From two feet to a wheelchair

I missed New Year's 2006. Not by choice, though. I was in the hospital, in a medically induced coma. I was admitted into the hospital for spinal surgery, repair work from an operation I had when I was 13.

I did all the right things prior to surgery. Had all the tests, met with the multitudes of doctors, followed their instructions, took the medications I was told to take. But you can't plan for human error and the landslide that happens from a single mistake...and that's how it all started.

I went in for surgery the morning of December 27, 2005. I woke up on January 19, 2006. The last thing I remember is being taken by gurney towards the surgical room. It was a moment out of any cheesey Lifetime movie. My family looking worried and scared. Me, smiling from the gurney and assuring them all would be fine. I remember being lifted onto the operating table and feeling the cold table, the whole room was cold. A nurse introduced herself and the team. It's sad that I am able to recall that detail, while somehow my memories from December 22nd and on are lost.

While I was in the coma, I dreamt I was a secret agent on a mission in Florida. I remember vivid blue oceans, white sand, and pomegranate juice - a rich, ruby red. I remember that J.T., my brother-in-law, came to save a group of us on the mission. There wasn't enough room for me on the helicopter and as J.T. was lifted away from me on the rope ladder, he shouted that he would be back for me. He didn't come back and I remind him of that every chance I get.

I remember the catheter. Oh how I hated the catheter. I can still hear that voice telling me to relax and not fight, that I was making it more difficult. I remember someone holding me down while the catheter was introduced to my body. A few weeks after I woke up, I told my mother the catheter experience made me feel like the two dollar pony ride at the carnival and that I was the pony everyone wanted to ride.

I don't think I had any spiritual epiphanies. I can recall that the walls of my hospital room (and don't ask me how I knew it was a hospital room) were covered in millions of black spiders, a constantly moving mass of ick. I didn't like spiders and I was surrounded by them. Sometimes the spiders moved in a slow spider hula, sometimes they moved in a spider mosh pit of frenetic energy. Those spiders stayed with me until I moved out of the ICU and onto the 7th floor, where one lone spider would move lazily up and down beside the door of my room. I still don't care for spiders, only now I don't have the immediate urge to pulverize one when it crosses my path. I'd like to think I've become very Zen because of this whole experience but truth be told, it's kinda hard to pound something into the ground when it moves faster then you can move your wheelchair or walker.

So, that's how I ended up in a wheelchair. I spend most of my day in the wheelchair or in bed. I am able to walk a short distance using a walker. I'm lucky that I can stand and move my legs. Somedays it's hard to accept that this happened to me. I went from an independent woman to someone who needs constant assistance. I'll write more about my hospital experience later. For now, thanks for reading!

Jess