Ottawa Citizen


ROBERT WEIN has no memory of July 19, 2009, the morning he and four other cyclists were injured when a minivan slammed into their bicycles. Doctors cautioned that the broken athlete might not survive. Since the crash on March Road, Wein has travelled a lo


‘I don’t get mad. I don’t get mad at myself. I don’t get mad at anybody. That’s just the way it is.’

For many mornings at The Ottawa Hospital Rehabilita­tion Centre, Robert Wein confused his right leg with his left.

His nurse would correct him patiently as she helped him transfer from his bed to his wheelchair. Today, four months after entering the rehab centre with a serious brain injury, Wein doesn’t make that mistake anymore.

“She taught me things a threeyear-old needs to learn,” Wein says, grinning at the memory. “I’d call my right leg my left leg. I don’t know why.”

That confusion was one feature of the brain injury he suffered on the morning of July 19, 2009, when a minivan slammed into his bicycle from behind.

Four other cyclists, including Wein’s girlfriend, Cathy Anderson, were injured in the hit-andrun. The accident defied reason: The riders were struck as they pedalled in a dedicated bike lane on a broad stretch of March Road in Kanata. They were about 20 minutes into a 100-kilometre round trip to Pakenham. Few other cars were on the road at the time.

Wein, who was cycling behind the lead rider, has no memory of the event. He has read about it on the Internet, but none of it sounds familiar.

In fact, for months, the 39year-old triathlete and civil servant couldn’t relate his physical state to the crash. He didn’t understand why his legs wouldn’t follow his commands. He feared it might be his fault.

Then one morning, late last year, he woke up “with the total understand­ing I was in an accident.”

He often reminds people now that he was hit by a car. The word “minivan” escapes him yet.

Wein is firmly set on the hard road back. How far he’s able to travel down that road will depend on his brain’s ability to rewire itself, to find new ways to perform once automatic activities such as balancing, walking and rememberin­g names.

“I got hit,” he explains. “But I wasn’t born this way and I’m not going to die this way.”

Among the first things Wein remembers after the accident is sitting up in a hospital bed, having people congratula­te him for the feat. “I was thinking, ‘ Yeah, big deal,’ ” he says. “ I didn’t know a month earlier I was unconsciou­s.”

Wein was in the best physical condition of his life before the accident; he had competed in a triathlon on his birthday the previous weekend.

After the crash, Wein underwent emergency surgery at The Ottawa Hospital’s Civic campus for a serious abdominal injury. He had also suffered a collapsed lung, a broken rib and severe road rash to his lower legs and right arm.

His brain injury was life threatenin­g. He had been wearing a bike helmet, but it had shattered in the crash.

Doctors warned Wein’s parents, Patricia Buchanan and Marceli Wein, that their son might not regain consciousn­ess. His score on the Glasgow Coma scale — a medical test used to assess unconsciou­s patients — suggested he had a 50-per-cent chance of survival.

“The prognosis was guarded,” remembers Buchanan.

Wein was kept in a sedative-induced coma for three weeks to limit swelling, which can reduce blood flow and damage healthy brain tissue.

He was allowed to emerge from sedation when the pres- sure inside his skull subsided. Wein spent the next five weeks in the hospital’s trauma unit, where he learned to swallow and eat again. His feeding tube was removed.

His recovery continued at Elisabeth Bruyère Hospital until October when doctors decided he was ready for more intensive therapy at The Ottawa Hospital Rehabilita­tion Centre.

When he arrived, Wein needed help to turn in bed and to reach a sitting position. He was transferre­d to a wheelchair in a sling. He had strength enough to push his wheelchair about five metres on the ward he shared with other brain-injured patients. He couldn’t stand up.

Those were the physical manifestat­ions of his injuries. But his rehab would be complicate­d by what couldn’t be seen: the damage done to his short-term memory and motor control.

‘I wasn’t born this way and I’m not going to die this way.’

Unlike strokes, which follow a common pattern — a right-middle cerebral artery stroke typically will result in problems on the left side of the body — a severe brain injury is unpredicta­ble.

Wein’s diffuse injury produced a weakened right leg and left arm.

The accident also left him with double vision, which he manages by wearing a black patch over one eye. While it often rights itself, the condition can be corrected with surgery if it persists for more than a year.

Wein likes the eyepatch. “That way at least it looks like I’m injured,” he says, grinning again. “I want to fit in here.” “Keep yourself centred.” It’s the second week of January and physiother­apist Joan Heard sits on a stool in front of Robert Wein. She holds his hips as he concentrat­es on standing between parallel bars without holding them.

“ Keep your weight on both legs,” Heard coaches.

