KosAbility is a community diary series posted at 5 PM ET every Sunday and Wednesday by volunteer diarists. This is a gathering place for people who are living with disabilities, who love someone with a disability, or who want to know more about the issues surrounding this topic. There are two parts to each diary. First, a volunteer diarist will offer their specific knowledge and insight about a topic they know intimately. Then, readers are invited to comment on what they've read and/or ask general questions about disabilities, share something they've learned, tell bad jokes, post photos, or rage about the unfairness of their situation. Our only rule is to be kind; trolls will be spayed or neutered.
I Lean - that was the name my running club, showing up at my mom's house after I was initially released from a hospital. I still had a fifth surgery to go, but at least I was at a home not a medical facility. Fifteen years ago, I was hit by a car walking home from work. I can still remember everything that happened; my eyes tear up, my body chills at the memory.
I was on a sidewalk, about fifteen feet from the curb. That morning, I'd spent ten minutes standing in my kitchen, trying to think of a good reason to call in sick because I just knew it was going to be a bad day. I decided instead to go in as it would only add to my work the next day. It was one of the most beautiful mornings, in the middle of a major city, walking through a large park, watching the sun catch the tail of a red-tail hawk as it chased a squirrel so it glowed like a ruby. A bit further pigeons and sparrows shot suddenly into the air like confetti before forming flocks flying quickly away from a falcon. Work was okay. A few blocks into my walk home, I was thinking to myself, "Today wasn't so bad; I shouldn't pay attention to those feelings" and looked over at the street. I realized two cars were about to collide and began to move farther from the street, worried parts might go flying. Instead, it was a car flying right at me as the driver's head was slammed against her window by the car making an illegal left turn. She was driving too fast; instead of the car spinning it was redirected right at me. I jumped backward - five feet from a standing position - but it wasn't quite enough. As I landed by a lamp post on my left foot, the right out just enough that it was caught between the side of the car and and post. I watched as my foot was spun off. All time stopped; a high-pitched squeal rang in my ears; I looked at other cars at the light, on the street, all drivers frozen and oblivious. I looked further up the sidewalk and felt relief no one else was there to be hurt. Everything began moving again and the car was gone, and I knew I was dying.
The pain was immediate. I grabbed my leg, and did a controlled fall onto my backpack. I knew if air on my leg was that painful, I'd pass out if it touched the ground and I'd die. Then I screamed for an ambulance. Men gathered around me, staring, horrified. A woman named Betsy ran up, saying she'd called an ambulance. I said I needed a tourniquet, and some bozo tried to hand me a flannel shirt while another exclaimed, "But you'll cut off your circulation!" "Exactly!" I yelled, and Betsy grabbed a tie from a man and helped me knot it tightly. Every heartbeat I felt my heart struggling to pull blood in, then whoosh! as it poured out. I asked if anyone had a cellphone, and got someone to call my mom and tell her I had a broken leg. He first told me it was worse, and I had to tell him I knew that, but I didn't want my mom to know I was dying, and that I would not talk to her, because she'd know by my voice. As he talked with her the ambulance arrived. The attendants told me I was lucky; cars were pulling out of the way as I was rushed to the hospital so they made good time. Still, it was a bad accident, and my blood was pouring out. Everyone, the nurses, the residents, the interns, doctors, asked me my name, address, phone number, next of kin, over and over until I finally said I knew they were trying to keep me awake but after hearing the information fourteen times (I counted) ask me something else; I knew I was dying. Someone said, "No, you're not." I looked at the monitor, and replied," 54 over 32 that's dying" and the last thing I heard was a steady beep, until I woke in surgery. I suppose the saw woke me, but a nurse noticed both times and I was put back under. I woke in recovery with one of my brothers staring at me. Unfortunately, when I tried to talk I threw up instead. He later said he'd never seen anyone that pale, though he'd worked in a hospital years before. Once I made it through that initial period, I was through the worst. Over the next four weeks in that city eight more people were hit by cars, and I am the only one alive. I was lucky.
I had five surgeries over thirteen weeks. I had three more the following year. Nurses, aides, janitors, doctors, interns, residents, physical therapists - hey, even a couple of priests - and my multitude of friends helped me; amazing people all. On occasion, I still have problems. I've accepted the nerve damage will never completely heal, at times the pain spiking so that I feel like I'm plugged into a transformer instead of the low voltage I normally experience. Today I noticed the skin behind my knee must have thinned when I scratched a mosquito bite. Prosthetics are expensive, but thanks to researching ObamaCare, I found out about a state insurance program. It's quite expensive, but still a help (of sorts).
I got a new prosthesis about two months ago, and while walking 'round the bayou, for the first time in fifteen years, I've run, just short distances so far, but I'm figuring on getting up to half a mile or so. Steady steps. I found out how many people love me, how many friends I have. I am lucky.