Sunday, August 26, 2012

July 17, 2000 Part Two

Vomiting as I was wheeled into what I assume was the emergency room is the last thing I remember until I opened my eyes, lying flat on my back, with tubes coming out of multiple areas of my body. As I slowly awoke, I started becoming aware of my surroundings, the television blaring in the corner, a feeding tube coming out of my nose, a mask on my face pumping much needed oxygen into my lungs, various IV sights, and a clear tube coming out of my left side that was draining fluid. My head turned and I noticed the owner of my camp, Anne, sitting in the corner. She stood up and walked over to me laughing and crying all at the same time. An elated nurse soon came into the room and started switching IV bags around and checking all of the surrounding machines displaying my blood pressure, pulse, and heart rate. Confusion was all I felt in that moment and immediately started asking questions. I remember knowing I couldn't feel my legs and asking over and over what was wrong. The only part of my body I could move, without writhing in pain, was my right arm and I kept using it to remove my mask and ask what happened, what was wrong with me. I will never forget the young nurse who seemed to only know the phrase, "that's not my specialty", every time I questioned the numbness in my legs. My mouth felt like cracked mud desperate for water and since water was apparently not an option, the same nurse would swab my mouth with little, oddly tasting sponges on a stick. The thirst was overwhelming and with a mouth like sandpaper, the sponges on a stick did very little to relieve the dryness. Every single part of my body, the parts I could still feel, seemed to be broken.


As I repeatedly asked about my shattered bones and the nurse continued to repeat her mantra, I slowly felt myself coming back to my body. Instead of being in a fog, the world around me was starting to become very clear and very real. My gut told me the truth about my injury, but I didn't want to listen. I chose to cling to hope and focused on the possibility this could all be an enormous misunderstanding and the feeling in my legs would return shortly and I would walk out of the room and head back to camp. Doctors started pulling the curtain and examining me. Finally, one of them stopped and stood at my bed and very kindly asked if I was aware of what had just occurred. I told him I was only aware of the loss of feeling from my belly button down and assumed it could only mean one thing. He wasn't able to answer my question either. He did, however, tell me the extent of the other trauma I sustained. My left leg clipped a tree on the trail, forcing me off of the horse, into the tree and then onto the hard, rocky ground. I didn't believe him. I was certain I let go, so certain it took me years of therapy to realize it was an impossibility according to all of the medical records. I blamed myself for not staying on the horse long and for not holding on tighter. But the force of the collision with tree is what forced me off. In the end, it doesn't really matter what happened, it was an accident and that is all that matters. I also learned when I hit the tree I shattered my left femur, broke my left collar bone, and broke all of the ribs on that side of the body. One of the ribs punctured my lung which was why it was so hard to breathe and the reason for the chest tube. My shoulder blade and twelve vertebrae in my back shattered because of the impact and force of my fall combined with the hard, uneven terrain. I felt almost entirely broken, because I was almost entirely broken. I still had no idea why I couldn't feel my legs. 

Contrary to feelings during later years, I felt very lucky and hopeful in this moment. I felt elated knowing I survived several life-threatening injuries. The life flight crew surprised me with a visit because they both wanted to see with their very own eyes that I was alive and well. These two men, who were once strangers, stood by my bedside as the heroes who saved my life. The shock and jolt I felt were these two men struggling to prevent my body from coding. I'm not sure how you repay or express enough gratitude, but I tried. Their visit only added to my elation. 



I wanted to call everyone I knew and tell them the news, to tell them about the tree, the horse, and my damaged body. I could feel my spirit come alive again as I pulled my mask off and dragged the phone closer so I could dial and answer it myself. I was still inside, I was alive and this was enough for now. I still questioned my legs, but I didn't care anymore, I called everyone I could think of calling, my parents, my friends, my dancing teacher, anyone and everyone. The phone was ringing constantly.



