I got inside my home, and my mom got me all situated on the family room floor per my request. My parents have this wonderful heated floor in the family room, and in the winter it is the very best thing. We all grab a blanket and lay on the floor like dogs. It is tremendously soothing, and helped my achy body relax. My mom and dad went to pick up my sisters, and to retrieve our cars from the parking lot. My parents warned my sisters (ages 12 and 14, at the time), that I looked different, and that I was really hurt and sad, but that I was the same person, and with time that I would be back to my old self. My sister Jenn entered the room with her gentle, kind demeanor and laid down next to me on the floor. I had no more tears to cry, so we just sat in silence while the TV played in the background. I don't think either of us said a word, but that was okay. My sister Carrie came in a few minutes later. Being a little younger, I think she was a bit more hesitant, but she came in and didn't really want to see my wound. I don't blame her one bit, since I hadn't seen it all stitched up yet myself. She sat down on my right side, and joined the sister cuddle. It was going to be okay. We all were.
My mom had also picked up my prescriptions, but I refused to take those painkillers. They are so strong that it scared me. I stuck with taking Tylenol around the clock, along with the prescribed antibiotics to fend of infection. I went to bed that night in a lot of pain, and unable to sleep on my left side. However, given the events of the day, I slept like a rock. I kept my phone nearby so I could call my mom if I needed anything, and at one point, I texted her asking for "my drugs" because the pain was creeping in. We laugh about my comment now.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Thursday, August 6, 2015
The Accident: Part 8
On the ride home, I sat in the backseat with my mom. I rested my head on her shoulder. I felt numb. I had no emotions, and I was exhausted. I could not even muster the energy to cry. It was cold and dreary, but the Christmas lights twinkled as we drove.
I could not wait to get home.
I could not wait to get home.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
The Accident: Part 7
When we got to the hospital, I was wheeled in through the Emergency Room entrance. It was not something I had ever hoped to do, and certainly was not on my list of things to do during winter break. My mom walked behind me. The cool part about getting to the hospital via ambulance was that I did not have to wait for a bed or to be seen by the medical staff. I immediately was transferred from the gurney to a bed, and within two minutes John, the kindest ER nurse you could ever imagine was by my side and was looking at my face. He was so compassionate, and was willing to do anything to make me comfortable. John changed my gauze, gave me an antibiotic, and got an IV started to keep me hydrated. I don't really like needles, but that day I like to think that I conquered my fear. John showed me how the IV works and that there is a teeny tiny tube that stays in your arm when they remove the needle.
The ER doctor came over a few minutes later, and both my mom and I agreed that we really liked her. She was friendly, and kind, and realistic, and spunky. My mom really liked when the doctor said that she thought that a plastic surgeon should stitch me so that the scar would heal better than if she stitched me. Our plan of attack was born. A random nurse came over to do an EKG of my heart. Funny thing is the EMTs and John had both taken my pulse and blood pressure and listened to my heart, and never said anything about me needing an EKG. My mom tried to tell him that my heart was fine, but he insisted. And he then confirmed that my heart was strong, and beating just fine.
During the time we had to wait for the plastic surgeon to be pulled from surgery (don't worry, I think his part of the surgery was done), my mom and I talked. I cried. My mom went out to the waiting room to get cell phone reception so she would call my dad, and arrange for someone to watch my two younger sisters. I cried some more. We looked at magazines. We heard and saw other patients being wheeled into the ER. Some were crying, some were screaming in pain, and others were arguing. The woman to my right had a knee injury, and the woman to my left had a severe stomach pains and was in so much pain that every few minutes she would let out an ear-splitting yell. I was handling the pain well, and was glad that I was not making a scene. The one coincidental thing that happened was that one of my classmates from high school was one of the EMTs who was wheeling a patient back. I was glad that he was not one of the EMTs who had responded to my situation. I would have been mortified.
