tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69186962763004519712024-03-14T03:01:54.888-07:00Upside DownI am a quadriplegic as of September 30, 2010. This is the truth of my experience from that morning on…this is what a spinal cord injury is…Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-1758984719807982572014-04-11T09:47:00.000-07:002014-04-11T09:47:44.430-07:00Page 17 - A World Unknown<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Coming home was an experience… Someone
at Shepherd who used to be a patient but was now a volunteer patient supporter
made the comment to my brother "going home you will feel like a tsunami
hit". He could not have been more accurate. We thought we knew how to
handle everything and indeed we had good teachers and good instructions, but
that is not all one needs. There is no teacher like experience. After the
hurdle of our first evening home came the hurdle of adjustments for day to day
living.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At first our tasks seemed simple
enough and we need only change one aspect of our day. Without the gory details
I will only say this, we all have to go and my time was night at Shepherd… We
wanted it to be morning, not a easy switch. After three weeks we finally
managed to do what we wanted. I needed to gain weight so we indulged quite a
bit and neighbors helped, friends held, local bakeries helped, ha ha. But one
thing we were not prepared for was on only our third night I wound up in the
ER! This would be part of the tsunami that was discussed. It was a
bladder/catheter issue that we just couldn’t fix at home and of course it was 3
AM. I have to say the EMTs were nice and who exactly how to treat me and my
condition, as were the hospital staff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another element of being home was
managing all of the things they came so easy in a well-run facility. We had
everything we needed, hospital bed, Hoyer lift, the device needed to lift me
from one area to another. But using a Hoyer lift at home was entirely different
than it had been with the proper staff surrounding us and coaching us. And even
doing it on our own at Shepherd seems simple because we were “safe”. It took us
some getting used to but fortunately we ever had what we learned to be called “a
floor transfer”… I’ll leave that to the imagination but I’m sure the meaning is
obvious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I also needed to find therapy again
and this was a challenge. We had home support through our local “visiting
nurses Association” which also provided an element of therapy. But this was not
therapy that was anywhere near on a par with therapy for spinal cord injury
recovery. These were people used to working with knee replacements, hip
replacement’s at stroke patients. I live in a community that is populated
mostly by elderly residents or summer half-year residence who are also mostly
elderly and here for surgeries. Don’t get me wrong there’s a population of
younger people like myself and families. But these therapists I received in the
home barely what to do with me. It was a while before I found a place to go as an
outpatient. Finally there was some sort of light at the end of the therapy
tunnel.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-60763687455956868892014-02-26T11:06:00.000-08:002014-02-26T11:06:42.473-08:00Page 16 - Looking Forward A Few Steps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When last I posted I was discussing
Shepherd and my journey there. I want to wind this down more quickly and say
that it was intense and educational and exceedingly memorable. I received a
haircut and a proper hair wash, my neck brace came off and with much struggle
my trech-tube was removed only days before I left for good. The entire
experience was supposed to prepare us for coming home. During my time there I
found that I could move a little bit in my left shoulder and slightly in my
left bicep. That in itself didn’t prepare me, or any of us for coming home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Coming home from Shepherd was a long
journey in a rented van in a wheelchair that was way too big for me, and manual
at that. We arrived home somewhere before midnight to our first catastrophe.
Without going into detail we had missed our window for certain activities that
I do every day and had to deal with the mess. On a good note, my cat was happy
to see me albeit confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We finally made it to bed probably
somewhere in the wee hours. From then on it was a struggle to try to manage my
care with family time in between. My “bowel program” became our nemesis until
we could get it switch to a morning hour that was more suitable for everyone.
This took weeks. It wasn’t fun but we got through it thanks to my family who
obviously love me. To this day I don’t know if the situation were reversed how
I would handle it. I know I would handle it, of course I would… But how would I
ever know if I’d have the courage. I guess that’s why we are put in the situations
we are put in. It’s all about what we can handle and we have the courage for.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-77564120288314806642014-02-20T10:36:00.000-08:002014-02-20T10:36:25.809-08:00Not so Brief Intermission <br />
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So after this longer than intended delay for which I do apologize, I've decided to speed through a few things to catch you up to date and make this blog into a more current read. I've had some pain and some conflict with appointments\busier weeks so I just haven't been able to get on my computer much. When I'm on my computer I'm fielding emails and trying to maintain connections. This blog has taken a back burner because I burn out before I have time to set up the next page. This little blurb is intended to bridge the gap and let folks know I have not abandoned ship and I am still intending to keep things rolling along this ocean of unpredictable tides and storms of what is a spinal cord injury. Back soon was another real "page" :-)Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-57516975721599004032013-12-05T10:32:00.000-08:002013-12-05T10:32:36.378-08:00Page 15 - The Bubble Trips<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Overall this place of rehab gave me a
sense of myself in this new world, the world that held me in a different way. I
have a team looking after me, nurses, therapists, doctors all the same, all
communicating for my benefit. Suddenly this horrific day that has happened made
me something special? Rather, specialized. I’m not sure I preferred this new me
over the old me, no of course I don’t, but here I am.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Among all the different therapies I
was receiving was recreational therapy. This meant I had to choose one source
of interests I have in the outside world. All I could think of was the
bookstore. The first outing they presented to me was to Walmart… I turned that
down. No way was I going to face the world “like this” for the first time in a
place like that. It just wasn’t my thing and it hadn’t been before the accident
either. So I waited and finally a chance to go to the bookstore came up and lo
and behold I was the only one going! Next thing you know I’m heading into a
little minibus with my family, brother, sister and sister-in-law. A trip to the
bookstore where I managed to buy some candy that was on sale and a lap tray
that might come in handy for certain therapies. I looked at books but we had
puzzled out yet how I would be able to read them. We just wrote down the names
of some titles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So that first outing I felt almost
cacooned with my family around me. It didn’t seem real, no, it was very real
but I was enjoying myself looking at stuff, books, candy, accessories and so
on. And the people were nice to me, as if they’d all seen it before and knew
exactly what to say and what to do in my presence. In fact we did run into a
woman who had been a nurse. So in this city that held this huge rehab facility
it was expected that one would run into plenty of people who are familiar with
people like me. It was a safe place to be and this was something we realize but
I don’t think I fully comprehend how much that feeling of being so protected
was going to matter later on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And other therapy I had was concerned
with leisurely activity, I chose art. Reading seemed an unlikely immediate
possibility even though the bookstore outing was fun. During art therapy I
learned I could paint using a mouth stick. This was a unique contraption that
one held firmly in their teeth and on the other end could be attached in any
number of tools, including of course paintbrushes. I was not in love with this
idea but I tried. It took a few times and it was tiring, unbelievably tiring
with my weakened neck muscles. I managed to paint some strokes on a piece of
paper and later a terra-cotta vase. I also painted some colorful strokes on a
rock to be placed in their garden along with other painted pieces from other
patients. I felt both proud and ridiculous all at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The last type of therapy I received
was actually “assistive technologies” where I learned about using Dragon voice
recognition and also some phone gadgets that so far have not proved themselves
worthy. I was happy to learn I could communicate to the world again but it
didn’t change this idea that I was living in some sort of illusion bubble. I
could go out in the city because the city catered to people like me. It was
easy for me to remain wrapped inside myself and feeling like the world still
couldn’t see me as “me”.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-76645716562074134012013-10-23T09:44:00.000-07:002013-10-23T09:44:35.669-07:00Page 14 - A Little Self-Awareness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was here that I first looked in a
mirror… Wow, was I not the person that got in that car that day! I'd grown to
thin and my hair, normally so blonde from sun exposure, and my own doing, ha
ha, had grown in so dark. That alone was shocking because I had been a natural
blonde since childhood, and only recently started coloring it for thickness.
