LittleBatt
New Here
Well, to start things off, hello! My name is Katie. I'm currently 21 years old (22 in July), and I'm a college student. I graduate in the end of May, which is coming up soon, and I'm pretty excited, but the end of May also brings another anniversary for me, that's a lot more difficult to deal with.On the 17th of May, last year, I almost died. It was the middle of the night, my boyfriend and I were in my room watching The Prestige, my room mate Sam had gone to bed, and my other two room mates, Megan and Renee, had gone over a friend's house with our mutual friend Kimm. Ricky wasn't feeling too well, so he called it an early night, and went home. My roommates and I are very, very close, and we have a mutual group of friends that we're always together with, so it's odd when we all split apart fairly early in the evening, like we did that night. Anyway, Ricky called my boyfriend about half way through the movie, and Mike shot up in bed. I knew instantaneously something was wrong, his words were frantic, and he was pulling struggling to get out of bed as fast as possible and get his shoes and coat on, then Ricky hung up. He threw his phone at me and said "Ricky just called me, talking about considering committing suicide." I threw myself out of bed, slipped on my shoes (Low top grey converse) And ran for the door, right after Mike, while repeatedly dialing Ricky's number. We threw ourselves into the car, and he floored it down the road to Ricky's house, which than god wasn't that far. All the while, I'm calling him, and calling him, and he won't answer, and I'm fearing the worst, and so is Mike. We pull up and park across the street from Ricky's, and I remember looking Mike dead in the face and saying "Run" since I knew he could get to Ricky much quicker than me. We flew out of the car, me right on Mike's heals, but then I tripped. (Remember how I said I slipped on my shoes? I didn't have them on properly and it caused me to fall.) And right when I landed on the pavement, I looked up and saw headlights. The streets in my town are one-way. People often don't look before turning down the streets, and it was dark, and I have a preference for dark clothes, and the lady in the car didn't see me. I remember calculating in my head, as quickly as possible, what would cause the least amount of damage; If I moved, if I tried to stand up, if I lay down.. I knew that if I tried to stand the grill of the car would hit my head and I wouldn't make it, so I braced myself, curled into a ball, and closed my eyes.
A ford explorer ran over me. It felt like being at the ocean, when a really big wave hits you, and you're stuck rolling in the current before you catch yourself enough to take a breath. I physically rolled under the wheels of the car, they gripped me (I had been laying on my stomach mostly when hit) and I ended up on my back. My boyfriend saw everything. I remember hearing him scream my name, before everything went black. I woke up 8 seconds later, and my vision was blurry. I couldn't really see, and breathing was hard, and everything hurt.. I could instantly feel the misalignment in my jaw, speaking felt weird and took a lot of energy. I could feel blood running down my face. The first thing I saw, though, were Ricky and Mike standing over me. The first words out of my mouth, while reaching up to him, were "Are you okay?" Directed, of course, toward the friend who I had been on my way to save that night. He took my hand and said "Are you okay?" And after that, paramedics took over the conversation. I could feel them cutting off my clothes, and they were constantly asking me the same questions over and over to keep me stable. I realized then, that I was stuck under the car. Assessing me took 45 minutes, they weren't sure if they could move me, or how. My legs wouldn't move, and I remember begging for oxygen because breathing was so hard, and speaking took a lot of air. They eventually had to use a scoop-like stretcher to slide under me, and lift me out, not knowing if my spine was alright. I remember being wheeled into the ambulance, and begging for them to allow my boyfriend to come with me. I was so scared without him. The ambulance ride was quick, and then they put me in a helicopter, but I remember being so, so tired at that point. When I voiced that all I wanted to do was go to sleep, the paramedic begged me not to, saying we'd be there soon. I remember being wheeled free from the helicopter, into a bright, bright hallway, with seemingly a hundred people in white coats surrounding me. They put a mask on my face, and told me it was okay to go to sleep now.