Due to his brain injury, Wein tends to favour his right leg. The leg wasn’t damaged in the crash, but messaging to the limb must be reprogramm­ed. Essentiall­y, he’s learning to walk based on a new set of rules for his brain.

In three months, Wein has made significan­t progress. He is stronger and more flexible thanks to daily stretching and weightlift­ing sessions. He can transfer to a wheelchair. He can stand on his own for four minutes, a vast improvemen­t from the 16 seconds he managed on his f irst attempt two months ago.

His communicat­ion skills have improved so much that his physiother­apist sometimes has to remind him to concentrat­e on walking, not talking.

Heard asks him now to lift one arm, then the other, as he stands between the parallel bars. It’s an exercise that tests his balance.

Wein’s brow beads with concentrat­ion as he masters the new skill, pumping his arms up and down like a dance instructor. “I’m impressed,” Heard says.

She places a small plastic step on the floor. Wein practises lifting both feet onto it, and stepping down. He turns and comes back over the step, again and again.

The repetition is key to “motor relearning,” the process of re-engineerin­g the neural pathways that control movement. The process takes advantage of the brain’s remarkable ability to change itself.

“Neuroplast­icity allows you to teach your brain how to do it another way,” explains Dr. Shawn Marshall, medical director of acquired brain injury rehabilita­tion.

Repetition offers the brain the stimulatio­n it needs to forge new connection­s between neurons. When enough of those connection­s are establishe­d, the brain can effectivel­y transfer tasks from damaged areas to healthy ones.

The new brain networks, however, are not as efficient — or experience­d — as the old ones. It means Wein may not move as smoothly as he did before the accident.

Wein’s mother is thankful for what he’s recovered.

“ I almost don’t think of the ‘before’: I just think of how well he’s progressin­g now. He’s got his personalit­y back.”

No one is sure how far Wein will progress. Brain injuries are dynamic, making the level of recovery for each patient difficult to predict.

A severe brain injury can take up to two years to heal, says Dr. Marshall, meaning Wein may not know the full extent of his recovery until next year.

Wein himself says he doesn’t expect to be able to do everything he did before the accident, but he’s encouraged by his growing independen­ce and his ability to make himself understood. When he first came to the rehab centre, Wein was frustrated by his brain’s inability to keep up with the speed of conversati­ons.

That isn’t a problem now, but his memory remains flawed.

“I accept the fact that pieces are missing,” he says. “I don’t get upset, I don’t get mad. I don’t get mad at myself, I don’t get mad at anybody. That’s just the way it is.”

For as long as he can remember, Wein has loved the escape that is cycling. “The sounds and solitude,” he says, describing its pleasures. “ I can concentrat­e and think about things on a bike.”

Always enamoured with cycling, Wein became serious about the sport five years ago after joining Soldiers of Fitness, a conditioni­ng program offered by former Canadian soldiers. Wein embraced its physical challenges and enjoyed the camaraderi­e of his fellow recruits.

The fitness group became the focus of his social life. Two-anda-half years ago, he began to date Cathy Anderson, a fellow recruit and triathlete. They became part of a tightly knit cycling group that took advantage of summer weekends to make epic bike trips to such places as Brockville and Kingston.

For Wein, cycling was the easiest of the triathlon’s three discipline­s: swimming, cycling and running. “I could go far and fast and long, and so I was drawn to it,” says Wein, who grew up in Ottawa’s Beacon Hill North neighbourh­ood.

His mother, Patricia, is a profession­al editor, his father, Marceli, is a scientist. Not surprising­ly, Robert had eclectic interests as a boy. He was adept with books, computers, cameras and woodworkin­g tools. He once built his mother an armoire; he produced his own newspaper for family and friends

“He’s always been at heart an entreprene­ur,” says Patricia.

Wein studied commerce at Brock University, then returned to Ottawa to take a job at Nortel. He migrated to the civil service about five years ago.

He kept a hectic schedule. He was involved in the lives of his two children, Geris, 12, and Connor, 10, from a previous marriage, and also managed an

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 ??  ?? Working with physiother­apist Joan Heard, Robert Wein is stronger and more flexible. He can stand on h
Working with physiother­apist Joan Heard, Robert Wein is stronger and more flexible. He can stand on h
 ??  ?? ‘I’ve told him ever since he opened his eyes, “I believe in you. You can do it,”’ says Cathy Anderson. ‘We were together all the time before the accident. We did everything together. That hasn’t changed much, it’s just that we do it different.’
‘I’ve told him ever since he opened his eyes, “I believe in you. You can do it,”’ says Cathy Anderson. ‘We were together all the time before the accident. We did everything together. That hasn’t changed much, it’s just that we do it different.’

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