September 24, 2006
Today was my first time leaving the hospital since my accident. The anxiety that came along with it was crazy. I asked my dad to bring the suburban to drive in because of my fear of driving in a car. I used my sliding board to transfer to my wheelchair and after taking the elevator down to the bottom floor and arriving to the car I knew there was no way I could transfer into the suburban. My dad scooped my up and set me in the front seat.
At the time I didn't realize how often I would be carried and transferred that way. I asked to ride in the front seat because I was so scared to ride in the car again. Any time I felt out of control I became concerned, the thought of the fact that I made the choice to not "back seat drive" when my accident happened made me feel like maybe I could have prevented the accident kept popping into my head. I made sure to voice my opinion each time I felt nervous. I'm sure my dad didn't appreciate it, but he understood.
We went to a family party at my aunt's house in South Jordan, Utah. My dad pushed me and for the first time I had to used the therapy I learned to get my wheelchair up 1 step into my aunts house.
I felt more comfortable with a blanket over my knees for some reason. After about an hour total of sitting up in my wheelchair the pain became too much to handle along with the anxiety of so many people around me. So I laid down in my aunts bed and fell asleep with an occasional visitor or two.
Before long I was ready to go back to the hospital. That's where my comfort zone was and I was worn out for the day. The anxiety was the same driving home, although it was only a short drive. Once I made it back to my hospital bed I could finally feel relief of that anxiety. To others it was just "a lot to handle" to me, it was a whole new view. This was when I really realized my point of view was going to be so different. My life would be viewed from 3 feet tall and everyone standing 2-3 feet taller than me. Counters were now eye level and my view was so different.
After we arrived back, I ate some left over pizza and went to sleep. I was so worn out.
September 25, 2006
The pattern continued. Along with the good came the bad. I was sick, I was tired, the nausea didn't get any better. My back incision wound wasn't getting any better. The wound care specialists visited my room daily and my mom continued to document the wound progress. The specialists derided my wound (cleaned out all of the dead tissue in hopes of healthy tissue replacing the dead tissue.) They used an "Enzymatic Debrider". This was so painful. The incision along with the muscle around the incision was so sensitive that when they started the procedure it was almost unbearable. I was so numb to pain. I remember laying in my bed, turned on my side as everyone stood behind me examining my back. I remember the tears running down my cheeks feeling like "Why Me?" I felt like I had been handed enough. Because all of the dead tissue was removed from my wounds, I had big holes in my back about 1.5 cm deep. There were 3 openings, 1 was a deep pinhole, the second was bout 5-6 cm long and the third was about 2 cm long. I wasn't able to participate in physical therapy. This was frustrating because I couldn't come home until I learned basic skills . I also had a limited amount of days due to insurance coverage. If my wounds were bad enough the solution would be surgical intervention. I would have to start all over and re-heal. It seemed like a vicious cycle, 10 steps forward, 5 steps back.
*WARNING- GRAPHIC IMAGES BELOW*