The next few weeks are groggy. I was put in twilight sleep, and the Doctors prognosis wasn't that great. I had a skull fracture, 8 facial fractures, a broken maxilla, and a broken nose. I lacerated my kidney, liver, and spleen, and my lungs had both collapsed. My ribs were broken, I was covered in road rash, and I broke my left hip to smithereens. Literally, it was powder. The right was also bad, but not as bad, but they were still saying I'd need double hip replacements. I broke my tail bone, and the neck of my left femur, and all of the connector bones in my pelvis were smashed. I was lucky to be alive, and insanely lucky to not have any spinal or brain injuries. I'm thankful every day that I'm able to walk, and speak, and carry on currently. They thought I was going to need skin grafts, and multiple surgeries. I remember laying in bed in a white hospital room, that was incredibly bright. My mom, step dad, boyfriend, sisters, and brother were all there. Every time I opened my eyes though, a nurse would say I was getting over stimulated, and make them leave, and I'd get pissed, so I just kept my eyes closed. I had learned sign language in high school, and forgotten everything. But now, all of it came flooding back to me. (I don't remember a lick of it again now though.) My big brother was the only one who could understand what I was signing, which is funny because he never took any kind of sign language class. We're just incredibly close. And I remember my first "words" being that my hands were okay (I'm a sculptor) But my lower half wasn't. And then my second "words" were Refrence pictures (I go to a special effects makeup school. Trauma pictures are always needed and used as reference in films.) After that I don't remember much. Just bits and pieces of things, like my boy friend holding my hand, and telling me that he loved me, and wouldn't watch any of our favorite shows until I got better.. his voice did a lot of soothing for me, and he was there every single day, taking time from his busy life to be with me. As did my big brother, who had to travel 9 hours to be with me, leaving behind his important job, my sister in law, and my young niece and nephew (2 and 5 months respectively) to be by my bed side. We lost a lot in our childhoods, and were very, very close, even though he's 7 years older than me. He's always been incredibly protective and loving, and his presence there meant the world to me. He stayed for two weeks, then came back when I woke up from the twilight sleep, and stayed for another 2 weeks.
Anyway, I also remember Sam, my room mate (And the youngest of us all) Standing by my bedside crying. I remember signing that I loved her, and reaching out to her, so she could take my hand. I knew she was scared to touch me. I also remember Ricky, breaking into the ICU during early morning hours, when no one was supposed to be there. I woke up to someone calling my name, and he simply said "I love you. I love you so much, but I have to go, I've gotta go back to New York for break, my dad came to pick me up. But I'll be back soon, and I'll call you every day, and I love you so much." And then I heard a nurse say "HEY!" and he said "I've gotta go!" and vanished. Now that's what I call a friend, haha.
My best friend also came up to my hospital, staying with my roommates so she could make sure I was okay. I remember being moved from the ICU, and into a recovery room, and I remember all of my friends and roommates sitting around me, singing The Beatles. I'm forever going to be thankful towards my friends and family for what they did for me, sacrificing so much of their lives to help me regain mine. I also remember having to be tied to the bed, because I would rip my feeding tube out. My jaw was wired shut to mend, so my feeding tube was the only option, but I hated that thing so much. It was uncomfortable, and gross, and just all around horrible. I remember getting a nose bleed in the middle of the night, the first day I was out of ICU, and the nurse wouldn't help me. She just kept pushing me to lay down, but it was so hard to breathe with a bloody nose, when I had to use an oxygen nose thingy. It was a mess, and she wouldn't help me, and just kept pushing me to lay down, so when I finally did just give up and lay down and fall asleep.. I woke up the next morning to everything not feeling okay. First off, the nurse forgot to give me my pain medication for two hours. No matter how many times I hit the call button and spoke to them, they just kept putting me down, until they realized that I was on a different pain schedule than most of their other patients. And it hurt so bad that I couldn't move. I just remember my mom reading to me, it was one of the only ways I could fall asleep, but no matter how much she read, I couldn't calm down, or fall asleep, my lungs were working so hard. I remember looking at her, saying "I feel like I can't calm down." and then when an Aid came in to check my vitals, all of a sudden she was out of the room and a group of doctors flew in. Apparently, during that nose bleed in the middle of the night, my lungs filled with blood. I had to be put back in ICU, more chest tubes were inserted to drain the blood.. it was a nightmare. That's when I lost my trust in nurses, and most medical staff, and my parents made sure they were there from morning until as late as possible, so nothing like that would ever happen again.
