Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Recovery, a Very Long Road

I realized that when I kept a positive attitude, I felt better.  Maybe it was because my mother was continually saying, “90 percent of healing is in your head;” but either way, I had decided I was going to get better. 

I started out slowly by making a goal to get up and walk around the house five times a day; and if I was not in too much pain, I would try and make it up and down the stairs once.  Such little accomplishments were the beacon of my being as I re-established who I was by what I could accomplish.   Before too long, and with the support of my mother, I soon was able to walk around the cul-de-sac.  I guess it wasn’t really a walk around the cul-de-sac, more of a shuffle.  The days were still cold and my mother would bundle me in my sisters pee yellow, down jacket.  I carried a pedometer in my pocket but always grew frustrated when it didn’t count my little shuffles.  My mom was constantly reminding me to lift my feet when I walked, that way it would strengthen more back muscles.  My shuffles turned into bigger, exaggerated shuffles until one day I felt like I had upgraded to little steps.  Although I dreaded the pain these walks caused I enjoyed getting out of the house and out of bed, feeling a breeze against my cheek and the sun on my back as I tried to learn how to walk again.

  I started to fill in all of my extra time with reading and crocheting, or any other small activity.  I had decided that since my life wasn’t taken from me, I was going to make the very best of it.  I began setting goals and continually cutting back on the medication. Once I got through the depression at having taken dilloted out of my daily intake I started cutting back on the valium, taking it only when my pain was severe.  I started cutting my vicodin pills in half, trying to wean myself off.  It was through all of this that I learned to take one day at a time; and make the best of it despite the pain I felt.

A little over a month after the accident I started physical therapy.  It was amazing how much pain one session could reduce me to; and yet at the same time, I have never felt more gratification for finishing anything else in my whole life.  I dreaded and looked forward to every session knowing each hour brought me closer to returning to a normal life style.  The recovery process was a long hard road that felt as if I were continually staying in the same place. I had to work hard to try and do the things that I had normally been able to accomplish.  The two months of therapy crept by as I attended what was called both land and water therapy sessions. 

Linda was my land therapist and worked with me on core exercises meant to strengthen the muscles that had been cut through during surgery.  She explained that these exercises were a task I would have to stick with for the rest of my life if I wanted to maintain mobility and stay relatively pain free.  At first the exercises seemed near impossible as I was asked to work and move muscles I had never felt before the accident; after the accident, every move of these muscles sent a searing pain coursing through my body, lighting me on fire.  I felt as if I had no control over my body.  Linda helped show me how to feel certain muscles so that I could once again regain composure and control over my battered body.

Although I enjoyed Linda, I was not very fond of these sessions.  I started out on a stationary bike and then moved to the treadmill.  We would then proceed to do multiple core exercises on a blue yoga ball.  At first these simple exercises seemed impossible as she asked me to move and lift my broken body in ways I feared would cause me pain.  They did too.  They caused me a lot of pain, but it became manageable as she explained what was happening to my body and it will hurt as we try to heal it.  We never pushed the pain too far though and she was good at knowing what was too much. However, the pain I experienced doing the exercises was nothing compared to the dreaded ending activity when we would do E.T.P.S.  Essentially it was electronic acupuncture.  It was used as a means to help manage my pain after aggravating the injured areas during our work outs.  To me it was hell as she placed metal rods that were conducting low volumes of electricity onto pressure points.  Although the pain in my back did slacken slightly after such exercises, the pain of the process almost made the outcome irrelevant.  It felt as if each pressure point she pressed was being lit on fire and spreading deeper and deeper like a wildfire inside me.  Nerve after nerve came to life as if screaming for her to stop the torture she administered.  The first time I went through this process, I cried out of pain.  The worry in everyone’s faces when they saw me in pain worried me though, so I made sure, I would not be as weak again.  I got better with each session and continued to push myself.  After all, I was determined to get better.

Water therapy was a little more enjoyable because I spent my session in the pool.  Having been athletic most my life I Had done years of swimming and diving and walking into the pool area was a comfort when greeted by the musty warm air and the smell of chlorine.  I would slowly enter the pool and would walk laps with weights.  I would walk laps going forward, toe to heel, and them backwards heel to toe, ending with a sideways step. The first time I went I was elated to see how easy these sessions would be.   When I first entered the water, my pain lessened immediately as the weight was taken off my broken back. I was able to move freely and quickly.  The little shuffle step I had on land seemed silly as I paced the pool, doing my laps quickly and efficiently.  I felt as if I could do anything and quickly sped through my exercises, moving muscles that had been too sore to move on land.  When my time in the water was up my trainer Scott warned me to get out slowly.  I didn’t understand, but I followed his directions and I am glad I did.  With every inch of water I left, I felt an increasing weight and an accompanying pain.  The water therapy allowed me an hour of freedom, but one I paid for dearly.  Due to the pressure taken off my back while in the water I was able to move and work muscles I couldn’t on land.  However, when you can’t feel the pain in the water it was often the case that I pushed myself a little too hard and would pay for it dearly. 

Since I was still trying to wean myself off medication, I only used it when I couldn’t endure anymore.  Often when I was willing to admit it was at that point, I needed instant relief and the pain pills took thirty minutes to reach my system.  So as I prepared for my water days, I would grind half a pill of Vicodin knowing it would dissolve and reach my blood system faster.  I think this process was also a major factor in helping me quit the medication because the bitter, chalky, choking sensation of crushed Vicodin always made me question, how much do I really need this?

I dreaded the pain every session would bring me.  Yet, somehow, I felt more worthwhile and accomplished after every session.  Never in my life have I had to endure so much and accomplish so much in such a small fragment of time.  Although the process was slow I felt as if I were rebuilding myself into a better, stronger person.