Now I had the dark head of hair with blonde tips, go figure. My skin was
behaving well, forever my nemesis. I'd always had problems with acne, always
had skin like a teenager. But ultimately that went south again too! My hair
needed to be washed, and my face needed help and I was always cold… I wore a
lot of hats. It killed two birds with one stone. A couple of the nurses and
techs got together to try and wash my hair from the back of the bed… I couldn't
yet take showers…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I battled this odd curse of paralysis
on many fronts. Forming a new image of self does not happen quickly or easily.
Things are done in bits and pieces. I finally got a haircut by a good Samaritan
that my neighbor across the hall knew of. I had surgical glue stuck in my head here
from where my scalp was cut severely. The staples were gone, but that glue,
that glue! This wonderful hairdresser had the patience to cut my hair and work
out that glue with conditioning sprays and tireless fingers… The whole thing
took about two hours. According to one family member, I now looked like a
12-year-old boy! My hair was short, the glue was gone and I felt a little
better, though not myself. I was some sort of strange version of “me” that I
had not met yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were other challenges aside from
looking like myself, there was lack of sleep, constant nausea, new pain I’d
never known before. Insomnia was always a battle and finding the right
concoction for sleep seemed like a constant endeavor. Not to mention having
visits throughout the night for various things like emptying my catheter bag.
Every morning I was nauseous before taking my medications and often had to spin
up gobs of mucus before I could take them. Other times of the day it would just
hit me and I would be sick to my stomach albeit minimal amounts. It was finally
decided that a certain drug I was taking was making me sick, and antidepressant
I had never given permission to be put on! That was back at trauma center where
they made that executive decision. The same people who were so impressed with
my attitude… But I guess expectations are that everyone crashes eventually. The
pain, that was physical and something I’d never thought I could endure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Severe pain is a concept I’ve had
little intimate knowledge of throughout my life. So when rehab started and my
body started responding, mostly my left bicep and shoulder, a monster was
awakened! I learned about trigger points in deep muscle tissue and I learned
why people get cortisone shots, though I did not. My OT managed to hit a spot
in my back one day while we were working in the gym, that sent me through the
roof and beyond. The tears started… A flash of pain so intense I could only see
white light for a split second. My OT very calmly finished our session without
responding to my yelping. The pain subsided as she knew it would and she
explained to me what has happened and why. I respected her for that and it was
in her training obviously not to crumble just because her patient did, ha ha.
In that moment it never occurred to me how I looked because everyone in the gym
was going through their own struggle and I understood their looks. My image of
myself was going through a metamorphosis. One moment I worried about my face,
the next I was feeling tough because I had endured such pain. Who am I now… A
process that is still ongoing, or should I say a question</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-23404257770470701562013-09-09T09:52:00.000-07:002013-09-09T09:52:42.027-07:00Page 13 - Minor Milestone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Something I haven't mentioned much,
and here I digress… I wore a neck brace, a a brace to pick from my tiny neck.
It allowed for my ventilator to attach to the trech in the front via a gap. I'm
sure from the outside it looked like some sort of medieval contraption. From my
vantage point it was uncomfortable and the itch in the back of my head was
unbearable at most, at the least it was ever the present. It just became a part
of me after a while. I slept with this thing on and I ate with this thing on.
And every day I got a brief moment of relief when it was taken ever so
carefully off my neck. In order to change the little strap that held the trech
in place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Such were my days as I followed my
new routine and gradually met others with the same or similar spinal
afflictions. I met a woman who had children who'd been in a car accident, whose
husband dutifully stood by her, and brought the kids for visits. I met this one
girl who'd lost her sister and barely spoke the language. I met a young boy
whose life was only saved by the fact that his MRSA virus attacked an injury to
his back. He was paralyzed from the chest down and I believe watching me might
have helped him snap out of his own depression. You see, he could use his arms.
