~I wanted to describe this better in a journal that I can link to my profile...~
On May 21, 2005, I was going sleep at my brother's apartment with my high school sweetheart. We were all going to watch the new Star Wars movie first so my brother had his friend in the car as well. We had just left my grandmother's house when things started going wrong. I don't want to go into anymore detail about that.
My brother died instantly. I remember screaming or I'm pretty sure I was for him to answer me. I was rather glued to his seat, the driver's seat. My high school sweetheart pulled me back. I think this is when I began screaming and kicking the driver's seat, but I'm not certain. Some things you just don't want to remember. Your brain has it blocked for your protection and no matter how hard you try to remember you can't.
I can recall the last moments of consciousness for me. I reached up and touched my forehead which was covered in blood. My glasses had tore into my left eyebrow and I was bleeding pretty heavily from it. I looked at my hand then brain trauma took over and I fell into a deep unresponsive coma for two weeks. I woke up the day my mom brought my brother's urn to the hospital.
I was in a peaceful place in the coma. I was comfortable, happy, and warm which is a big deal because I'm always cold. Then there was this pan. It was like fire spreading and it burned everywhere. I couldn't move, breathe, or scream. It was truly unbearable pain on and in every inch of my body. The next thing I remember is this African American male doctor (a pediatric neurologist) coming into my room with another Caucasian lady doctor (my new general doctor while I stayed in the hospital) and a female ICU nurse.
The tiny ICU room was filled in my opinion. The neurologist introduced himself as well as my new general doctor for the stay. Then he asked me to sit up. I couldn't so the nurse helped me sit up since I had little to no back/abdominal strength. They weren't sure what damage I had and how severe it was so this was time for testing. The neurologist asked the nurse for this tooth pic looking thing and he started poking different parts of my body with it.
He told me that he would touch a body part and I was to say if I felt it. He poked my right leg and I said I feel that. He poked my right arm and I said I feel that. He poked my left leg, but I didn't see him poke it. I never replied. He told me to wiggle my right foot's toes and I did so. He told me to wiggle my left foot's toes. He told me again to wiggle my left foot's toes. I told him I was. He told me again to wiggle the toes and I almost screamed at him that I was.
That's when my bed was lifted for me to see my feet. He said I want you to try to wiggle your toes on this foot one more time. I tried. I just stared at my foot like it was betraying me. I was wiggling my toes, but they weren't wiggling. He then moved to poking my left arm. After poking it once and I said I couldn't feel it. He asked me to move my hand once. I couldn't do it. I couldn't understand why I couldn't move. I couldn't get out of bed.
I didn't understand why there was this huge bag on my stomach, but I was later informed that it was a tube feeding me while I was unconscious/in a coma because I was an unruly patient who kept pulling the feeding tube out my nose. It took a few days before they moved me to the 9th floor (the physical rehabilitation/therapy floor) from Pediatric ICU. I was the youngest patient they had on that floor, but that didn't stop me.
A few doctors that I cant remember their names or what they did with me told me I'd never be able to walk again. This infuriated me, but I pushed myself harder in physical rehabilitation. I went to intensive therapy 5 or 6 days out of the week and my days off I had therapy to do in my room. It would be something so simple like just pull myself up using the bars above my bed twice daily (to a sitting position) or wiggle my ankles 5 times daily. My family was told to help me with these things on my days off and to ensure I did it so I could get better faster. I learned to walk again with a footed cane in 2 weeks.
I went on a hunger strike during this time in the hospital and I'm pretty sure the doctor had to place the tub back in my stomach for a bit. I know I went to physical therapy with the bag on my stomach for quite some time. Then again, I also shattered my face. The doctor wanted to wait two weeks to see the healing process on it, but it never healed. I had reconstructive surgery on my face. It was way too painful to eat because I had shattered the majority of my face. After 7 and a half weeks total in the hospital I was finally allowed to go home, but I had to continue physical therapy at a local hospital 3 times a week.
I went to therapy at the nearest hospital to my mom's house which was also the hospital my high school sweetheart did pass away at which made for some awfully hard times during the holidays while I was in therapy. I explained this to my therapists and they were so nice about it even offering to give me breaks if I got too overwhelmed emotionally. I did therapy there for the next 3 years and I returned to therapy in 2009 there for a small time too...
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I don't try to label myself with my past or define myself with the brain injury disability, but it's just a fact. I was in a car accident and I am disabled from it. I am a better and nicer person from it though. I don't even want to talk about who I was before this accident... I was just a dark depressed girl knocking on death's door hoping and praying for an answer from the grim reaper himself. I have my scars, but I'm not ready to be public about all of them. I'm getting there though.
I hope to one day be able to fill this journal with my entire past and not even flinch about the accusations I'll face for going public. Everyone needs to remember that everyone has some type of past that is screwed up. No one has a perfect life...
XVNekioVX Community Member 
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