Of course I always looked for help and inspiration and my rehabilitation center knew exactly how to brighten my spirits after a grueling session.  In the lobby was a large glass case that stretched the length of the wall and was filled with beautiful little bird I learned were Finches.  My mom has always been fond of birds and after my first session we had stopped to look at them, but such a simple gesture struck my being as these beautiful creatures sang to me.  Flying and flapping their wings in joy, they became the embodiment of what life was and what it was I was fighting so hard to regain.  On the hard days I would often push through a session purely at the remembrance that afterwards I would be able to sit and watch the birds.  I feel in love with them all as they stood as a symbol in my mind and decided that one day I would get me some to always be a reminder.

I started wearing my brace, a large white piece of plastic that stretched from my waist to my chest, with two large Velcro straps that caged me inside.  It was to help support my back muscles, this way there wasn’t as much pain as I tried to hold myself in a sitting position.  I hated the brace.  It was ugly and was so thick and bulky it had to be worn on the outside of my clothes.  I started calling it my turtle shell, trying to make light of the situation.  The more I wore it the more I loved it and what it did for me.  Like the staples it sort of became a part of my body as it helped hold me together.

Of course I didn’t do any of this on my own.  Faithful in every way my family was there for every step I took, but so was Josh.  Although we no longer were considered an item, we still talked every day.  It was still Josh who offered words of encouragement and confidence when my supplies ran low.  He was my best friend who listened to every pain and compliant. I longed for his calls and we would talk for long hours into the night.  We talked of anything and everything, getting to know each other all over again as we recounted the two different lives we were living.  Josh was falling deeper into old habits, but was still working at re-establishing a life.  He continued to work on completing High School; he was now only two classes short and had found a stable job at Quiznos as a manager.  It had been a little over two months since the accident.  Two months earlier Josh was practically homeless and starving, so I was excited to see the change.  Although he had fallen into old habits, he was still improving by leaps and bounds.  I still dreamt of the possibility of us being together, but such thoughts and far off fantasies were left un-vocalized.  Right now we were what each other needed most: a friend.

With every agonizing appointment, I felt myself getting stronger, becoming more aware of and gaining more control of my body.  I set goals and through faith and determination I finished therapy a month early.  It was exhilarating as I walked into my last appointment, knowing this was the end.  I knew I would still have to do exercises at home, but I was graduating from therapy.  People thought I was now well enough to take care of myself.  Although my physical therapists believed I could do it, I wasn’t so sure I could. I still ached throughout the day and night and still needed my mother’s help with a lot of tasks.  How then was I ready to face the world with a broken back?  My therapist’s sunny disposition reminded me what I was there to do.  I peddled on the stationary bike, walked on the treadmill and sped through my core exercises.  Although there was still pain involved with these exercises, I could finish them more completely.  Such tasks and movements didn’t seem impossible anymore.  Linda hugged me when I was through and made me promise I would still come by and see her. I heard praises from many as I finally quit medication and therapy months before what was expected.  People said I would go far and do great things with my positive attitude and desire to succeed.  I however, still felt lost and broken. 

Although I had accomplished these things, matters didn’t seem to get better.  I still couldn’t sleep at night because the pain was so severe and now that I didn’t have the medicine to help me sleep I stayed awake for hours during the night, averaging only three to four hours of sleep if I was lucky.  I still had trouble sitting too long, Standing too long, walking too long, etc. I was having a hard time seeing my progress and I felt more alone than ever now that Josh was so far away.  No one could understand what I was going through and probably not Josh either, but at least he was there in the accident.  If nothing else I knew he understood that.  My parents said they understood what I was going through and in their eyes I’m sure they did, but to me they never could.  No one could.  Yes, they saw the pain, but they could never understand it.  How can you understand what you have never experienced?

I feared falling into a deep depression again and decided to buy my birds sooner than I had anticipated.  I needed a constant reminder of what I was doing and why I was doing it.  I excitedly walked into the pet store and purchased four finches.  Two White-hooded Nuns and two Spice Finch.  I thought long and hard about their names and came up with Faith, Hope, Flight, and Spalding who was named after the rehabilitation center.  Their names were exactly what they were to me and they brought a cheer to my room that had been long lacking.

Josh and I talked even more frequently, hanging up each night with vows of love for one another.  I felt in limbo as my life seemed to keep me in the same place, healing but in pain, in love but alone.  Every day seemed longer than the last and it got once again to a point where I felt as if I was utterly alone in the world.  I felt guilty for all that my family had been through in helping me through recovery and guilty for still longing for Josh.  I felt as if the only thing the car accident did for me was break my spirits and hope.  I knew it was wrong to have such thoughts and if possible, they made me feel even guiltier.  Four months had passed and where was I?. 

I started looking into schools knowing I had to get back into classes.  Because of my back I would have to transfer in sate for continued doctor’s appointments.  I checked out several schools and quickly gravitated towards Colorado State University.  As I filled out transfer forms and applications I couldn’t help but feel cheated at having lost a year of school.  Yet, it pushed me to want to work harder and faster to get back on track.  I started setting new goals, mapping out a life I wanted to live. 

While setting new goals I couldn’t help but think of old goals and plans.  It was now April.  Josh and I were supposed to have gotten back together this month so we could get married.  Such a goal seemed near impossible.  Not much had changed.  In fact, it was slowly getting worse.  Josh had stopped attending classes and his education once again took the back seat as he filled his time instead with his job, his friends, and his habits.  The month when we were supposed to come together seemed to me as if we couldn’t be any further apart.