Matt Cowan’s Rehabilitation Fund
Help us reach our goal by March 31 so Matt can transfer his care and focus on healing.
THE SHORT STORY:
Last July, our dear friend and colleague Matt Cowan suffered a cardiac arrest that placed him on a long road to recovery. He and his wife, Jessie Wagner, need your generosity to help get through this difficult time. (Read the full story below)
WHO IS MATT?
If you're part of the independent music and documentary film communities, you probably know Matt and Jessie, or at least their work. Matt is a freelance musician and film editor, who has worked on many award-winning documentaries. Jessie is a brilliant musician who performs with talent like Kid Rock and Lenny Kravitz.
WHERE, EXACTLY, ARE CONTRIBUTIONS GOING?
100% of all donations are being delivered to Matt's family (parents Glenda and Dave; sister Jenny) to offset medical bills and also pay for his medical transport to California (est. $20,000 to $30,000), where he has a more expanded network of family who can help care for him.
Matt cannot care for himself, so he's currently living in a NYC facility that insurance stopped paying for late last year (we're currently helping Jessie appeal this decision). The cost is $700 per day.
Beyond hospital and rehabilitation home bills, Jessie faces additional expenses to keep Matt comfortable and in good care. She could no longer afford to keep their apartment, so she downsized to a smaller place and works whenever she can.
WHO WE ARE:
We're Matt's friends and colleagues. He has worked on our films, helped us launch new projects and been a genuinely all-around great human being to us and others. With help from a chorus of people in the independent music and film communities who love Matt and Jessie, this GoFundMe campaign is shephered by Dawn Porter, Carol Bash and Marilyn Ness.
FROM MATT'S WIFE, JESSIE:
"The day before the 4th of July last year was like any other day. I did a hair show, bought some clothes I didn’t need to buy, went home and packed my bags so I could drive to Virginia the next day to spend it with my mom. Matt seemed fine, except he went to bed very early and complained he couldn’t do all his push ups for the day. I went to bed after him, not knowing the my world would be altered in such an unimaginable and frightening way.
I heard a crash in the middle of the night and ran into the kitchen to find Matt on his knees, gasping for air. As I dialed 911, my husband of 10 years, the organizer, the man who took care of everything in the house — from finances to appliances — passed out and turned blue. While fighting off the panic, I began to do chest compressions and desperately prayed for the paramedics to magically appear in the next two seconds. Time seemed suspended, but I knew it was passing because of the fatigue I was experiencing.
One and two and three and four and five — over and over again.
Finally, I heard the sirens and EMTs rushed upstairs. I hoped that this nightmare would soon be over. After a while, they got his heart started again. It took six shocks to his system. I followed after the ambulance in the police car thinking, ok... now it’s over. Now we’re going to go back to our lives. By the time I saw my husband again, I realized how wrong I was.
Covered with sensors and tubes, I didn’t recognize the man in front of me. They told me his heart was beating. Why did he need all of this stuff to help him breathe and live if his heart was beating? What was going on? As the doctors pulled me aside, they explained that my husband suffered a cardiac arrest and didn’t get enough oxygen to the brain. The doctors weren’t very optimistic about his recovery and I should start thinking about his final wishes or, if he did survive, the kind of home he’ll be confined to for the rest of his life.
I couldn’t believe these were my only two options. For a couple weeks, we prayed and cried and prayed again. Matt opened his eyes. We rejoiced. Matt wiggled a toe. We praised the heavens. Slowly, but surely, he began his fight back to the land of the living. For almost two months, we watched these minute changes and thought, “yes, this is it! He’s going to be Matt by Thanksgiving. He’ll be home and everything will be the same!”
Again, I didn’t realize that our hard-won progress would continue at a snail's pace. I've learned that trying to rush it is as futile as trying to breathe underwater. I thought this phase was the most difficult. I never knew I’d just begun the biggest challenge of my life.
Matt entered rehab in the middle of September of last year, around two months after his cardiac arrest. In the beginning, he resisted the therapy. He didn’t understand the purpose — even though he couldn’t walk, or hardly speak, and still had tubes coming out of his body. Then he developed behavioral issues that posed further hindrances to his recovery. It’s hard to describe a man that looks like my husband, but is completely alien to me. The anger, the violence, the fear and paranoia. It was unbearable for him and for me. I spent many nights just praying that today would be a good, that today we wouldn’t have to needlessly go back to the hospital because of his confusion. I prayed so hard, "Please, let him gain some kind of understanding."
Month after month, the days dragged by with tension, apprehension and fear, and I began to wonder if a breakthrough would ever happen. On top of this, the insurance stopped paying. “He’s not making enough progress fast enough,” they said. Then, the landlord raised our rent and I had to scramble to find something affordable nearby. I’ve spent all day, every day, at the facility — unless I have to work. That’s the only time I get some extra sleep.
There was a time the facility begged me to stay there. So I was spending day and night there, losing myself and my own sanity. There’s always the constant worry of how am I going to pay the rest of those hospital bills when they come to collect? How will I pay the facility if I can’t get Medicaid?
A couple of weeks ago, I had a nervous breakdown. I began pulling my hair out and scratching my face and I screamed to the heavens — “I can’t do this anymore! Help me!” I’ve reached my breaking point. I need help.
I don’t regret being here for him. I know he would do the same for me. The kind and loving man that I fell in love with and married is still there — and he is emerging, slowly, more and more each day.
He has finally accepted the need for therapy and he works hard to regain the life skills he’s forgotten. He’s starting to eat through his mouth and he’s standing and walking. He can make intelligible conversation. Thankfully, he is becoming the man I used to know.
But he still grapples with fear and a crippling need for me to be around at all times. I know he could thrive if I could get him to California. That’s where his family is, whom he misses desperately. Also, I could get some much needed help so that I can continue to work and provide for us and secure our future. But also, I need some rest so I can stay strong to take care of us. That’s easier said than done, and that’s why I am asking you for help.
Because of the behavioral issues that surfaced, Matt isn’t cleared for commercial flight. He will have to have medical transport. That kind of flight costs $30,000. In addition to that, I’ll need to pay out of pocket costs for rehab care until I can secure California insurance for him. That is estimated to be an additional $10,000 - $15,000.
Beyond that, I still have hospital bills, and facility care bills here in New York. I’ll find a way through. I just want to get Matt somewhere he can be happy, safe, and surrounded by the love of his family for his continued growth, health, and rehabilitation.
I’m grateful for anything, anyone can contribute. I know that there is a light at the end of this tunnel and that Matt, a man with a beautiful spirit and loving soul, will find his way back to himself."