I saw a lot of people without knowing their stories, but the injuries were
obvious, just like mine, or paraplegic. I didn't know individual stories unless
I was told directly, but my therapists indirectly discussed the different
injuries and how they were sustained. It was mostly men, and it was mostly
freak accidents or sports injuries. The few women that were there were like me,
car accidents. I saw a lot of neck braces and a lot of trech's.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I imagine there were probably just
as many itchy necks out there, I never asked. What I understood was that I was
certainly not alone. This was a very different feeling than what I’d had in the
trauma center. Although the nurses in the trauma unit were more than capable of
making me feel comfortable and even brought out some smiles and laughs, I was
still alone in my injury. I now had comrades, even if most of them were too
traumatized to be sociable. To be fair, I was too much of a loner to be
sociable with the sociable crowd. I wanted to do my thing. Get it done and find
a way to get this trech out of my neck and breathe normally! But alas, I got to
know people through my classes and through my neighbors in the hallways. Those
people made lasting impression on me because their struggles seemed so
insurmountable to me. They made me forget about my own struggle which was also
a battle. The little things I focused on like a nagging itch were a way to
deflect from the larger issues like the reason I wore a brace to begin with. I
knew why I was going through the motions and I knew full well what my goal was,
but I kept looking away from myself so I could smile more easily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One long weekend my aunt/godmother
visited me and it just so happened the Dr. visited me on a day she was there
and announced it was time to take the brace off. This was a historical moment,
and it was a thrill to me that she was there. But the most exciting thing about
losing that brace was getting to that. itch! My aunt had wonderful long nails
and proceeded to scratch my neck and discovered a piece of surgical tape that
had been stuck, left behind, as it were, creating this ominous itchiness. With
those wonderful nails she got that tape off, and my neck was finally relieved.
A small step I know, but everything I experienced in the way of progress was a
huge milestone for me. Oh yes, I slept much better too. Without that thing
around my neck.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-30593730463605182152013-08-14T09:58:00.001-07:002013-08-14T09:58:27.830-07:00Page 12 - New Expectations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWM5Yy56O9UNCts5ByG6Oi8YhTeQQ7s-Emp0ZNlDB0cO2ZomMqsQ2qgqF_sK7SpCvZ0uc_5I7ukMbEsfmLnNnBjmxSKiC7qnd-gntMVGSmtjci97qKn7VxB1gdR44mPi9w5aCDzxmjX4/s1600/Phoenix.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWM5Yy56O9UNCts5ByG6Oi8YhTeQQ7s-Emp0ZNlDB0cO2ZomMqsQ2qgqF_sK7SpCvZ0uc_5I7ukMbEsfmLnNnBjmxSKiC7qnd-gntMVGSmtjci97qKn7VxB1gdR44mPi9w5aCDzxmjX4/s400/Phoenix.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once the holiday passed no time was
wasted. My schedule was given to me with the explanation that over time it
would increase in activity. I had therapy in every category, OT and PT,
recreational, assistive technology, special interests. In my case the special
interests were arts and books. But all bases were covered in this form of
rehabilitation. I had to complete every class before my departure and I had to
have three hours of combined PT and OT. If I miss something for any reason, I
made it up. But that was also my choice. There were others that sat in their
rooms and refused any kind of therapy. I remember feeling sad for other people
when I wheeled around. I guess that was always in my nature to want to help
others, and it was hard for me to put myself in the same category. But there I
was with my schedule and my bland breakfasts and my tilted chair, doing my best
to keep up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During my stay in the area, they
experienced one of their coldest winters, complete with snow on Christmas which
they hadn't had in many years. Now, if you've ever been in a hospital for an
extended period of time you’ll know they are kept cool and dry to stave off
harmful bacteria. The same applies to a rehab facility in that meant I was
freezing most of the time. Another odd side effect of the spinal injury in the
C-spine region… Your thermostat gets turned upside down and you default to
cold. I saw many other patients wearing hats or towels over their heads. I
wound up with a nice collection of winter hats, ha ha. On a rare day I could
get away with just my T-shirt and sweatpants. But most days, it was a hat and
some sort of sweatshirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And so it was, every day learning to
navigate with this loaned electronic chair, operated by sip and puff
technology. Every day a little closer to learning to live in this new body…
Every day slowly weaning off the ventilator. I was at a point where I used it
at night and during the day had just my trech in for short bursts of time while
I ventured out of my room. As I tolerated it, there were longer bursts, until
finally I was able to leave that place with just a Band-Aid over some gauze on
my throat. But I’m not there quite yet in my story, I digress… My days begun
with medications, yet my nights were not exactly sleep filled and peaceful. My
ventilator was checked around midnight every night, vitals were checked,
catheter bag was emptied… What sleep. I ask… And then finally the medications,
breakfast, bed bath. Initially I did not take showers as I didn’t have the
proper chair. Amazingly, it was one tech or CNA, as is the proper term that got
me dressed. But they were referred to as techs. Everyone I encountered was
amazing for that matter… And so it was, an amazing place to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first important matter of
business and rehab is to figure out exactly what there is to be rehabilitated
in the scope of this injured frame. Turns out mine begun with my left shoulder
and bicep… Still my strongest areas today. But not the only ones! Never, never
say never because you never know. What started in this place was only the beginning
for me. No one here nor at the trauma center ever told me what I could or would
not be doing, no one said what to expect. So I chose to expect. Everything.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-63184028719739195472013-08-04T09:16:00.000-07:002013-08-04T09:16:46.759-07:00Page 11 - A Life More Organized<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8ufACczPjbe2eRKDAHuqnVouSr1yzjipVMzCS2ub5qE9WJkoMbaNWQozFd6X_tbkLf9eEytCWV-A9TNtdamhWUlfpDTK5thFGJohgSF-hZt_Z2DmahQVqGqaXfux8QCcDQejsSnw3D0/s1600/clockwork.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8ufACczPjbe2eRKDAHuqnVouSr1yzjipVMzCS2ub5qE9WJkoMbaNWQozFd6X_tbkLf9eEytCWV-A9TNtdamhWUlfpDTK5thFGJohgSF-hZt_Z2DmahQVqGqaXfux8QCcDQejsSnw3D0/s400/clockwork.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This new experience was going to
take getting used to. I had a setback to my speaking ability because before I
was allowed to use the speaking valve again, I had to be evaluated on the
ventilator. Talk about frustrating! It was only a couple days and I got through
it begrudgingly enough. There was so much more going on around me in this new
place that I quickly forgot about any inconvenience. However, It was sort of
rough timing that I happen to arrive only the day before Thanksgiving! Things
were quiet, people were off work and we had to wait… For what we weren't quite
sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Turns out I waited for the driest
most bland turkey dinner I'd ever had! I think perhaps dessert may have been
better but I can't remember. I know that my family went out and perhaps had
burgers that day. I changed rooms after a couple of days and I was introduced
to what would become one of my most popular modes of quick transport, the Hoyer
lift. Here the main gear was bracketed to the ceiling as it was a fancy
electronic lift and the piece came down with a tug so that I could be strapped
in a sling and moved. It was not graceful and it still isn't! And except for
the cheesecake the food never got better either. My family cooked in a separate
apartment and brought me relief as often as possible for dinner or went to a
local market and picked up my favorite, salmon and tomato bisque. The food
in-house while meant for nutrition, was not going to help me gain the weight I'd
lost being tube fed. So my bony ass was always in jeopardy of falling through
the sling as they Hoyer me from bed to chair and back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh yes, the chair! One of the first
things that they did was get me a suitable electronically operated wheelchair
and then quickly bring me to be measured for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">my</b> wheelchair. For the next two months this was the way my world would
run, everything on a schedule, organized, like clockwork. I was assigned a
doctor, a physiatrist that would oversee every facet of my rehab. I would have
a team including my nurses and therapists that always worked with me and
therefore communicated with each other. I was assigned classes to learn about
my particular form of spinal injury. My family also had to take classes,
essentially the same ones but also from the caregivers perspective. So now I
was suddenly eating and rolling around as an independent "sort of"
human being for the first time since the accident. All of this did not come
together neatly mind you, there was a huge learning curve for me and my family.