My second time out of ICU was much, much better. I remember becoming conscious again, not that I wasn't before, but.. clearer? I could think without feeling like there was a constant cloud hanging over me all the time. I still hated the hospital though.. and being alone was the worst. I had never had an issue with needles before the hospital. I remember getting blood drawn when I was younger and finding it fascinating. I loved watching the process. I also have my fair share of tattoos and piercings. But I had to get injected with blood thinners, and get blood work done so much, that my arms were horribly bruised, as were the backs of my hands, and needles began to really hurt. I woke up every morning crying in anticipation. Being forced to live off of a liquid diet also sucked, but it was way better than that god damn feeding tube. I was fed "Creamed soup." Which I took one slurp of through my wired jaw and vowed never to again, so I lived off of ensure, and every so often a few sips of soda, or a milk shake. My boyfriend would jokingly ask if I wanted him to "momma-bird" me french fries. the day he came back from Chicago (He had to go home for break), I knew he was getting in that day, but I assumed he'd be going home, and coming in the next day. To my surprise, Mike flew through the door like a bat out of hell, and dropped his luggage on the ground, and crawled right in bed with me. I cried I was so happy to see him, it was so hard without him there, especially. And I can only imagine how hard everything was for him, as well. I'd try to talk to him about it, letting him know that I knew he saw everything, and I was here if he needed me, and he would grab my face, kiss my forehead, and say "Katie, I'M fine. YOU got RUN OVER by a CAR. You need me right now. I'M fine."
I remember looking into a mirror for the first time after my accident. My face was so broken that they had to insert plates into my cheeks, and put all of my bones back together. My face had been completely crushed in. It was so weird… I stared at myself for a long time on the verge of tears. It was like staring back at a stranger, who looked an awful lot like you, but something was.. off. I still look like myself, but I look different. It's hard to explain. It grew on me, I'm no longer thrown off when looking in a mirror, but for a long time, I was. It was terrifying. Another scary moment was when I felt something in my mouth. I assumed I had something stuck on one of my wires, and i reached in, and pulled out a piece of thread… then another, and another. All of these stitches were tucked into the gum line where my upper lip met my jaw, and it was a really, really scary moment. I later found out that, in order to fix my face, they went in through my upper lip so there wouldn't be any more scarring on my face. I was there for two months before they deemed me okay enough to travel, and I endured an incredibly long ambulance trip all the way back to New York (Eight hours.) It was grueling, painful, and a horrible experience. Especially considering I was moving back home… but not really. Home was still an hour from the physical rehab I was placed in, and I was ripped away from all of my friends back at school. I was stuck in the middle, somewhere unfamiliar, between my childhood home, and the home I had created for myself. I was lost.
The nurses here were all wonderful though, but my physical therapist was an awful person. She almost dropped me once, allowed my leg to fall off of a shower chair, and I didn't feel safe with her at all. Any of those things could have caused me to re-break bones, and add to my recovery time. I got rid of her, and gained a new PT, her name was Regina, and she was AWESOME. I loved her so much, she was a great person, and worked so well with me, and actually listened, and never put me in danger. I got stronger, and stronger, and eventually, I was able to get from my bed, to the wheel chair, to the toilet and back all by myself, with her help. I felt like a person again.. able to shower by myself, use the bathroom by myself, move around, even if it was only in a wheel chair. I still had one major issue though, my left hip was GIGANTIC. There was a huge hematoma under the skin, and I eventually went into surgery to get that removed, and drained. I didn't expect it to be as taxing as it was.