The plastic surgeon arrived. It turns out he was the was the chief plastic surgery resident, which was even better. He asked me to smile, and then frown, and then smile, and frown. He asked me to make very exaggerated facial expressions. Why, you ask? My mom and I asked the same thing. The way my face was cut was dangerously close to facial nerves that allow you to smile, and frown, and control your mouth. The facial nerves are in your face like fingers. I had had no idea that I was so close to being far less fortunate. I knew that something or someone had been looking out for me during the accident. Luckily, the nerves in my face appeared to have been spared.
John and the surgeon asked if I felt strong enough to stand up and walk a few feet to a giant sink. They needed to clean and sanitize my wound. I said I was good to go. I stood up, still wearing bloody clothes and connected to the IV tower, and made my way to the sink. They had me to lean against the wall, but told me to keep my head tilted very sharply against my right shoulder. They needed my head over the sink. The method for cleaning my wound? A large bottle of iodine. Yes, they used the entire bottle, and yes, some got in my mouth. And yes, it tasted as awful as you would expect. The iodine stained my skin a lovely (read: sarcastic) yellow, and it dripped all over me.
By this time, my dad arrived. He had come to drive us home since both my mom's car and my car were still parked by the eye doctor's office. He came back just as I laid down on the bed with my freshly cleaned injury. I was laying with my back toward the entrance of the curtain-clad pod, so I didn't know that he was there, until my mom said "daddy is here." I was so grateful to have both of my parents with me. My dad does not handle blood and cuts and injuries well, so my mom promptly told him to wait in the waiting room and to get me a water bottle for the car ride home. I knew that the most painful part of my day was yet to come. I laid on my right side of my body in a fetal position. My body ached from falling so hard when the accident occurred. During the fall, I had been dead weight, and my chest, shoulder, and face had taken the brunt of my fall. I had taken my blood-stained, red sweatshirt off before they cleaned my face, and now had it wound up so very tightly around my hands so that I would not move, or fidget, or give in to the urge to swat at the doctor's hands. I had a death grip on that sweatshirt. In that moment, that item of clothing was my biggest comfort. My mom had offered to hold my hand, but I knew that I was going to need to squeeze very tightly and did not want to hurt her, or break her fingers, so she sat behind me, and she provided gentle chatter.
First up, was administering local novocaine. I had had novocaine before at the dentist, but this was a whole new ballgame. They had to give me three or four shots due to the severity, depth and length of the wound. One shot was given to my face at the middle of my cheek near my nose, one shot was given closer to my ear in further down, and the third shot was given just above my jawbone. The third shot hurt like hell. I couldn't make faces while they worked, so I hung onto my sweatshirt for dear life and clenched my teeth together. I knew that I was stronger than this pain. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was on the beach and could hear the waves crashing on the shore.
After a few minutes, the novocaine kicked in, and they were ready to begin suturing. They covered my face with a piece of that medical paper/fabric to keep it sanitary, and I think so that I could not see the instruments they were using on me. It panicked me not to be able to see, so they moved it back a bit so I could see John within my view. And then it began.
The surgeon started at the top and worked his way down, but first he had to apply a layer of internal stitches since the wound was so deep. He was very clam, and would tell me little stories along the way. I felt every single pull and tug that he made to get the stitches in place. I could hear the tugging and crunching in my ear, and it was awful. They instructed me to keep very, very still. I wrung my sweatshirt tighter and tighter. I was taking out my pain and anger on that piece of cloth that was littered with the memories of my terrible, tragic day. John gave me a look of confidence when I felt like I would writhe in pain. He gave me updates on how far down they had stitched. He reminded me to breathe.
They were almost done, except the last part of the wound was the worst part. It looked like it had gone through a blender. It was mangled, and there was not much skin to work with to pull my face together. That part took the longest to piece together, and hurt the most. At one point I asked for more novocaine. Thankfully, they obliged. In total, I had 37 bright blue stitches holding my face together.
The blue of the stitches really was the icing on the cake.
I had made it through the portion where they put me back together, yet I still felt like pieces of me were scattered everywhere.
Once my IV had been removed, and a prescription for some super strong painkillers had been written and given to my mom, I was free to go home. We gathered up my belongings and headed out to the waiting room where my dad was waiting
What I had thought would be a two hour appointment, turned into a 10-hour saga. A saga that tested my spirit, ripped my heart into a million pieces, and left indelible marks on my body.