The neurosurgeon finally pulled back the curtain. He had a very strong and reassuring presence. He stood by the bed and said he heard I have some questions. I will always remember the conversation. He was the perfect person to tell me. I asked him, "Well, I can't feel my legs and well, am I paralyzed for sure?". As if there is a kind of paralyzed. He said, "Yes, of the twelve fractured vertebrae, one cut into your spinal cord leading me to believe you are in fact paralyzed from T12 down." My reply was, "Are you sure, how sure are you, what are the chances this is true and I will never walk again?". "I am ninety-seven percent sure." "Oh,"I said. I turned my head to the right, the left hurt too much, and started to cry a little bit. He put his hand on my broken shoulder very gently and said, "It's okay to cry, but don't worry, you will still be able to do everything you did before. It may take a little time and a lot of work, but you will get there." I asked a few more questions and he left the room. Anne was making phone calls in the hallway. I turned to the right again, luckily it was away from the dreaded opening and closing curtain. I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks again and put my one good hand on my one good leg and started rubbing it and telling it how sorry I was for hurting it. I apologized over and over to my legs and body. I felt so ashamed to have taken each and every part of its wonder for granted. I grieved heavy tears for my legs. I wrestled in my mind about why I let go, why I decided to ride that day, why I was working at camp, all of the whys simmered over until they were boiling and I was thinking too many irrational thoughts to process, I just continued to break down in tears. I hit the bed next to my right leg, but then would yell at myself for almost injuring something else. 

Family and friends started arriving, chaplains became permanent fixtures at my bedside, and the long, quiet painful nights continued, one after the next. I would lie awake wondering how I would live, what I would do with myself. I tried to picture myself in a wheelchair but only grew more hysterical and angry. I remember cupping my mouth and sobbing uncontrollably. I questioned my ability to handle the surgeries and the healing and begged God, the universe, whomever would listen for one more chance. I sobbed with memories of all of the wrongs I committed and mistakes I had made, naively writing my accident off as some sort of punishment. I did all of this quietly and alone. I felt so ashamed and absorbed all of my blame, hatred, and anger as some sort of penance.








To protect everyone else from the darkness I felt, I happily progressed and diligently worked at therapy, but secretly planned to give it my all until I started walking, in just a few, short months. Remaining permanently in my chair was not at all a part of my plan.





The physical work was indescribably difficult and tears, nausea, gut wrenching pain, were all a part of my day. I shuttered and shook when I thought of the looming responsibility. When I wasn't shedding tears of loss, I was feeling the sting of change. I grasped to optimism and fought for joy. I knew there was a gravity and enormity of emotions that should be addressed, but my way of facing the unwanted fear was to persevere with what little hope I had left. Sure, I was terrified, and worried, and angry, and sad, but I still felt strong and alive and ready to face the challenge. I chose to focus on walking instead of a life in a wheelchair...denial was far easier than acceptance at this point. What I was unprepared for was what this mindset would to me, what would gradually metastasize over time, a feeling of disconnection and defeat so strong and overpowering I would be left feeling empty and vacant and alone. And lastly and most importantly, I never anticipated the wonder and discovery that come from taking broken pieces, broken bones, and building something out of what remains. The journey may be difficult, but it is oh so rewarding. Life goes on, and it is a lovely life, even sitting down. 




This is the beginning, the tale of the day that changed my life forever. The day I woke up, not expecting anything more than the ordinary. There are many more stories of many more days to come, but this is the beginning. Thank you for your patience, I struggled to put it into words. The stories and days ahead are filled with many more trials, but mostly with hope, hope for a better day and a better life embracing my strengths, as well as my weaknesses. 

Our bodies are given to us for a short time. Unfortunately and fortunately, they are delicate and unpredictable. Our body is our best guide and our best friend. It is there for us when we need it most. It fights injury and infection and wills us to never give up and only asks for diligent care and respect in return. In order for me to live the life I dreamed of living, I need a functioning, well loved body. If lying broken and motionless taught me anything, it taught me to honor my humanity. Listen to my spirit and my soul, but honor and respect the fragility and wonder of my humanity. 



