Lately, it has been hot, so I decided to do something that would make life a little easier. I cooked a bunch of different meals in the crock pot, put them into containers, and froze them. That way, when the weather is hot, I wouldn't have to do much cooking. Then a flyer came in from the local Mexican market. They had pineapples, plantains, mangoes, watermelon, cucumbers—fresh fruits and vegetables at really good prices. They also had beef shanks. So after the gym, I had my caretaker take me to the store. I already had plenty of food at home. I had meals in the freezer, food in the refrigerator, and everything I needed. I wasn't going to the store because I was running out of food. But when I got there, something happened. I felt happy. The store was colorful and full of fresh food. I could choose one of this, two of that, three of something else. I wasn't limited to whatever quantity happened to come in a package. I could actually look at what I wanted and decide what I wa...
Today marks exactly nine months since my tragic accident. The first part of it, I don’t remember because I was in an induced coma. I only know what happened through a friend who was there for every surgery.
I barely remember ICU, when I was transferred to acute care. And when I was moved to the main floor, all I remember is having one life-saving machine after another slowly removed from my body—starting with dialysis, then the trach and breathing tubes, the Foley urinary catheter bag, and then my feeding tube.
From there, I slowly began to eat again. Little by little, but the hospital food was terrible. I had to be on puréed food after the tubes were removed from my throat; it was so disgusting that I couldn’t eat it. They told me I had to eat at least 70% of it, but there was nowhere to hide or throw it away, so my sister would eat it for me. I stayed on puréed food for about a week, pretending I was eating it. From there, I graduated to tiny chopped food, then slightly larger bites, until eventually they stopped restricting it. But honestly, I still didn’t eat much of it, and my poor sister ended up gaining weight while I was in the hospital. The only things I was really eating were candy, chips, and Cheez-Its my friend brought me, and cup noodles my sister brought in for me because the hospital food was so bad.
Another thing I remember vividly was how thirsty I was. For the first 30 days after my accident, I wasn’t allowed to drink water. I was constantly thirsty and would keep asking for bags of ice so I could open them up, and sneak out the ice cubes, and slowly suck on them. Most of the time, that was the closest thing I could get to a drink. I did have one nurse in ICU who had a little compassion for me and would occasionally let me have some ice cubes. When I was finally allowed to drink water again, I couldn’t stop. I drank so much of it that my kidney doctor had to come in and tell me to slow down. Even though I credit all that water with helping my kidneys recover, he explained that it’s also possible to drink too much water.
There were also times they weighed me using a suspended sling system hanging from above the bed. I was losing weight rapidly even though they thought I was eating, but it was really my sister eating for me. Being lifted and weighed like that was painful and scary.
They started getting me out of bed around the three-month mark. That was its own ordeal. Because I couldn’t sit up or lift my leg, they would lift me using an inflatable mattress system, slide it underneath me, inflate it, and then transfer me onto a medical bed to sit me up. They would leave me sitting there, and it was extremely painful and disorienting. There was even a day they forgot me there, and I was in so much pain and crying, unable to get anyone to come help me.
Slowly, I went from that to standing on my feet for about 20 seconds at a time, then going into the hospital gym and doing light weights. Eventually, I came home—moving like a little worm, unable to really move on my own, needing to be lifted to the bedside commode and having to retrain my bowels.
From there, I progressed to going out in public wearing a diaper, then going to the gym in a diaper and rebuilding my strength. After that came setback after setback with my amputated leg, including stitches spitting and infection.
At one point, my amputated leg became infected, and the doctors had to stick a needle directly into the end of my residual limb to pull out fluid for testing. The results came back positive for infection, and I was put on multiple IV antibiotic drips.
Unfortunately, all of those antibiotics created another nightmare. I wound up getting C. diff in the hospital. If you've never had C. diff, let me tell you—it is one of the worst things you can experience. I had diarrhea for days, couldn't hold any food down, had a fever, and was sick as a dog. The irony was that they had to give me antibiotics to treat the C. diff that I got from being on antibiotics in the first place. Basically, the antibiotics wiped out all the good bacteria in my gut and left me with the bad. It was absolutely miserable.
Then, after that, I got another infection and was put back on antibiotics. I remember lying there terrified that I was going to end up right back where I started. While it wasn't C. diff the second time, I still got incredibly sick again and couldn't keep food down. Between everything I had been through, the infections, the antibiotics, and the constant setbacks, I lost a tremendous amount of weight. I came out of the hospital weighing somewhere between 113 and 118 pounds. For someone who is 5'9" and normally weighs around 150 pounds, that was a dramatic loss.
I received my prosthetic leg on February 10th, but I only started putting it on on May 1st and am still learning how to use it. That brings me to the present, where I recently had hardware removed from my ankle—defective hardware, including a plate and three screws—which has left me in excruciating pain. Because of this, I’ve had to postpone my physical therapy, which is now scheduled to begin in the middle of this month, with the goal of learning to properly use my prosthetic.
Around May 1st, I also got a phone call from my landlord asking about rent, since I had fallen eight months behind. At that point, I was in severe pain and completely consumed with appointments, filing for disability, and working with my attorney. I went from survival and healing into desperation.
I had to start a GoFundMe on May 1st to try to pull together emergency funds just to stay afloat. It has helped in a temporary way, but I still don’t have any permanent answers. That call also lit a fire under me to prioritize rent and stability.
I still haven’t received answers from disability yet, and I know I need to follow up. It’s just been overwhelming to navigate everything at once. To be honest, I’m also afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and somehow messing up my claim. I was told it can take up to 280 days to get an answer, so I've been trying to be patient. But after waiting this long, part of me is afraid to piss anyone off by calling too much and have it somehow come back to bite me.
It has been nine long months since the accident. Nine months where I haven’t been able to walk yet. But I believe that now the hardest parts are behind me, and it’s onward and forward from here. Once this ankle pain improves, I will start walking again. And once I’m walking, I plan to start driving again.
It has been one hell of a journey—painful, frustrating—but I am grateful to be alive. I deeply appreciate all the help I’ve received so far. I am still running my GoFundMe, and I recently learned that funds can be withdrawn as needed rather than waiting until the end, which has been a huge relief. If anyone feels called to help, donations are appreciated.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me, encouraged me, donated, shared my story, and helped me get this far. I still have a long road ahead of me, but after everything I've survived these past nine months, I'm determined to keep moving forward one step at a time.
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