The ER doctor came over a few minutes later, and both my mom and I agreed that we really liked her. She was friendly, and kind, and realistic, and spunky. My mom really liked when the doctor said that she thought that a plastic surgeon should stitch me so that the scar would heal better than if she stitched me. Our plan of attack was born. A random nurse came over to do an EKG of my heart. Funny thing is the EMTs and John had both taken my pulse and blood pressure and listened to my heart, and never said anything about me needing an EKG. My mom tried to tell him that my heart was fine, but he insisted. And he then confirmed that my heart was strong, and beating just fine.
During the time we had to wait for the plastic surgeon to be pulled from surgery (don't worry, I think his part of the surgery was done), my mom and I talked. I cried. My mom went out to the waiting room to get cell phone reception so she would call my dad, and arrange for someone to watch my two younger sisters. I cried some more. We looked at magazines. We heard and saw other patients being wheeled into the ER. Some were crying, some were screaming in pain, and others were arguing. The woman to my right had a knee injury, and the woman to my left had a severe stomach pains and was in so much pain that every few minutes she would let out an ear-splitting yell. I was handling the pain well, and was glad that I was not making a scene. The one coincidental thing that happened was that one of my classmates from high school was one of the EMTs who was wheeling a patient back. I was glad that he was not one of the EMTs who had responded to my situation. I would have been mortified.
The plastic surgeon arrived. It turns out he was the was the chief plastic surgery resident, which was even better. He asked me to smile, and then frown, and then smile, and frown. He asked me to make very exaggerated facial expressions. Why, you ask? My mom and I asked the same thing. The way my face was cut was dangerously close to facial nerves that allow you to smile, and frown, and control your mouth. The facial nerves are in your face like fingers. I had had no idea that I was so close to being far less fortunate. I knew that something or someone had been looking out for me during the accident. Luckily, the nerves in my face appeared to have been spared.
John and the surgeon asked if I felt strong enough to stand up and walk a few feet to a giant sink. They needed to clean and sanitize my wound. I said I was good to go. I stood up, still wearing bloody clothes and connected to the IV tower, and made my way to the sink. They had me to lean against the wall, but told me to keep my head tilted very sharply against my right shoulder. They needed my head over the sink. The method for cleaning my wound? A large bottle of iodine. Yes, they used the entire bottle, and yes, some got in my mouth. And yes, it tasted as awful as you would expect. The iodine stained my skin a lovely (read: sarcastic) yellow, and it dripped all over me.
By this time, my dad arrived. He had come to drive us home since both my mom's car and my car were still parked by the eye doctor's office. He came back just as I laid down on the bed with my freshly cleaned injury. I was laying with my back toward the entrance of the curtain-clad pod, so I didn't know that he was there, until my mom said "daddy is here." I was so grateful to have both of my parents with me. My dad does not handle blood and cuts and injuries well, so my mom promptly told him to wait in the waiting room and to get me a water bottle for the car ride home. I knew that the most painful part of my day was yet to come. I laid on my right side of my body in a fetal position. My body ached from falling so hard when the accident occurred. During the fall, I had been dead weight, and my chest, shoulder, and face had taken the brunt of my fall. I had taken my blood-stained, red sweatshirt off before they cleaned my face, and now had it wound up so very tightly around my hands so that I would not move, or fidget, or give in to the urge to swat at the doctor's hands. I had a death grip on that sweatshirt. In that moment, that item of clothing was my biggest comfort. My mom had offered to hold my hand, but I knew that I was going to need to squeeze very tightly and did not want to hurt her, or break her fingers, so she sat behind me, and she provided gentle chatter.
First up, was administering local novocaine. I had had novocaine before at the dentist, but this was a whole new ballgame. They had to give me three or four shots due to the severity, depth and length of the wound. One shot was given to my face at the middle of my cheek near my nose, one shot was given closer to my ear in further down, and the third shot was given just above my jawbone. The third shot hurt like hell. I couldn't make faces while they worked, so I hung onto my sweatshirt for dear life and clenched my teeth together. I knew that I was stronger than this pain. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was on the beach and could hear the waves crashing on the shore.
