I I know, it’s been a while... have wondered what this year would look like for over a decade, now. One of the memories I've clung to all these years, from my experiences in the rehab hospitals, was being told, that in 10 years, I'd more or less have an accurate assessment of how the rest of my life would look, in terms of the degree of disability, or different abilities I could expect permanently. In September 2007, I was fully blind, in a wheelchair pushed by others, or bed, and lacking the abilities to sustain myself in the most basic of ways. The fact that I was able to recognize minuscule improvements on a daily, or weekly, basis saved me from absorbing the severely, and immensely long rehabilitation stretch ahead. I just had to keep pushing forward. It was frustrating, and filled me with anger and grief for all I'd lost. Though, I was fortunate to know I could not succumb to the negative energies, and focused on the family, friends, and love that I had in my life.
The people we surround ourselves with can be powerful motivators, and guides. My mom, dad, stepdad, and then boyfriend all rallied to be with me whenever possible, leaving home, and work behind. Friends appeared every weekend, the support was incredible. I had no idea how fortunate I was to have so many amazing people in my corner.
Upon my release it was made abundantly clear to me, that I couldn't expect to go back to the life I had before, and that I would always require support to some degree. . If there was a scale to rank people's level of independence,I likely would be a 9.5. Prior to my injury, I understood self suffiency, almost too well, and losing that was something I never fully let go of. My brain was learning new things, and I saw myself redeveloping skills, and even more miraculously, my vision ever so slowly began to piece back in. I am still visually impaired due to slow visual processing, and a visual field cut. Although when you have the experience of losing a sense, 'seeing' it return to any degree, is downright miraculous.
As life moved on, my progress, while continuous, seemed to slow, and loss seemed to seep in. Loss of my previous self, my relationship, a family member, a childhood friend, a great therapist, and then holding my moms hand through chemo, and seeing her look as if she was fading. Those few years were rough, and I remember wondering why I couldn't really feel any of it. The most disconcerting piece of my injury early on, was a complete lack of emotional processing, oh and the blindness, but I'd gotten used to that, and I slowly started noticing gradual improvements. Though, learning to accept that I will never drive again, is a fact I still struggle with. Dragging myself through rehabilitation, and striving to relearn old skills is not a miracle, frankly it's a frustrating journey that appears never ending. Never miraculous. Maybe certain occurrences, but I am not inclined to see any part of my life as miraculous, save some of the extraordinary people that have supported, taught, saved, or treated me over the years. I am so grateful to all those who have. Thank you for helping me find my way to the 11 year mark!
Top 10 life lessons I've learned from my survival experience:
AKA my existential list of quality BS
1. Nothing is finite
2. Many things in life are subjective, I.e. my version of a miracle, and yours, or what it means to have been blind, have a voice impediment,or be an athlete.
3. We are not as indestructible as our youth allowed us to pretend.
4. The people you surround yourself with, mirror you, and will often shape your life.
5. Just keep looking forward, looking back is a a trap that's not easy to climb out of.
6. Sometimes it’s ok to take a nap, (even though I never can).
7. 'Teamwork makes the dream work.'
8. Trust your instincts.
9. It's hard to realize what is taken for granted until it's lost.
10. I'm so not this person, but love can conquer anything, in the right context.