They had to use so much gauze to pack the insane hole that was left in my leg. The first time they unpacked it, I threw up from shock, and that says a lot, because I have an extremely strong stomach, and a passion for gore (Not a weirdo, I promise, special effects makeup! I love working on horror movies.) I went into shock soon after that. I couldn't stop throwing up, I ran a horrible fever, and I was in so, so much pain. Moving hurt, sitting up hurt, laying down hurt. I was back to using a bed pan, and my doctor added three months onto my guestimated recovery time. I was in a low, low place then. I felt like all of my hard work was slipping away, and I couldn't grasp it. The normal life that was on the horizon suddenly disappeared behind a dark, horrible forest. I was lost. I was readmitted to the hospital, but this one was… awful. I was jabbed so many times with needles that I literally had no veins left to choose from. Doctors were all saying different things, and I was stuck on a horribly uncomfortable cot in the ER for 9 hours before they decided to admit me. I got into a fight with the orderly who moved me into my room, he was rough, and mean, and hurt me, and threw my IV bag at my head, he was just a horrible person,a dn I had a break down. I screamed at him to get way from me, I shouted at the nurses not to touch me anymore, I felt vulnerable, and alone, and mistreated. I felt like all of my freedoms had been ripped away. I was afraid that I was going to be lost in this hospital system forever. I was so stressed out that I couldn't stop throwing up. No matter what I did, I'd throw up, and my mom knew they wouldn't release me unless I stopped, and she knew I couldn't stop until I was released, so she lied for me. It was 4 days until I was back in the physical rehab, and I had never been so happy to be back. It wasn't home, but I felt safe there, at least.. people weren't twisting my IV's, or throwing me haphazardly onto beds, or bursting in at all hours of the night demanding I get blood work done, when I physically couldn't supply a vein. I couldn't wait to start walking, all I wanted to do was begin walking, so I didn't have to be on blood thinners, so I wouldn't need to get blood work done anymore. I just wanted out. I wanted my freedom (I've always been a very independent person) I wanted to go back to school, I wanted the pain to stop. I was just done. And I was so done, that I just said f*ck it, and taught myself how to walk again in the comfort of my own room while the nurses had no idea. I started with just standing, and timing myself on how long I could stand, expanding it by a minute or so daily. Then I'd take a step forward, and a step back, and sit back down, adding to the number of steps taken forward and backward daily, until I was comfortable enough to stroll around my hospital room without a care in the world. This made me feel better. This made me feel stronger, and empowered. Having mobility is an incredibly important thing that you don't realize you'll miss until it's gone.
But, when my physical health was getting better, my mental health decided to release all of the stuff it held on to so my body could mend. I remember my first panic attack. I've got pretty bad insomnia, so when I COULD sleep, it was a wonderful thing. I remember waking up in the middle of the night with a horrible chest pain, and my first thoughts were wondering if I was having a panic attack. I paged a nurse, just in time, before throwing up what was in my stomach. After I threw up, it subsided. I laid back down. The nurse said it was probably just gas pains, and I should be alright. The second time, my parents were visiting me. My step dad is a Marine Corps vet, who's learned to deal with PTSD over a good portion of his life. The same thing happened. I was laying in bed, watching TV with my mom and step dad, and all of a sudden I had horrible chest pains. Laying down, sitting up, rocking back and forth, curling into a ball, none of this helped, and I was terrified that I was going to pass out, or worse. We paged a nurse, they tried sending me to the hospital, which I ADAMANTLY refused. I never plan on stepping into one of those places again, even if on the verge of death. And after I threw up, once again, it started to go away. My step dad had been sitting calmly in the corner the whole time, counting the minutes. After I had calmed down, he came over, and held my hand, and told me that what I had, was a panic attack. It lasted almost exactly 20 minutes, and I expressed all the right symptoms. He said that, since my physical body was almost better now, my mental state had most likely begun releasing all of the stress and pain it had been holding in. He spoke with my doctors, who agreed, and filed for a prescription for xannax for me. I only took it when I absolutely needed to, but the panic attacks continued. I spoke to a therapist for a while, but she didn't help much, and I never felt any better about the situation until I was finally out of the hospital, and back at home.
I had been in the hospital for a total of 4 months, two in the actual hospital, two in a physical rehab, which was pretty much a hospital. It was a pretty quick recovery for someone who they weren't sure would survive at all, and I never needed to get any hip replacements, or skin grafts. My body healed itself extremely quickly, which left a lot of doctors in awe. I hated every minute of being in the hospital, Honestly, I think that was more traumatic than my accident. I almost died, and suffered often at the hands of people who were supposed to "help" me, and felt like I was in absolutely no control of my life.