But suddenly I was out of the woods of trauma and into the light of rehab. But
wow!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of the challenges I faced being
back in a sitting position was vertigo. It is not easy going from lying down to
sitting up straight after so long. Is also a direct result of the damage to my
spinal column that I would experience this vertigo. For a long time I did not
set up directly straight but had to tilt my chair back in order not to feel
dizzy. This was all under my control with the marvel of "sip and
puff" technology. This is how I controlled my chair, my TV and called my
nurse. There was also a handy gadget at the side of my bed meant to catch all
the stray phlegm I coughed up. Gross but necessary, ha ha… Oh the joys of still
being on the ventilator. But there was a system set up right away to help wean
me from this beast of a contraption. No detail went unattended, yet
independence was encouraged from the get go. This place did not push a patient
but rather allowed that person's own desire to heal, to steer how each day proceeded.
Sure some people were tougher on me, gentle in nature but tougher… But no one
ever insisted I sit up straight or attend a class. If I wanted to I could set
my own clock but I tried very hard to allow their own clockwork design to work
for me.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-26107400917917387772013-07-01T09:32:00.000-07:002013-07-03T09:03:58.285-07:00Page 10 - A New Phase<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuH_Im9EkiklTjZ26ZanOFNwT_ocQ1vJD72wjEMfBvDS3_Tl3csKQO8BRmGKkEINMisdIogVZvdSUQsEwNTY46Opsm9TfqNzZL3ldOS0QCSh0ULWj1imqpbB2p9yzkEW3g6CAgjvGpGPM/s891/parting.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuH_Im9EkiklTjZ26ZanOFNwT_ocQ1vJD72wjEMfBvDS3_Tl3csKQO8BRmGKkEINMisdIogVZvdSUQsEwNTY46Opsm9TfqNzZL3ldOS0QCSh0ULWj1imqpbB2p9yzkEW3g6CAgjvGpGPM/s400/parting.png" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Parting is such sweet
sorrow" I know, ironic words to quote when leaving a place of trauma and
chaos and overall negative yucky stuff. But nevertheless, I live, despite this
horrible thing that's happened to me, the smile on my face was always due to
the fact that I was still alive. So as I was wheeled down to a little waiting
plane, heartfelt goodbyes came from all directions and tears were shed. One of
my new friends, a young woman whom I bonded with inexplicably through simple
knowing smiles stayed with me all the way until I boarded the plane. Of course
boarding meant wheeling me on with my portable ventilator on a gurney. This was
strangely okay with me. I was looking forward to the flight, the outside air
hitting my face for the first time, the movement of the plane. I remember the
sun, for the first time in two months, feeling the sun on my face. Simple
things become monumental. My boyfriend accompanied me on that flight which was
not a simple thing for him at all, but monumental for both of us. Believe it or
not I enjoyed my flight to the rehab unit I would be at for the next two
months. I even slept a little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of the reasons I landed where I
did was because this was one of the few places that would take me as a rehab
patient while still connected to a ventilator. Part of my rehab was to be
getting me off that vent. This was a world apart from where I had just been.