31 comments:

  1. Awesome job putting this into words. I will continue reading!

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  2. Sarah, you are amazing.

    I know you probably don't think so. I know you probably think that you just do what you have to do. Honestly though - having the strength to not just live through it but to share your story with the world? To not sugar coat it or shy away from it? To not just survive but to work each day to thrive? That is amazing.

    You are amazing.

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  3. Amazing, Sarah.

    I am so inspired by you.

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  4. Another amazing post. Thank you for reminding us all of everything we so easily take for granted. You're such a gifted writer!

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  5. Thank you for sharing your story. You are truly amazing. You are so beautiful, inside and out:)

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  6. Sarah,
    I began following your blog after Kelle Hampton posted your email. I have been greatly touched by your story and your message of hope and the value of life. My godfather was parylised, from the chest down, when I was a young girl. As I grew up with his four biological sons we learned a lot from him. His career as a paramedic changed to a "behind the scenes" role for the company, but he didn't seem to change to me at all. He was still "My David" who made me laugh hysterically, who always had the nicest things to say when I needed them, who built his own deck and ramp on the front of his house so his boys could grow up where they had planted their roots. Though I know now, as an adult, that there were certainly times when he and my god-mamma, Sharon, were probably going through a living hell, I have always been so very grateful that he has been a part of my life. His accident changed many things but it never changed his spirit. It is his spirit, and not his accident that make him special.
    There is something that comes through in your writing that shows your beautiful spirit. The way you speak of the people in your past and present lead me to believe that this spirit has always drawn people to you. I want to thank you for sharing your story. Though it may have been your accident that has started this story you are telling us, it is your spirit, and not your accident, that makes you special.
    Thank you for sharing,
    Meg

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  7. I found your blog through Kelle Hampton too. You have an amazing story.. it made me cry at 5:20 in the morning! :) Thanks for sharing it with the world.

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  8. you do such an excellent job of putting this story into words and inspiring us all to trust our bodies, our spirits and our instincts.

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  9. Thank you for sharing your story. Our road is not an easy one, I appreciate your observations that a mindset of 'overcoming' challenges can be a set-up for guilt and defeat. As powerful as we are, we find limits that we cannot break down. I hope one day we can embrace an image of water that flows and recreates the story and the way we travel instead of a battle we must win. I wish you all the best moving forward :)

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  10. Thank you for your bravery, courage, and honesty. You are an amazing woman!!!

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  11. Oh my goodness Sarah, your story is powerful and moving. And you've done an amazing job of putting words to your story, thank you for sharing and touching my life with your experience. This is probably far from your mind, but what a book you could write if you chose to! You are obviously a very talented and special person, thanks again for this blog :) Hope you have a good week, Im sure reliving your accident through telling it is a difficult process, leaving you with some hard days. Take good care. Christy

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  12. You are AMAZING!! You have every right to be a victim, yet you refused! You choose instead to conquer & perservere & amaze us all in the process. May I tackle my trials the same way you tackle yours as a victor & not a victim.

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  13. What an incredible story! You ARE amazing! And you always had a smile on your face, even with all you went thru!

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  14. so thought provoking - what would i do/think if i were lying in my broken and motionless body??? would i still worry about if i look "too fat" today? or would i regret all the worrying i have done/sometimes still do about such things? and if i were to lie still and quiet for hours and days on end - what would the *honest* conversation with myself eventually be like?

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  15. Thank you for sharing your story! You are a great woman and a great writer!

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  16. Thank you for sharing your story. I found your blog through Kelle Hampton's too and am so glad I have. I have a friend who's husband is paralysed from the waist after a motorcycle crash when he was only around 17. Reading your story has really made me think about what he went through at the time...and since, rather than just seeing the man he is today who just appears to get on with life...sitting down!

    You truly are an inspiration! I'm sure your family are immensely proud of all you've achieved and all you are!