I haven't had a panic attack in a few months now. I've been back in school since October, my last attack having been in December.. but lately I've just felt pretty blah. I'm normally a very neat person, everything has it's place and I don't like mess. I like to keep busy, and love working on things.. but currently, I've just felt displaced. I don't care about cleaning, I go to class, get home, and curl up in bed and scroll through Tumblr. I don't care to cook (I used to LOVE cooking. Big, fancy meals were my thing.) Instead eating ramen noodles or instant mac and cheese. I only ever really feel alright when I'm with my friends Tommy and Rich (Sam, Mike, Ricky, Megan, Kimm, and Renee all graduated in January. We keep in contact, Mike'll be here to visit soon, and in a few weeks sam is moving back in with me, but it's hard without them.) And I spend as much time with them as possible. I don't think what I'm feeling is depression, I suffered from depression most of my life, and that's more like a big black river, with a strong current, that you can't pull yourself out of, and every time you lift your head, another wave overtakes you, while you try to grab on to anything, just to stay above water a little longer. I don't feel that. I just feel… empty, really.
I haven't really looked into PTSD, is this a common thing for people to feel? Empty? I can't quite put my finger on it, but I would like to understand more. I was afraid to look too deep earlier, and cause myself panic attacks, but I feel like I have a good control over those now, and would like to understand more about my condition.
Thank you for reading, I know this is long.
A ford explorer ran over me. It felt like being at the ocean, when a really big wave hits you, and you're stuck rolling in the current before you catch yourself enough to take a breath. I physically rolled under the wheels of the car, they gripped me (I had been laying on my stomach mostly when hit) and I ended up on my back. My boyfriend saw everything. I remember hearing him scream my name, before everything went black. I woke up 8 seconds later, and my vision was blurry. I couldn't really see, and breathing was hard, and everything hurt.. I could instantly feel the misalignment in my jaw, speaking felt weird and took a lot of energy. I could feel blood running down my face. The first thing I saw, though, were Ricky and Mike standing over me. The first words out of my mouth, while reaching up to him, were "Are you okay?" Directed, of course, toward the friend who I had been on my way to save that night. He took my hand and said "Are you okay?" And after that, paramedics took over the conversation. I could feel them cutting off my clothes, and they were constantly asking me the same questions over and over to keep me stable. I realized then, that I was stuck under the car. Assessing me took 45 minutes, they weren't sure if they could move me, or how. My legs wouldn't move, and I remember begging for oxygen because breathing was so hard, and speaking took a lot of air. They eventually had to use a scoop-like stretcher to slide under me, and lift me out, not knowing if my spine was alright. I remember being wheeled into the ambulance, and begging for them to allow my boyfriend to come with me. I was so scared without him. The ambulance ride was quick, and then they put me in a helicopter, but I remember being so, so tired at that point. When I voiced that all I wanted to do was go to sleep, the paramedic begged me not to, saying we'd be there soon. I remember being wheeled free from the helicopter, into a bright, bright hallway, with seemingly a hundred people in white coats surrounding me. They put a mask on my face, and told me it was okay to go to sleep now.
The next few weeks are groggy. I was put in twilight sleep, and the Doctors prognosis wasn't that great. I had a skull fracture, 8 facial fractures, a broken maxilla, and a broken nose. I lacerated my kidney, liver, and spleen, and my lungs had both collapsed. My ribs were broken, I was covered in road rash, and I broke my left hip to smithereens. Literally, it was powder. The right was also bad, but not as bad, but they were still saying I'd need double hip replacements. I broke my tail bone, and the neck of my left femur, and all of the connector bones in my pelvis were smashed. I was lucky to be alive, and insanely lucky to not have any spinal or brain injuries. I'm thankful every day that I'm able to walk, and speak, and carry on currently. They thought I was going to need skin grafts, and multiple surgeries. I remember laying in bed in a white hospital room, that was incredibly bright. My mom, step dad, boyfriend, sisters, and brother were all there. Every time I opened my eyes though, a nurse would say I was getting over stimulated, and make them leave, and I'd get pissed, so I just kept my eyes closed. I had learned sign language in high school, and forgotten everything. But now, all of it came flooding back to me. (I don't remember a lick of it again now though.) My big brother was the only one who could understand what I was signing, which is funny because he never took any kind of sign language class. We're just incredibly close. And I remember my first "words" being that my hands were okay (I'm a sculptor) But my lower half wasn't. And then my second "words" were Refrence pictures (I go to a special effects makeup school. Trauma pictures are always needed and used as reference in films.) After that I don't remember much. Just bits and pieces of things, like my boy friend holding my hand, and telling me that he loved me, and wouldn't watch any of our favorite shows until I got better.. his voice did a lot of soothing for me, and he was there every single day, taking time from his busy life to be with me. As did my big brother, who had to travel 9 hours to be with me, leaving behind his important job, my sister in law, and my young niece and nephew (2 and 5 months respectively) to be by my bed side. We lost a lot in our childhoods, and were very, very close, even though he's 7 years older than me. He's always been incredibly protective and loving, and his presence there meant the world to me. He stayed for two weeks, then came back when I woke up from the twilight sleep, and stayed for another 2 weeks.