After a few minutes, the novocaine kicked in, and they were ready to begin suturing. They covered my face with a piece of that medical paper/fabric to keep it sanitary, and I think so that I could not see the instruments they were using on me. It panicked me not to be able to see, so they moved it back a bit so I could see John within my view. And then it began.
The surgeon started at the top and worked his way down, but first he had to apply a layer of internal stitches since the wound was so deep. He was very clam, and would tell me little stories along the way. I felt every single pull and tug that he made to get the stitches in place. I could hear the tugging and crunching in my ear, and it was awful. They instructed me to keep very, very still. I wrung my sweatshirt tighter and tighter. I was taking out my pain and anger on that piece of cloth that was littered with the memories of my terrible, tragic day. John gave me a look of confidence when I felt like I would writhe in pain. He gave me updates on how far down they had stitched. He reminded me to breathe.
They were almost done, except the last part of the wound was the worst part. It looked like it had gone through a blender. It was mangled, and there was not much skin to work with to pull my face together. That part took the longest to piece together, and hurt the most. At one point I asked for more novocaine. Thankfully, they obliged. In total, I had 37 bright blue stitches holding my face together.
The blue of the stitches really was the icing on the cake.
I had made it through the portion where they put me back together, yet I still felt like pieces of me were scattered everywhere.
Once my IV had been removed, and a prescription for some super strong painkillers had been written and given to my mom, I was free to go home. We gathered up my belongings and headed out to the waiting room where my dad was waiting
What I had thought would be a two hour appointment, turned into a 10-hour saga. A saga that tested my spirit, ripped my heart into a million pieces, and left indelible marks on my body.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
The Accident: Part 6
It felt like it took forever for the ambulance to arrive. I asked my mom how much longer. I thought I was going to wither away into a pool of blood and tears if the EMTs did not arrive soon. She told me that they were on their way.
Finally, they arrived. I saw the ambulance pull up, and I realized that they had come to help me. I had to remind myself that this was not a nightmare, this was real life, and little did I know about the a long journey I was about to embark on.
They wheeled in a gurney, and carried in a toolbox-looking thing with medical supplies. They asked me my name, they asked me what I remember last. They asked if I had eaten lunch that day, and what I had. I had eaten lunch--leftover soup and grilled cheese. Was I on any medication, what had I done earlier in the day. The questions were flying, and I was trying so hard to answer them with those five ghost-like people still just staring on.
I knew it was bad when the EMTs asked the employees a question about what they saw and they said they hadn't noticed me or seen anything. They asked what I had cut my face on. Crickets. I wanted to scream. How on earth had no one, not one person, noticed the sole patient at the office? What were they doing instead? How dare they pretend that nothing had happened, that they had done nothing wrong? If nothing had happened I would not be in this position. That was precisely what I would find out to be the issue. They had done nothing.
The EMTs were incredibly kind. They were patient, and they were helping me. To this day, I don't remember their names. I'd love to thank them for helping me when I was so vulnerable, but alas, they are anonymous in my mind, and I rather like it that way. I hope they know how truly grateful I am for their service.
They immediately applied gauze to my facial wound. They dampened it with distilled water so that the edges of the skin would not dry out. The doctors at the hospital would need the skin to be pliable, they explained. My blood pressure was taken, my bones were checked for breaks. They checked my mouth to make sure my teeth were still in place, and to make sure there were no internal injuries in my mouth. My teeth were still there, thank goodness.
The most comical thing that happened was when they needed to test my blood sugar. They went to prick my finger, and my mom stopped them and said "she has so much blood on her face, can't you use that?" They said no, and pricked my finger anyway. That would prove to be the least of my worries. The EMTs told me that it was a wound that could be fixed, that they had seen worse, and that I was tough and that they would get me to the hospital. One EMT drove the ambulance with my mom in the front seat, and the other EMT rode with me in the back. My mom told them which hospital to take me to, and the EMTs agreed that the bigger hospital associated with the medical school was the way to go. Off we went. They did not put the lights or sirens on.
