'Where there's hope, there's always growth'

CLERMONT — It's not much of a stretch to say that Nancy Foryan gave birth to son Ed Simone twice — the first time in the conventional manner, the second as she rehabilitated him following a traumatic brain injury.

The process is now at 22 years and counting. When asked if there's any achievement she is particularly proud of, Foryan says "my son." She's proud of him because he never gave up. He's proud of her for the same reason.

She's his hero.

Life for the two changed forever on Feb. 2, 1995. Simone had just turned 20. He was a sophomore in college in Rhode Island, studying civil engineering. He was also a standout in track. Cross-country running was his specialty and he had set a state record back in Connecticut of 3.1 miles in 15 minutes, 56 seconds. His doctors would later speculate that it was his physical conditioning that pulled him through.

Simone was playing in his first ever college rugby game. He had been asked to fill in with the school's team as "scrummy," which he describes as the rugby equivalent of a quarterback. Foryan and Simone's stepdad, Joe, had driven in from Connecticut to watch. About a half hour before the game ended, Simone ended up at the bottom of a pile of bodies. When he peeled himself from off the ground, he was disoriented. Foryan recalls that her son had trouble remembering which way to run. She thought he should be pulled from the game, but the coach disagreed. She remembers that it was 12:20 p.m. when the game ended and Simone finally walked off the field.

"He said 'The back of my head hurts,'" Foryan recalls. "And then I knew what was going on. He put his arms around my waist and said 'Mommy, I'm scared.' Then he went into a coma." 

There were no emergency medical personnel on the field at that point. The first ambulance summoned was diverted to what dispatchers thought was a more serious situation. The second ambulance broke down at the end of the field, and paramedics in it called for a third ambulance. At the opposite end of the field, Foryan told herself "my son's dying in my lap," and sent the rugby team down to strip the ambulance of equipment. She was a clinical psychologist. She knew how to operate the life-saving equipment — and that's exactly what she did. When the third ambulance finally arrived and delivered her son to the hospital, it was 3:15 p.m. His diagnosis was a right frontal lobe injury with unilateral and bilateral damage. He was in surgery for 10 hours and, for the first few days, doctors kept telling Foryan 'There's nothing we can do.' 

"His prognosis was vegetable," she says. 

But the fiber optic sensors used to monitor brain function had malfunctioned. Foryan suspected as much and persuaded a doctor she remembers only as Dr. Ponytail to change them out. Simone was in a coma for nine days. When he had been moved to a facility for rehabilitation, Foryan decided his treatment there was not acceptable, so she moved her own team in — herself, a speech therapist and a physical therapist.

"I rehabbed my son," she says. "I actually worked with patients with traumatic brain injuries, which was really a godsend. It helped me to deal, because a normal person would have quit. I had to teach him everything. In a way it was a great experience. As hard as it was, it taught me perseverance." 

When the insurance ran out, Foryan took her son home. She quit her job as a clinical psychologist and turned to her artistic side, painting murals professionally — jobs that allowed her to have Simone at her side. Now she is a glass-fuser, operating under the company name Reflections of Nancy.

"This woman made a lot of sacrifices," Simone chimes in. "She left her practice. She changed my diapers. She taught me how to walk. She never gave up. She's my hero. I took her for granted way too long."

"No, I didn't give up," she responds. "I didn't give up on caring, on rehabbing and doing what a mother does, but with all you did, you still had hope, and you didn't give up." 

Simone went through a lot of different phases as the broken connections in his brain rebuilt. When he was in his obsessive-compulsive phase he took up binge-drinking and abused his prescription medications. 

"I kicked that 10 years ago," he says. 

Simone can't do everything he could do before his accident, but there have been a few positives. He's developed a flair for languages, as well as a passion for cooking and baking. A self-styled "coffee fanatic," he sings and plays bass, and he has plans for the future. 

"I'm studying to be a reverend," he says. "I want to go to seminary and be a reverend." 

Reflecting on his experience with a brain injury, he says "What I've been through I wouldn't wish on anybody, not even if they're my worst enemy." 

Simone lives in a townhouse now, not very far from his mom and stepdad's Clermont home. He has two cats and a roommate.

"I wanted him to be independent," Foryan says, "but he needs an occasional life coach. The biggest thing I'm working on now is he still lives in the past, at least partly in the past. I'm not sure if that bridge will ever be built. But he has the biggest heart."

Her advice to people who may be dealing with loved ones with traumatic brain injuries is to never give up.

"To me it's never give up," she says. "Where there's hope, there's always growth. It takes a lot of energy, a lot of strength. When I look at Ed today, to where he was in 1995, he's a miracle. He's my miracle."

To the caregivers and in-home rehabbers, she says "If you are reaching your breaking point, reach out, get someone to come in and give you a break. We forget we have to heal ourselves. I had no one to help me, but as we went along, I learned I can take a break — and you have to have a sense of humor." 

One of the biggest challenges she sees regarding the situation she and her son found themselves in is the almost total lack of facilities equipped to deal with young adults with traumatic brain injuries. 

"It's a special need," she says, noting that many of the TBI patients end up in nursing homes, or else they end up homeless. 

The other challenge she describes is people.

"Sometimes they just don't understand," she says.