Anyway, I also remember Sam, my room mate (And the youngest of us all) Standing by my bedside crying. I remember signing that I loved her, and reaching out to her, so she could take my hand. I knew she was scared to touch me. I also remember Ricky, breaking into the ICU during early morning hours, when no one was supposed to be there. I woke up to someone calling my name, and he simply said "I love you. I love you so much, but I have to go, I've gotta go back to New York for break, my dad came to pick me up. But I'll be back soon, and I'll call you every day, and I love you so much." And then I heard a nurse say "HEY!" and he said "I've gotta go!" and vanished. Now that's what I call a friend, haha.
My best friend also came up to my hospital, staying with my roommates so she could make sure I was okay. I remember being moved from the ICU, and into a recovery room, and I remember all of my friends and roommates sitting around me, singing The Beatles. I'm forever going to be thankful towards my friends and family for what they did for me, sacrificing so much of their lives to help me regain mine. I also remember having to be tied to the bed, because I would rip my feeding tube out. My jaw was wired shut to mend, so my feeding tube was the only option, but I hated that thing so much. It was uncomfortable, and gross, and just all around horrible. I remember getting a nose bleed in the middle of the night, the first day I was out of ICU, and the nurse wouldn't help me. She just kept pushing me to lay down, but it was so hard to breathe with a bloody nose, when I had to use an oxygen nose thingy. It was a mess, and she wouldn't help me, and just kept pushing me to lay down, so when I finally did just give up and lay down and fall asleep.. I woke up the next morning to everything not feeling okay. First off, the nurse forgot to give me my pain medication for two hours. No matter how many times I hit the call button and spoke to them, they just kept putting me down, until they realized that I was on a different pain schedule than most of their other patients. And it hurt so bad that I couldn't move. I just remember my mom reading to me, it was one of the only ways I could fall asleep, but no matter how much she read, I couldn't calm down, or fall asleep, my lungs were working so hard. I remember looking at her, saying "I feel like I can't calm down." and then when an Aid came in to check my vitals, all of a sudden she was out of the room and a group of doctors flew in. Apparently, during that nose bleed in the middle of the night, my lungs filled with blood. I had to be put back in ICU, more chest tubes were inserted to drain the blood.. it was a nightmare. That's when I lost my trust in nurses, and most medical staff, and my parents made sure they were there from morning until as late as possible, so nothing like that would ever happen again.
My second time out of ICU was much, much better. I remember becoming conscious again, not that I wasn't before, but.. clearer? I could think without feeling like there was a constant cloud hanging over me all the time. I still hated the hospital though.. and being alone was the worst. I had never had an issue with needles before the hospital. I remember getting blood drawn when I was younger and finding it fascinating. I loved watching the process. I also have my fair share of tattoos and piercings. But I had to get injected with blood thinners, and get blood work done so much, that my arms were horribly bruised, as were the backs of my hands, and needles began to really hurt. I woke up every morning crying in anticipation. Being forced to live off of a liquid diet also sucked, but it was way better than that god damn feeding tube. I was fed "Creamed soup." Which I took one slurp of through my wired jaw and vowed never to again, so I lived off of ensure, and every so often a few sips of soda, or a milk shake. My boyfriend would jokingly ask if I wanted him to "momma-bird" me french fries. the day he came back from Chicago (He had to go home for break), I knew he was getting in that day, but I assumed he'd be going home, and coming in the next day. To my surprise, Mike flew through the door like a bat out of hell, and dropped his luggage on the ground, and crawled right in bed with me. I cried I was so happy to see him, it was so hard without him there, especially. And I can only imagine how hard everything was for him, as well. I'd try to talk to him about it, letting him know that I knew he saw everything, and I was here if he needed me, and he would grab my face, kiss my forehead, and say "Katie, I'M fine. YOU got RUN OVER by a CAR. You need me right now. I'M fine."