    Ax

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  17. I'm so glad I found your blog (through Kelle Hampton). You are amazing, and you have such a talent with words. I know it could not have been easy to revisit this in order to share with us, but I'm so grateful that you did...to remind us to honor our humanity. What a great, great, inspiration you are. Thank you and a big hug.

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  18. You were so brave, the whole time, for so many years, for so many people. Your smile, your bravery, your perseverance are apparent in all of these pictures. You are even brave now to re-live this experience and share the fear that you selflessly contained for so long. You are an inspiration.

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  19. Thank you for sharing your story, Sarah. You are truly amazing and inspiring!

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  20. wonderful job writing your story - so real and touching. a lot to think about as a result of reading this!

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  21. Thank you for sharing your story from the beginning. You are an amazing person. So strong. Your words made me realize how precious our bodies are. I think we forget sometimes how much our arms, legs, eyes, etc do for us without our even thinking about it. I know it's hard to keep pushing but I also know that you will do it. I will be following along as you continue your story.

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  22. I, along like many others, found your blog through Kelle Hampton. Your story and spirit and smile captivated me, and motivated me. I've been checking back frequently for "part 2" and just finished reading tonight. Thank you for sharing your struggles, feelings, and raw emotions, and for the vital reminder about the sanctity of our body. You are an inspiration. thank you, sarah.

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  23. Wow...what a great reminder (like the blog Momastery says so often) that life is "Brutiful" -- from these brutal moments, the ability to rise up and find strength and beauty in it all is nothing short of awe inspiring. You, Sarah, are the definition of brutiful! Hugs to you as I can only imagine how tough it was to relive these moments.

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  24. Beautifully inspiring all of us to NOT take for granted the many things we do about our bodies. You are such a gifted writer, I felt like I was right there in the hospital room with you. Your courage and positive outlook on life in spite of your inability to walk, are amazing, Sarah. I think we need to count our blessing each and every day - they can so easily be taken from us. You are so beautiful - both inside & out, and I love the picture of you and your pooch! TOO CUTE! Thanks for sharing your very personal journey and reminding us that life is to be lived, in spite of the hardships we all endure along the way.

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  25. I have been reading your blog since learning about it on Kelle's blog. Your story is so inspirational and so honest. Thank you for reminding us all to be thankful for everything and for every day. I can't wait to read more of your story! You are a wonderful writer.

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  26. You are an amazing person and a very gifted writer.
    Thank you so much for sharing your story. Your words have a richness and honesty to them that makes me want to keep reading. If you wrote a book it would be on the best seller list! Thank you very much for all you do.

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  27. oh, i second that! i bet your book would be on the best seller list. seriously.

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  28. Sarah you have done another wonderful job of storytelling your reality. I look at the pictures and see the essence of you everywhere. You've always been here, making that journey, day by day. Love ya.

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  29. Dear Sarah,
    I am very sorry this happened to you. My daughter was an Irish Step Dancer for many years and I know that you must miss it. Have you ever considered being a judge?

    I had a pretty big back surgery about 3 years ago and am now just finishing tapering off my pain meds. It has been a tough road with pain and PT and medication complications and I have tried to handle it well but sometimes I falter. Your grace and courage have reminded me to be grateful and mindful of my many blessings. You are a beautiful young woman and I look forward to reading more about your life. You will still have a wonderful life, just different.

    I LOVE the title of your blog and urge you to write a book. You have a lot of good things to share!

    Many blessings to you and yours!

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  30. you say you struggle to write it out and find the words, but trust me, you are doing a great job communicating something deep and personal in a way that tugs at hearts and is compelling. thank you for writing your story and for sharing it too.

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  31. Wow, Sarah, wow.... I am somewhat speechless... I knew much of this story from hearing bits and pieces on and off throughout our past 12+ yrs but hearing it in its entirety from YOUR perspective is so powerful (and same with seeing the pictures which I have never seen.) I remain immensely thankful that you survived and grateful that I still have you in my life!

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Thank you for commenting. I appreciate all of your words.