Upon arriving I was met by my aunt/godmother and my brother and sister soon
followed. My boyfriend stayed by my side until he was settled in to the long
journey back home alone in a rental car. People were there for me, people made
sacrifices. I know I'm one of the lucky ones but there was still some fear and
trepidation as to what was coming next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Next turned out to be the big room
with some new bells and whistles that I could never even have imagined. First
there was the little TV that rotated on a pedestal so it could be positioned
right over my bed and I operated it myself. My first lesson in what was called
"sip and puff" technology. By breathing into a tube or gently sipping
from the tube I could turn the TV on and off and change channels. This was
independence for the first time since the accident. This was huge. I knew then
that this place was far and away the absolute right place for me to be. I had
struggles ahead, but hey, I now had TV! The next thing I never could have
imagined was being given a swallow test by way of feeding me a few bites of
pudding, a cracker and something to drink. Presto, I was now allowed to eat
solid food! Yes, all the time in the trauma unit I was on a feeding tube, not
pleasant and never to be repeated. Having a ventilator means sacrificing a lot
more than breathing on your own. But things were going to change here, for the
better.</span></span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-40171069545003801172013-06-05T09:26:00.000-07:002013-06-05T09:26:00.730-07:00Page 9 - Parting from Chaos…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SRj5GwfoBQFPQFsdIyOaFMHe3D5RtR-IVwfHszKLsUSXGIISgiBxF8olTLQA3mkQVQbq4NmDkARM2XHYwDTC26Sde8Z8Qsh2M30-h-ELInf6BWbhNmAdgVTPSj-fAw5gb9q0uxMf650/s1600/sunlight.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SRj5GwfoBQFPQFsdIyOaFMHe3D5RtR-IVwfHszKLsUSXGIISgiBxF8olTLQA3mkQVQbq4NmDkARM2XHYwDTC26Sde8Z8Qsh2M30-h-ELInf6BWbhNmAdgVTPSj-fAw5gb9q0uxMf650/s400/sunlight.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before parting completely with my
experience in ICU, it's important to look back on some of the more positive
elements. It may seem strange to make such a statement but sometimes amazing
things come from tragic events, or because of. New friends appear that wrap you
in a bubble of protection. One such friend came to me by way of old family
friends that I never knew about because they were on the side of my
brother-in-law. She took an interest and somehow we connected and through her
therapies I was able to relax in quiet moments and find some peace among the
chaos.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Other friends just seem to evolve
out of the relationships between myself and the staff. I can't explain how
these things happen but I know I got my toenails painted and special visits
just to say hello they were passing by. Somehow I managed to share stories
about life and love in general with some of the evening nurses during the less
hectic times at night. Other times because of where my room was positioned, I
shared in the collective chaos in my heart went out to so many patients who
suffered so many different traumas. Something in me wanted to help. There are
parts of you that don't change, just because you are changed physically. Love
is love, it shouldn't stop and I can explain why I wasn't mourning my own self,
except that there was so much love. It surrounded me, so I was able to feel it
for others I'd never met.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another amazing thing happened
between myself and my very best friend from childhood. As fate would have it
though we grew up in another state we both landed in the south within a couple
hours of each other. She came to me and through her a pebble was thrown out
into the art community that she is a part of. Support came to me in waves as
the ripples grew and cards of original art of all kinds started to fill up my
walls. This not to be outdone by cards from other friends and family! My room
became a sanctuary. All I had to do was look around at any given time to find
the support I needed. I also had the loving support of my boyfriend, something
unexpected for me anyway. This is not a situation that tends to bring people
together. Paralysis and relationships… It's not a story of fairy tales. But he
supported me and told me to fight and breathe and he understood me when
sometimes others could not. The art of love, it comes in many forms as I found
out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Upon leaving this place of dramatic
recovery, one of my new friends was compelled to come with me as I exited out
the building toward a small waiting plane meant to take me to a rehab center.
She was one of those who smile was infectious, one of those that just connected
and was barely a word spoke between us we became friends. She held back the
tears but could see in her face how hard she tried. This was one of many
miracles that my chaos brought about, the people they came together to help me
point in the right direction to continue healing. For as much hard work, sweat
and tears that went into getting me into the right rehab center, there were
equal amounts of smiles and laughter and connections made. I would not wish
this journey repeated nor would I wish to give back any of the beautiful people
who smiles and friendships I gained because of it.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-13664800221038865652013-05-23T12:42:00.000-07:002013-05-23T12:42:47.754-07:00Page 8 - Communication<span style="color: #fff2cc;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #fff2cc;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Qj-mMDjPtUVSaMaB6Dfy9ZnstFcrQlKdtJOJanKC0jvU8pv-MjiB7BGb00maY7a-UIYkh1rVA8QCP9qP1GEvC_5jirb4Yeq-NrbWqk-dx3d16S-sfOsOFpvj5v8K4AFCUyrsl5c9lvs/s1600/communications.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Qj-mMDjPtUVSaMaB6Dfy9ZnstFcrQlKdtJOJanKC0jvU8pv-MjiB7BGb00maY7a-UIYkh1rVA8QCP9qP1GEvC_5jirb4Yeq-NrbWqk-dx3d16S-sfOsOFpvj5v8K4AFCUyrsl5c9lvs/s400/communications.png" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Communication
became of the utmost importance. This is especially true when you're tethered
to a breathing machine, with no mobility and no device to call for help when
needed. It became both comical and tragic and could change in an instant to
either of these. Lip reading was the first hurdle and then came the apparatus
that completely altered my state by allowing me to speak!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In the very
beginning, right after surgery when I saw my sister's face for the first time I
was able to speak. I don't know how I sounded, if I muttered, if I spoke… But I
said "I'm going to get the f*ck out of here" and that was that. I
don't recall any speech after that. If I did, it was lip movement because the
ventilator came very shortly after I was intubated. Lip reading was comical and
frustrating endeavor for both myself, those trying to care for me, and family
and friends. I can recall so many names of my nurses but it would do them a
great disservice to try to name them all. Those I have forgotten I can still
see their faces. One of those in particular described herself as clumsy but she
was nothing of the sort when being a nurse. The only clumsiness we shared
collectively because she could not understand the words I mouthed. Mostly we
laughed about it but it was definitely frustrating on both ends. There were
others that seem to be able to interpret entire sentences without a hitch. I
don't know how anyone gets good at it except to say I'm obviously not the only
patient that was ever in a position to have to be lip read.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #fff2cc;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">In
the case of family and friends, everyone did their best. There's never any
telling who's going to be good with such tasks. And of course I don't know how
good I was at mouthing words. I was told not to over enunciate because it made
lip breathing more difficult. Go figure. Then one day because my breathing was
growing a little bit better I was told there was a device that could be attached
to my trech that would allow me to voice words as I breathed out. I could only
wear it for short periods of time but when family and friends came in and I was
able to say their names… The look on their faces was beautiful to me. It was
emotional on all of us, hearing my voice which I imagine was only a whisper as
a point. But it was no less than a small miracle to be able to talk to the
people I love once again.</span><br /></span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-661314555679058962013-04-09T09:00:00.000-07:002013-04-09T09:00:17.745-07:00Page 7 - Just Keep Breathing<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WJ-gqOLbiXPIJB9jtHMoAq3C6joPosFQaJV6U208POuYKYVHQNSTWs5bgcz3Mr5Q6w_3p8k53n-E4QmxA5Ra1epg_GGZSg00X11_vjy6C6cfuR31Ln2uf4EhzCTIuxd8E2HujlFBm0Y/s1600/breathing.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WJ-gqOLbiXPIJB9jtHMoAq3C6joPosFQaJV6U208POuYKYVHQNSTWs5bgcz3Mr5Q6w_3p8k53n-E4QmxA5Ra1epg_GGZSg00X11_vjy6C6cfuR31Ln2uf4EhzCTIuxd8E2HujlFBm0Y/s400/breathing.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #948a54; font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #948a54; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The over all theme, while
obvious, can get lost in the details of each day spent trying to live. You
might say I had a team overseeing my care, but when it came to the ventilator
in my lungs and how to proceed, there seemed to be three refs with different
plays in mind. The only agreement was that the fluid in my lunges had to come
out! With this detail so prevalent in my day to day, such as whenever I rolled
to one side or the other or even was laid back in a straight position, I felt
fluid move and often had to cough it up. A few times it came down to a critical
point wherein I had to have something called a bronchoscopy. Fun fun. It was
most affectionately referred to as a "Bronc", by some. I did not
necessarily look forward to this "procedure" as it involved going
directly into my lungs via my trache with the suction device and a tiny camera.