I remember looking into a mirror for the first time after my accident. My face was so broken that they had to insert plates into my cheeks, and put all of my bones back together. My face had been completely crushed in. It was so weird… I stared at myself for a long time on the verge of tears. It was like staring back at a stranger, who looked an awful lot like you, but something was.. off. I still look like myself, but I look different. It's hard to explain. It grew on me, I'm no longer thrown off when looking in a mirror, but for a long time, I was. It was terrifying. Another scary moment was when I felt something in my mouth. I assumed I had something stuck on one of my wires, and i reached in, and pulled out a piece of thread… then another, and another. All of these stitches were tucked into the gum line where my upper lip met my jaw, and it was a really, really scary moment. I later found out that, in order to fix my face, they went in through my upper lip so there wouldn't be any more scarring on my face. I was there for two months before they deemed me okay enough to travel, and I endured an incredibly long ambulance trip all the way back to New York (Eight hours.) It was grueling, painful, and a horrible experience. Especially considering I was moving back home… but not really. Home was still an hour from the physical rehab I was placed in, and I was ripped away from all of my friends back at school. I was stuck in the middle, somewhere unfamiliar, between my childhood home, and the home I had created for myself. I was lost.
The nurses here were all wonderful though, but my physical therapist was an awful person. She almost dropped me once, allowed my leg to fall off of a shower chair, and I didn't feel safe with her at all. Any of those things could have caused me to re-break bones, and add to my recovery time. I got rid of her, and gained a new PT, her name was Regina, and she was AWESOME. I loved her so much, she was a great person, and worked so well with me, and actually listened, and never put me in danger. I got stronger, and stronger, and eventually, I was able to get from my bed, to the wheel chair, to the toilet and back all by myself, with her help. I felt like a person again.. able to shower by myself, use the bathroom by myself, move around, even if it was only in a wheel chair. I still had one major issue though, my left hip was GIGANTIC. There was a huge hematoma under the skin, and I eventually went into surgery to get that removed, and drained. I didn't expect it to be as taxing as it was.
They had to use so much gauze to pack the insane hole that was left in my leg. The first time they unpacked it, I threw up from shock, and that says a lot, because I have an extremely strong stomach, and a passion for gore (Not a weirdo, I promise, special effects makeup! I love working on horror movies.) I went into shock soon after that. I couldn't stop throwing up, I ran a horrible fever, and I was in so, so much pain. Moving hurt, sitting up hurt, laying down hurt. I was back to using a bed pan, and my doctor added three months onto my guestimated recovery time. I was in a low, low place then. I felt like all of my hard work was slipping away, and I couldn't grasp it. The normal life that was on the horizon suddenly disappeared behind a dark, horrible forest. I was lost. I was readmitted to the hospital, but this one was… awful. I was jabbed so many times with needles that I literally had no veins left to choose from. Doctors were all saying different things, and I was stuck on a horribly uncomfortable cot in the ER for 9 hours before they decided to admit me. I got into a fight with the orderly who moved me into my room, he was rough, and mean, and hurt me, and threw my IV bag at my head, he was just a horrible person,a dn I had a break down. I screamed at him to get way from me, I shouted at the nurses not to touch me anymore, I felt vulnerable, and alone, and mistreated. I felt like all of my freedoms had been ripped away. I was afraid that I was going to be lost in this hospital system forever. I was so stressed out that I couldn't stop throwing up. No matter what I did, I'd throw up, and my mom knew they wouldn't release me unless I stopped, and she knew I couldn't stop until I was released, so she lied for me. It was 4 days until I was back in the physical rehab, and I had never been so happy to be back. It wasn't home, but I felt safe there, at least.. people weren't twisting my IV's, or throwing me haphazardly onto beds, or bursting in at all hours of the night demanding I get blood work done, when I physically couldn't supply a vein. I couldn't wait to start walking, all I wanted to do was begin walking, so I didn't have to be on blood thinners, so I wouldn't need to get blood work done anymore. I just wanted out. I wanted my freedom (I've always been a very independent person) I wanted to go back to school, I wanted the pain to stop. I was just done. And I was so done, that I just said f*ck it, and taught myself how to walk again in the comfort of my own room while the nurses had no idea. I started with just standing, and timing myself on how long I could stand, expanding it by a minute or so daily. Then I'd take a step forward, and a step back, and sit back down, adding to the number of steps taken forward and backward daily, until I was comfortable enough to stroll around my hospital room without a care in the world. This made me feel better. This made me feel stronger, and empowered. Having mobility is an incredibly important thing that you don't realize you'll miss until it's gone.
