i figure the best form of catharsis is simply to get all of the toxic things out of your mind where it can't do any good, and can only pollute. that's why, when you have issue with someone, they say don't let the sun go down on your anger - it's just not good to have something pent up for long amounts of time, accumulating and congealing.
so, with that in mind, i'm going to write about that which i haven't much talked about since it happened. i'm not writing this so that someone may feel sorry for me, or to an empathetic shoulder to cry on. to quote a good friend of mine, "it is what it is." this is my story, and i need to tell it.
it's may 2004. i'm finishing the last few blissful days of high school, spending good time with friends and family, and performing in
hello, dolly! the last curtain call has happened, i have taken my final bow, and the cast, crew, and i are heading to a friend's house for the cast party. the rain is coming down heavily, and there is an inky black glow to the night. i offer my friend bridget a ride to the party, but she declines. "i'm exhausted," she says, "and besides, the number of drunk drivers on the road increase exponentially after midnight."
i shrug it off and get in my neon with my friend nicole sitting shotgun, christine in back. it is a caravan of cast members as we drive to ashley's house. there are fierce puddles on the side of the road, and ashley's vw beetle swerves every now and again to avoid them. suddenly - without warning - the beetle beelines into the left lane, across the double yellow lines - nicole and i look up, and there is a red jeep without its headlights on, pummeling towards us in my lane. i try and swerve out of the way, but it all happened within a few seconds; there was no time to react.
this was my car afterwards:
and this was hers:
nicole and christine were more or less fine:
i suffered a severe concussion and a broken right femur.
the woman who hit me, jessie redding, was 20 at the time, and suffered no injury whatsoever. she had a BAC of 0.2
i was rushed to the ER with 2 IV's sticking out of my arms, where they performed any number of painful tests, MRI's, and CAT scans to see if i was injured internally. thankfully, there wasn't internal bleeding, but that didn't mean i was in the clear. i spent the night (still in complete stage makeup, with ash and mud and glass in my hair) in a neck brace on a splint, to await surgery the next morning.
the surgery is this: an incision was made on my right hip, and a doctor hollowed out the inside of my femur with a drill. a titanium rod is inserted the length of the femur, and a pin inserted laterally through my knee to stabilize the rod. there's no cast, there's no waiting time. mechanically, i would be able to walk on my leg right after surgery, but for the pain.
the next few days are a blur of memories, as i slipped in and out of consciousness, succumbing to my many medications. post-op, my leg was about the size of a watermelon, and i could barely stand to be awake because of the constant pain. friends trickled in and out of the hospital, made their well wishes, brought flowers, said prayers. and a week later, i was discharged and sent home.
the accident happened may 1. my prom was may 7. i knew i had to go, but i also knew it would be a night filled with uncertainty, discomfort, and a more tulle than i knew what to do with. i spent the vast majority of the night in my wheelchair in a percoset-induced haze.
.
a week later, i graduated high school, not sitting with my fellow classmates on stage, but in a pew in front of them. at that point, i had gotten enough strength to navigate short distances with my crutches. when i received my diploma, i looked back at my parents, who were pointing at my fellow classmates. they were all standing, applauding.
i will skim over the next few months, as it was the same daily ritualistic routine of waking up, going to physical therapy, showering, sleeping, over and over and over again. my medicine made me nauseous and anxious, and i lost about 15 pounds. i was in the aquatic rehabilitation center every day - learning how to use my leg again, learning to walk. it is the sort of thing you only expect to have to learn once in your life - and certainly not at the age of 17. i was the only person at allied rehab under the age of 99.
that fall, i had gotten to the point where i could almost walk without my crutches, though i had a nasty limp that would make any war veteran proud. and so, nervous and unsteady, i went to OU not knowing what to expect.
it was not good. OU is the san francisco of the midwest, and i have the limp to prove it.
i was exhausted after a morning of classes, and barely had the energy for anything else. thus, making friends was a more difficult endeavor that first warranted, and i longed for a campus that rivaled kansas in its geography. which is why, after only one quarter, i transferred to grove city. a small campus, challenging academics, not terribly far from home. it had the ingredients of a school that i could actually enjoy.
but things didn't pan out the way i had originally planned. my interests changed, i experienced a paradigm shift, and i knew i wasn't happy. and so, it was transfer numero dos.
coming to miami was a decision i am glad i made. but sometimes it points out (and sometimes points out very blatantly) of what i still cannot do. i used to run long distance in track and field, and now can't even run 800 meters without my leg hurting, my knee giving out, constant, throbbing pain where my leg broke in two. i can't participate in intermurals. greek week is a definite no. and even my passion of horseback riding - i had to quit the equestrian team because i didn't have enough strength to do what was necessary. even now, day to day activities prove to strain my endurance. i'm not saying i'm not thankful for only having this extent of injury - i've read the police reports, and i know what the paramedics thought. i know i am lucky to be alive, and to be where i am, knowing my original place. but i also know that this has been exponentially unfair.
to say that i don't speak of this is probably true. i've only divulged this secret to my closest friends, those that i trust and who know i'm not doing this for pity or attention. i don't talking about it, and frankly, i hate anyone thinking i'm disabled or handicapped. i just want to be normal, though some part of me knows that will never be the case again.
this weekend, i'm heading back to akron for the trial that has taken nearly four years to complete. my health insurance has refused to compensate for pain and suffering, and so, my parents and i are suing. i'll be there until at least wednesday, maybe longer, until this thing - this thorn in my side - is finally finished.
i will always have my story. i will always have my scars - a small knick on my knee, and a six inch behemoth down my right hip, scars up and down my left hand and arm from shattered glass, a scar on my forehead (not lightning shaped, though - alas), and the scars in my mind. i will always be wary of my injuries and of people like jessie who decide that under any circumstance, it is acceptable to drink and drive. i am living proof that one idiotic decision can cause a lifetime of repercussions. i do not say this to preach. i say this because it happened to me, and it is something life-altering and personal.
and i needed to say it.
quote of the day: "you gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. you are able to say to yourself, 'i have lived through this horror. i can take the next thing that comes along.' you must do the thing you think you cannot do."
-eleanor roosevelt