Of course the good news for me was that I was put under and I quite look
forward to the countdown to temporary oblivion and then waking up a couple
hours later with no memory of the procedure and just a nice mellow glow in my
head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was not really in the
grand plan to have to wean me off the ventilator. It was doing a fine job but I
certainly didn't want to be tethered to a breathing machine. The pulmonary team
I had did their best but each of the three had their own specific way of doing
the weaning. It was very uncomfortable for me to have my orders changed each
time one of them was on duty. This became more and more difficult and it seemed
like I had many days of struggling. In truth I don't know how long it went on
before I finally made the firm demand that I liked one Doctor's method and it
was my decision as the patient to stick with that one method. How I was able to
make demands will be described later… But there is a very pivotal moment
between my brother and I during all of this. He had come into the hospital
feeling very frustrated and wanting to be angry at me for resisting, as he
thought, getting off the vent. At the time he arrived it just so happened that
my breathing had become very labored and I had asked for a respiratory
therapist but it had been nearly 45 min. that I lay there on my side very
scared because I could not breathe. As my brother rounded the corner to my room
I began to cry, seeing him. I knew finally I might be able to get some help.
When he saw my tears, of course his grand plan to inspire me with anger, just
melted away. I told him what had happened and his anger turned toward the staff
so off he went looking for quick help. I don't recall how long it took but I
know he stayed with me and realized that I was actually suffering. But there
was no mistake I wanted to breathe on my own eventually. It was not an easy
process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the
midst of all this, the bright light was that there was an apparatus that could
be attached with the mouthpiece that allowed me to speak. Otherwise people had
to get used to lip reading and some were pretty good at it including my
brother. But when I was able to speak however weakly, I just could not get
enough in!</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-20748490218315842482013-03-09T10:34:00.000-08:002013-03-09T10:34:32.383-08:00Page 6 - The Mire<span style="color: #948a54; font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CiIdXQ_jF952ztqvvTOgMxMfQM2lWfYwYCZpSJh1XS49mY2wyNwnMXmusTopNQIy63FSTTz7XX46-s3sF5FUoTE20Y9Ab1yjHUqLyhYvP8vDRZ1F6LnO1NU6wcHYODnKiHDt-3lVFiQ/s1600/themire.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CiIdXQ_jF952ztqvvTOgMxMfQM2lWfYwYCZpSJh1XS49mY2wyNwnMXmusTopNQIy63FSTTz7XX46-s3sF5FUoTE20Y9Ab1yjHUqLyhYvP8vDRZ1F6LnO1NU6wcHYODnKiHDt-3lVFiQ/s400/themire.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #948a54; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #948a54; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In the mire of the healing process , and that is what it is with such a
severe injury, a mire to wade through, there are still moments when a smile or
even laugh is permitted. But it is like a journey of extremes. You cannot count
on anything happening aside from the routine set in place, dictated by your
particular "needs".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">One moment in particular that stands out in the "laugh" arena
is a day probably later in my stay at the trauma unit wherein I found myself
sitting up in bed with my chin having dropped down below the chin rest in my
neck brace covering my face up to my nose. Along with that discomfort, since I
couldn't get my chin back in it's right position, there was the issue of the
washcloth that had been laying across my forehead to cool a slight fever, that
had slipped down over my eyes. Picture if you will a medieval knight, sort of,
with his face shield down. I sat this way alone in my room knowing that the
only possible rescue was if someone walked by and happened to notice me sitting
there speechless and blind except for the sliver of vision I had where I could
just see people's bottom half as they passed by my door. Fortunately it was not
long before the very nurse who had been assigned to me that day and set me up
for "comfort" in this way, came hurriedly into the room exclaiming
what a terrible nurse she was, only to find me laughing as she freed my face.
This of course made her laugh both with relief and the humor we both saw
without having to speak. That was Kelly, one of the many wonderful nurses I
had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">These little moments I cherished. Others live in my
memory because of the horror. My lungs were a constant source of concern as
they battled fluid and the onset of pneumonia. Breathing was above all things,
my constant adversary at the gambling table of life or death. In one particular
and probable, as I look back, close call, my lungs had to be drained manually
by way of needle and drain tube. This could only be done by wheeling me down to
a CT scan so that the procedure could be done with precise visual input. This
was explained to me again by that ever protective respiratory therapist in a
rather hurried/urgent fashion. I understood that while I was being asked if I
would be able to do this, I really didn't have any choice. I had to be detached
from my ventilator and brought down to the CT room with a manual vent in the
backup of the breathing bag which is used to manually pump air into the lungs
in an emergency situation. Off we went and I was further instructed that I
would need to be on my side for a period of time. Whether or not this would be
comfortable seem to be a moot point. This thing had to happen, whether or not I
was comfortable but it was also critical that my breathing stay as steady as
possible. In the scan, on my side, there was immediate vertigo and in my panic
my oxygen plummeted in the bag came out. The entire process was one of panic
and vertigo and tears and ultimately I came to the conclusion that it was
probably because of the position I was in the car before I was rescued. I
attributed my fear to that and for that my respiratory therapist was extremely
moved and apologetic. I know now, while that may be still be true, the injury I
suffered also made my ability to gauge and subsequently adjust to my position
in space, a sickeningly impossible task in the early days of recovery.<br /><br /> So this
was the mire I trudge through both physically and mentally. I do not want it to
be lost on any readers that I write from my own experiences for recognition… I
write to help bring understanding and compassion for those others who have had
to trudge the mire.</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-58374373107584075122013-03-04T10:55:00.000-08:002013-03-04T10:55:48.671-08:00Page 5 - Reality or Something <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24yEEe_RrUU4ZxmCLIa6yNWHc14I_k3v8uT6WLE2svsaO4rtiAqpvSjPVKrGwMnXApnpgG7eLAGE4fPthhmyNg9JTImXn-U7cdbySzUB7-jJFIpybubG669nv3TPU8XGviJ9JQVwPDMI/s1600/hallucination.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24yEEe_RrUU4ZxmCLIa6yNWHc14I_k3v8uT6WLE2svsaO4rtiAqpvSjPVKrGwMnXApnpgG7eLAGE4fPthhmyNg9JTImXn-U7cdbySzUB7-jJFIpybubG669nv3TPU8XGviJ9JQVwPDMI/s200/hallucination.png" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">To say that I
had "clarity" throughout my stay in the trauma unit would be only
partially true. It is more accurate to say I had self-awareness. The heavy
medications I was given made me hallucinate which was entirely new to my world,
yet I knew what was happening. There was one moment where I looked at the solid
ceiling above me and saw a sort of smoked plexiglass. There was a conference
room above me and I saw beneath the table and chairs, people coming in and out,
and my cat under the table looking down into the room at me, crying. All of
this I knew was not actually happening. There was no conference room above me
and certainly my cat was nowhere near there. But nevertheless I enjoyed the
show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">There was a common theme in my hallucinations, actually the only
constant like a rerun of the same show. A television set was mounted across my
bed above me but I never wanted it turned on so instead I was staring into a
dark mirror of sorts. In that mirror I often saw a small child on the floor to
my right/left with dark hair, moving in such a way that it looked like jerky
stop animation filming. But she stayed right there, sitting, standing or
fussing around but never looking directly at me in the mirror. I felt comforted
by her presence yet I knew she was not really there. The other image that was
quite recurring was that of myself whole before the accident, sitting behind my
injured self in the bed, cradling me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">None of my "hallucinations" were ever
disturbing to me. The disturbing things were the things that were very real and
happening night and day. The sound/vibration of the specialized hospital bed
that was meant to shift my body and help prevent bed sores, was a constant
annoyance. But the scariest part of the bed was being repositioned because when
I was on my side and the bed tilted, my head would slowly drift down and I felt
myself rolling slightly. There was no way for me to readjust my body nor did I
have the strength to move my head back, though I tried. All I could do was wait
until the next position shift, done every two hours. Shifting, rolling,
tilting, with constant sound in either bed vibration or alarms from IVs or
other monitors… This was not life as I knew it…</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-52708843945297650842013-02-22T09:31:00.000-08:002013-03-08T09:23:04.450-08:00Page 4 - Revealing<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Ebrima; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And breathing affords us such luxuries… As do
all the other benefits of having a fully functioning body. So for a bit of
background into who I am and where I have come from, before and after "the
worst day"… Let me introduce myself with these images…</span></span><br />
<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Click on this image to enlarge to full screen</span></i></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Ebrima; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">1.Pike's Peak Colorado weeks before the
accident. 2.Shepherd Rehab Ctr., December 2010. 3.February 2011, my birthday at
home with my best friend Elizabeth. 4.Sail Rock off St. Thomas early 2010. 5.Moving
my arms in OT 2012. 6.Using standing frame for OT/PT 2012.</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Ebrima; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">This will not be the last time I give you a
glimpse into my reality. But I wanted to make a formal introduction and
demonstrate that what you see when you look at me now, actually is not the
whole story of who I am. It's part of my story. When you look at a person with
a disability regardless of the "type", it's important to understand
that what you see is not always the truth of that life. We all have a history
and we have a future. How you respond to those around you can play a very big role
in their future, even if it's only for that day. It might be a very important
day… Assume that it is, and smile. My next blog page will continue where I left
off, back in the trauma unit…</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-81121028645076797742013-02-12T10:15:00.001-08:002013-02-12T10:15:44.554-08:00Page 3 - Still Spinning<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWy7S5wlTB8QMNAktDsilw3_ctpMKcxfJcXrUctZKidKEER2Hw6RTcG3OtbAvN5oSjWdBJ2skjKVdGCkDl7sHn_ZSjobSDDOf5VBhET4Hpb5ICOh-xuYaIDkvtDuI0cjWPkceK4nL7S8/s1600/Whiteface.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWy7S5wlTB8QMNAktDsilw3_ctpMKcxfJcXrUctZKidKEER2Hw6RTcG3OtbAvN5oSjWdBJ2skjKVdGCkDl7sHn_ZSjobSDDOf5VBhET4Hpb5ICOh-xuYaIDkvtDuI0cjWPkceK4nL7S8/s320/Whiteface.png" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #95b3d7; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: accent1; mso-themetint: 153;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are things about the accident
that I could not have known until I was told later… For example, when I flipped
I came to rest against a tree. I also didn't know how badly I had cut my scalp.
So many things the mind/brain protects us against, pain, tumbling, sounds,
smells, blood, fear in general… It comes back in bits and fragments and in the
time it takes to process what we know, we have to choose sadness or courage in
our journey forward.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After my
bold statement to my sister which I thoroughly meant, the next few days were a
mixture of total clarity and drug-induced fog or dare I say sleep. One does not
sleep in the trauma unit. One is kept alive therefore monitored with vigilance.
I'm at a point right now where I realize I have not slept normally since that
day.…… That clarity I speak of had me fully aware of the sensation of being
intubated, that tube down my throat into my lungs, not pleasant. My lungs were
full of fluids and when I tried to pull air in and push it out, I was as often
choking on mucus of sorts. To add to that I was also biting the tube in a
clench response to the stress of trying to breathe. There was also the feeding
tube that went up my nose which would prove to cause problems in my sinuses
later on. But I was constantly being told to stop biting because it was
inhibiting my breathing, easier said than done. The huge neck brace I was
wearing was not exactly helping matters either. All of this culminated to form
one particularly bad moment…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">I had no way to call on a nurse if I needed one. Everything was up to
the monitors in my room that showed heart rate and oxygen saturation levels in
my blood. Otherwise unless someone walked by my room and I caught their eye, I
was at the mercy of those alerts. So when one day I became so overwhelmed with
fluid in my mouth and could not breathe and the panic set in as I waited for
someone to walk by… No alarms went off, no breath came in so I began to flail
and move as much as I could which meant mostly my head and neck, until someone
finally noticed my distress… A nurse came in and immediately suctioned the
fluids out and warned me against moving my head so much. Disaster averted but
the next phase was being told by one very kind and protective respiratory
therapist that if I could not breathe through intubation I would have to be put
on a respirator and that would mean I might be able to get back off easily or
ever. A ventilator would be breathing for me and it was a scary idea
in everyone's mind that I could not do that myself. For me, all I wanted to do
was breathe, no matter the consequences down the road…</span></span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-76347395305133899972013-02-01T13:49:00.000-08:002013-02-01T10:52:01.462-08:00Page 2 - On the Ground<br />
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<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Inside the vehicle there was only
darkness, there was no awareness of being upside down… No body awareness at
all. I just knew I couldn't see and I thought it was night. The sound of that
cutting tool was very distant compared to what it should have been. But I only
know that now, then, I was in a state of self preservation. A dark cocoon that
only allowed positive sounds… That is until I realized I was being put on a
backboard and I felt the neck brace being put around my neck. In that moment I
heard/felt something inside my neck, like gravel. That's the only way I can
describe it and it was very brief but that's when I knew. It was further
solidified in my mind when I was told I would be put in the ambulance until the
helicopter came to get me. I was asked if I understood and I did, about the
helicopter coming…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In the
ambulance I realized that I felt as if my knees were still up, as if they were
in the sitting position and I knew they were flat on the gurney at this point.
The whole picture was beginning to coalesce in my mind. This has to be
paralysis. I vaguely recall being transferred into the helicopter and I have
only a tiny snippet of memory… Being asked by the doctor if I wanted my sister
to come in before surgery, being told I would probably get emotional and I had
to be very careful not try to move my neck. I opted not to have her come in. I
was probably protecting both of us at that point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Ebrima; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">Last night for some reason "45° angle" came into my mind, and
it makes me wonder… But I digress… I know partly because I was told but mostly
because I very clearly remember the tubes up my nose and down my throat, being
intubated. I have always had to clear recollection of seeing my sister's face
apparently after coming out of anesthesia from surgery… I said to her "I'm
gonna get the fuck out of here"</span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6918696276300451971.post-90162221305553352662013-01-21T09:11:00.000-08:002013-01-27T14:01:26.863-08:0009/30/10 Day One - The Worst Day<span style="color: white;">
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p><span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On
an otherwise normal day life can take an unexpected and some might even say
grossly tragic turn. Actually I can't think of anyone who wouldn't say that it
was grossly tragic, in my case. Certain details of the morning are as vivid as
photographs. I know exactly what I was wearing right down to the jewelry and I
even remember looking in the mirror before I left and being satisfied that it
was the right outfit to go from traveling right into dinner somewhere in New
York City. There really wasn't anything out of place that day. I'd done the
trip to the airport so many times that I had it down to the minute practically.
I like getting to the airport and getting right on the plane. Maybe grab a
coffee and something non-nutritional like a chocolate chip muffin, but that's
it. I packed only a carry-on whenever possible to cut down on the time it takes
to check a bag. Once on the plane I'd shove my red Vera Bradley Paisley print
duffel bag into the overhead bin, take my seat, fish my book out of my green
canvas bag and read. That was what should have happened but it didn't. I
actually only made it just a few miles from my home before fate intervened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I've heard people say that time slows down during an
accident but I can now throw in my own two cents and say that time did nothing
of the sort. The road I was on is not heavily traveled but for some reason a
vehicle traveling in the opposite direction decided to use the opposite lane as
well. I saw it coming at me head-on and the gray matter computer in my head
very quickly assessed that I had two choices… Choices 1, use the opposite lane
to pass him/her… Choices 2, go off the road to my right and hope to be able to
recover and get back on. The first choice seemed too risky because what if the
other vehicle went back into the correct lane… We'd still have a head on… So I
went off to my right. It should have ended at worst with me stuck in a ditch…
Should have…<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
no, instead I found myself in a vehicle that did not want to obey my commands.
Perhaps I bumped back onto the road at the wrong angle… Maybe steering locked
on me… Maybe it was just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that time </i>for
me… I was heading for the opposite side of the road at a very strange angle and
something inside me just knew this was going to end very badly. The only thing
I could do was shout "no no no no no" and then nothing. An empty gap
in time followed by darkness and a voice telling me that they were going to get
me out of there. It was so dark I thought it was night… I saw nothing just
heard the reassuring voice and the sound of the cutting equipment… The kind
they use to cut people out of vehicles. All I could say was "help me"
over and over until I heard my phone ring and then I told them it was my
boyfriend and to please call him back and let him know what was going on. Because
I knew, I knew exactly what was happening… I knew they had to cut the seatbelt
to get me out… I knew I broke my neck.</span></span>Cherie Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11979295117125088619noreply@blogger.com8