But, when my physical health was getting better, my mental health decided to release all of the stuff it held on to so my body could mend. I remember my first panic attack. I've got pretty bad insomnia, so when I COULD sleep, it was a wonderful thing. I remember waking up in the middle of the night with a horrible chest pain, and my first thoughts were wondering if I was having a panic attack. I paged a nurse, just in time, before throwing up what was in my stomach. After I threw up, it subsided. I laid back down. The nurse said it was probably just gas pains, and I should be alright. The second time, my parents were visiting me. My step dad is a Marine Corps vet, who's learned to deal with PTSD over a good portion of his life. The same thing happened. I was laying in bed, watching TV with my mom and step dad, and all of a sudden I had horrible chest pains. Laying down, sitting up, rocking back and forth, curling into a ball, none of this helped, and I was terrified that I was going to pass out, or worse. We paged a nurse, they tried sending me to the hospital, which I ADAMANTLY refused. I never plan on stepping into one of those places again, even if on the verge of death. And after I threw up, once again, it started to go away. My step dad had been sitting calmly in the corner the whole time, counting the minutes. After I had calmed down, he came over, and held my hand, and told me that what I had, was a panic attack. It lasted almost exactly 20 minutes, and I expressed all the right symptoms. He said that, since my physical body was almost better now, my mental state had most likely begun releasing all of the stress and pain it had been holding in. He spoke with my doctors, who agreed, and filed for a prescription for xannax for me. I only took it when I absolutely needed to, but the panic attacks continued. I spoke to a therapist for a while, but she didn't help much, and I never felt any better about the situation until I was finally out of the hospital, and back at home.
I had been in the hospital for a total of 4 months, two in the actual hospital, two in a physical rehab, which was pretty much a hospital. It was a pretty quick recovery for someone who they weren't sure would survive at all, and I never needed to get any hip replacements, or skin grafts. My body healed itself extremely quickly, which left a lot of doctors in awe. I hated every minute of being in the hospital, Honestly, I think that was more traumatic than my accident. I almost died, and suffered often at the hands of people who were supposed to "help" me, and felt like I was in absolutely no control of my life.
I haven't had a panic attack in a few months now. I've been back in school since October, my last attack having been in December.. but lately I've just felt pretty blah. I'm normally a very neat person, everything has it's place and I don't like mess. I like to keep busy, and love working on things.. but currently, I've just felt displaced. I don't care about cleaning, I go to class, get home, and curl up in bed and scroll through Tumblr. I don't care to cook (I used to LOVE cooking. Big, fancy meals were my thing.) Instead eating ramen noodles or instant mac and cheese. I only ever really feel alright when I'm with my friends Tommy and Rich (Sam, Mike, Ricky, Megan, Kimm, and Renee all graduated in January. We keep in contact, Mike'll be here to visit soon, and in a few weeks sam is moving back in with me, but it's hard without them.) And I spend as much time with them as possible. I don't think what I'm feeling is depression, I suffered from depression most of my life, and that's more like a big black river, with a strong current, that you can't pull yourself out of, and every time you lift your head, another wave overtakes you, while you try to grab on to anything, just to stay above water a little longer. I don't feel that. I just feel… empty, really.
I haven't really looked into PTSD, is this a common thing for people to feel? Empty? I can't quite put my finger on it, but I would like to understand more. I was afraid to look too deep earlier, and cause myself panic attacks, but I feel like I have a good control over those now, and would like to understand more about my condition.
Thank you for reading, I know this is long.
Last edited by a moderator:
