty clear his care can’t supersede my own , but making them work together is important. He's improving, but there's a long way to go and probably many bills in our future.

As of Jan 4, Coyne is much more alert and able to respond and follow directives. Remembering what happened is still dicey, and the trauma to his head is such that he may never fully recall that walk. Coyne was never a risk taker. He wouldn’t have entered the crosswalk without confidence of safety, and since there’s a stop the block before on Sterling, I’m sure he crossed with 100 percent confidence. I imagine hearing the car approach was the most terrifying sound in the world, and the worst feeling. Maybe not remembering is a blessing. Nevertheless, I know how that feels. It’s wrong to not remember something that has drastically changed your life. There’s a feeling that your brain has let you down because processing experiences is the core of our humanity. When that changes, it’s disconcerting in a way hard to explain if you’ve never experienced it. For that reason, every bit of the exchanges between our siblings and myself with regard to his accident and care has been done in a group exchange that included Coyne. When he’s ready, he can review it all and know that we tried to make choices he would want. This was hard because I knew Coyne didn’t want to live on a respirator and the doctors were reluctant to get my hopes up. The doctors are much more hopeful today. I had to have a lot of faith in God and in Coyne. Luckily, I have a wonderful church community, and Coyne has fantastic friends from Florida who never wavered in their faith. My main goals now are to find him a good rehabilitation hospital where he can get get regular PT and Speech Therapy, and to make sure he knows it’s all temporary. I want him home, I love him and miss him, and I believe his contributions to the world aren’t over yet. I never want Coyne to feel shelved or forgotten, not even for a moment.

I’ve already learned so much from this experience, including the importance of special therapies. It’s clear that physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, and memory therapy will be necessary to Coyne’s recovery. Nutrition may also play a major roll, but western medicine doesn’t always put priority on these things. We’ll have to find a way, whatever it takes.