The EMT riding with me in the back was funny. He was lighthearted and was making me laugh. I appreciated his effort, and that he was trying so hard to calm me down. He asked me to keep talking to him to ensure that I wasn't losing consciousness. I told him about college, about my friends, about what I was studying. I asked him how much longer until we got to the hospital. I asked him to give me fresh gauze with distilled water. He gave me Tylenol. I was terrified to move my face too much for fear my skin would rip more. He assured me that talking or drinking water would not make the cut worse. I leaned back and tried so hard not to cry. I was comforted knowing that my mom was in the front seat.
Finally, they arrived. I saw the ambulance pull up, and I realized that they had come to help me. I had to remind myself that this was not a nightmare, this was real life, and little did I know about the a long journey I was about to embark on.
They wheeled in a gurney, and carried in a toolbox-looking thing with medical supplies. They asked me my name, they asked me what I remember last. They asked if I had eaten lunch that day, and what I had. I had eaten lunch--leftover soup and grilled cheese. Was I on any medication, what had I done earlier in the day. The questions were flying, and I was trying so hard to answer them with those five ghost-like people still just staring on.
I knew it was bad when the EMTs asked the employees a question about what they saw and they said they hadn't noticed me or seen anything. They asked what I had cut my face on. Crickets. I wanted to scream. How on earth had no one, not one person, noticed the sole patient at the office? What were they doing instead? How dare they pretend that nothing had happened, that they had done nothing wrong? If nothing had happened I would not be in this position. That was precisely what I would find out to be the issue. They had done nothing.
The EMTs were incredibly kind. They were patient, and they were helping me. To this day, I don't remember their names. I'd love to thank them for helping me when I was so vulnerable, but alas, they are anonymous in my mind, and I rather like it that way. I hope they know how truly grateful I am for their service.
They immediately applied gauze to my facial wound. They dampened it with distilled water so that the edges of the skin would not dry out. The doctors at the hospital would need the skin to be pliable, they explained. My blood pressure was taken, my bones were checked for breaks. They checked my mouth to make sure my teeth were still in place, and to make sure there were no internal injuries in my mouth. My teeth were still there, thank goodness.
The most comical thing that happened was when they needed to test my blood sugar. They went to prick my finger, and my mom stopped them and said "she has so much blood on her face, can't you use that?" They said no, and pricked my finger anyway. That would prove to be the least of my worries. The EMTs told me that it was a wound that could be fixed, that they had seen worse, and that I was tough and that they would get me to the hospital. One EMT drove the ambulance with my mom in the front seat, and the other EMT rode with me in the back. My mom told them which hospital to take me to, and the EMTs agreed that the bigger hospital associated with the medical school was the way to go. Off we went. They did not put the lights or sirens on.
The EMT riding with me in the back was funny. He was lighthearted and was making me laugh. I appreciated his effort, and that he was trying so hard to calm me down. He asked me to keep talking to him to ensure that I wasn't losing consciousness. I told him about college, about my friends, about what I was studying. I asked him how much longer until we got to the hospital. I asked him to give me fresh gauze with distilled water. He gave me Tylenol. I was terrified to move my face too much for fear my skin would rip more. He assured me that talking or drinking water would not make the cut worse. I leaned back and tried so hard not to cry. I was comforted knowing that my mom was in the front seat.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
The Accident: Part 5
Not more than two minutes later, my mom, dressed in a black corduroy jumper and a wool car coat burst through the office door. Having my mom there felt like Christmas morning. I was so relieved. I don't know that I've ever felt more grateful to see my mom. At that moment, I knew that no matter what happened, I would be okay. My mom had never let me down, and had never let anything bad happen to me, so I knew that she would comfort me, and help me, and stand up for me. Up until that moment, I was treated so horribly, like no person should ever be treated or made to feel, that I was worthless, an inconvenience. My mom made me feel like I mattered, and that I was important. She knelt down on the floor, and took my hand in hers and let me nestle my mangled face on her shoulder. It was not until that moment that I began to cry. These were very deep, guttural sobs that I believe were coming from the depths of my heart and soul. It was not a sound I had ever heard before, and I hope one that I don't hear again for a long, long time. I was physically hurt, and emotionally shattered. I had subconsciously willed myself to hold it together, but I just couldn't hold in my pain any longer. I felt free.
Looking back on that moment in time, I know that my mom was truly shocked at how I looked. I know that she was being strong for me, and did not want me to know the severity of my injuries. Later I would come to know that my mom only showed her sadness and anger behind closed doors, because she knew that it would have been worse for her daughter who worried and panicked, me, had I seen her authentic reaction. In reality, I was crying enough for the both of us, and feeling all the emotions.
My instinct was that this incident was my fault. I apologized many times to my mom, who assured me that it was not my fault, and that I had done nothing wrong. She reminded me that accidents happen, and that it was not my fault. She tried to keep my spirits up, although I don't know that much could be done at that point. Instead to buying Christmas presents and heading back to work, my mom was cradling her oldest baby who was hurt beyond words, and assuring her that everything would be okay. She called my dad, per my request. I wanted to hear his voice and tell him that I was okay. As a little girl, I used to beg for my dad if I got soap in my eyes while taking a bath or if I saw a bug in the bathroom and needed someone to get rid of it. He was a source of comfort, like my mom, and I needed to talk to him. I don't remember our conversation, but I remember telling him that mom was with me, and he said that I was going to be just fine and to take deep breaths.
Looking back on that moment in time, I know that my mom was truly shocked at how I looked. I know that she was being strong for me, and did not want me to know the severity of my injuries. Later I would come to know that my mom only showed her sadness and anger behind closed doors, because she knew that it would have been worse for her daughter who worried and panicked, me, had I seen her authentic reaction. In reality, I was crying enough for the both of us, and feeling all the emotions.
My instinct was that this incident was my fault. I apologized many times to my mom, who assured me that it was not my fault, and that I had done nothing wrong. She reminded me that accidents happen, and that it was not my fault. She tried to keep my spirits up, although I don't know that much could be done at that point. Instead to buying Christmas presents and heading back to work, my mom was cradling her oldest baby who was hurt beyond words, and assuring her that everything would be okay. She called my dad, per my request. I wanted to hear his voice and tell him that I was okay. As a little girl, I used to beg for my dad if I got soap in my eyes while taking a bath or if I saw a bug in the bathroom and needed someone to get rid of it. He was a source of comfort, like my mom, and I needed to talk to him. I don't remember our conversation, but I remember telling him that mom was with me, and he said that I was going to be just fine and to take deep breaths.
Friday, June 12, 2015
The Accident: Part 4
The patient sat down in the chair next to me and rubbed my back. She turned the mirror on the desk away from me, and attempted to block my view so I would not see the state of my face. But she did not get it turned away fast enough. I saw my face. My left cheek, which had been perfectly smooth and alabaster, was now gaping open with a very deep, ragged wound. It looked like something from a horror movie. I could see my cheek tissue, and blood was running down my face. There was blood in my mouth, and my cheek was numb. I felt like I was looking at someone else in the mirror but it was really me. I did not recognize myself. I desperately tried to erase that image from my mind, but it was burned there, and forever it will stay.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
The Accident: Part 3
The next thing I remember is coming to and finding myself under a desk by the front windows of the office. Except, initially, I didn't know where I was. Then I remembered.
There was blood everywhere. It was horrific. There was a pool of blood near my head, there was blood on my hands, on my jacket, on my sweatshirt, on my jeans, on my socks, on my shoes, and in my hair. It looked like a crime scene. And I was in the middle of it.
I tried to get up, and the first thing I saw was five people, including the doctor, standing in a straight line facing me. Gawking. No one made a move to come near me, let alone help me, or say anything to explain the situation. I felt like I was at zoo, and I was the animal on display for everyone to stare at. Except I am a person, and at that moment my heart sank. I realized that no one in that whole office cared about me, and that I was going to have to figure it out myself. I was in shock. My body was trembling and shaking. My eyes were now dilated, and the winter sunlight streaming in the windows made me squint. I was confused, and hurt, and broken. A piece of me would never be the same.
After a few seconds, I tried to slide myself out from under the desk, and tried to sit up. It wasn't until that moment that one of the people, the nurse who had checked me in, slowly approached me. "Can you help me?," I croaked.
I was met the words "An ambulance is coming." No more details were offered. I had no idea what had happened, let alone where I was bleeding from, and the only thing they could tell me was that an ambulance was coming. That stung.
At that moment, a patient walked into the office. I looked up at her, and in my very confused state, I recognized her. She was the mom of one of my peers, and I told her my name. She recognized my last name, and thankfully, she ordered that one of the employees bring me paper towel and some ice. I felt as though I had a friend in my little, very bloody corner.
I reached up to find out where the blood was coming from, and with my left hand I found the source. My left cheek had a gaping hole in it. I could not believe what I was feeling. I knew that there should be skin where I had felt emptiness. I wadded up some crunchy paper towel and placed it on my face, and wished that the hole was figment of my imagination.
I needed my mom to be there. I tried desperately to call my mom. No answer. I tried my dad. Also, no answer. The other patient offered to call my mom. My hands were shaking so much that I could not slide open my phone, let alone scroll through to find a phone number. My phone now had bloody fingerprints all over it. The patient got my mom on the phone. My mom was at the bookstore in the same shopping center. Thank goodness.
There was blood everywhere. It was horrific. There was a pool of blood near my head, there was blood on my hands, on my jacket, on my sweatshirt, on my jeans, on my socks, on my shoes, and in my hair. It looked like a crime scene. And I was in the middle of it.
I tried to get up, and the first thing I saw was five people, including the doctor, standing in a straight line facing me. Gawking. No one made a move to come near me, let alone help me, or say anything to explain the situation. I felt like I was at zoo, and I was the animal on display for everyone to stare at. Except I am a person, and at that moment my heart sank. I realized that no one in that whole office cared about me, and that I was going to have to figure it out myself. I was in shock. My body was trembling and shaking. My eyes were now dilated, and the winter sunlight streaming in the windows made me squint. I was confused, and hurt, and broken. A piece of me would never be the same.
After a few seconds, I tried to slide myself out from under the desk, and tried to sit up. It wasn't until that moment that one of the people, the nurse who had checked me in, slowly approached me. "Can you help me?," I croaked.
I was met the words "An ambulance is coming." No more details were offered. I had no idea what had happened, let alone where I was bleeding from, and the only thing they could tell me was that an ambulance was coming. That stung.
At that moment, a patient walked into the office. I looked up at her, and in my very confused state, I recognized her. She was the mom of one of my peers, and I told her my name. She recognized my last name, and thankfully, she ordered that one of the employees bring me paper towel and some ice. I felt as though I had a friend in my little, very bloody corner.
I reached up to find out where the blood was coming from, and with my left hand I found the source. My left cheek had a gaping hole in it. I could not believe what I was feeling. I knew that there should be skin where I had felt emptiness. I wadded up some crunchy paper towel and placed it on my face, and wished that the hole was figment of my imagination.
I needed my mom to be there. I tried desperately to call my mom. No answer. I tried my dad. Also, no answer. The other patient offered to call my mom. My hands were shaking so much that I could not slide open my phone, let alone scroll through to find a phone number. My phone now had bloody fingerprints all over it. The patient got my mom on the phone. My mom was at the bookstore in the same shopping center. Thank goodness.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
The Accident: Part 2
The doctor came into the room, and introduced herself. She seemed nice enough. I made sure to let her know that this was my first eye doctor appointment, for some reason, I felt that that was an important detail. My gut was telling me what to say, and I tried to listen to it but told myself that I was going to be fine. Sitting here more than five years later that rings true. I am fine.
The doctor checked me eyes, and had me read various letters on eye charts. It was pretty obvious that I needed some sort of corrective lenses, and I'm also quite sure that my mind was playing tricks on me. I was reading letters out of order as if I was dyslexic, and that made my feel frazzled. My heart beat faster.
It came to that fateful time where the doctor said that she would like to administer drops to dilate my eyes. I asked her what dilating my eyes would allow her to do, and she replied that it would let her see the back of my eyes. I felt so good that I had asked a question, and in the end, I consented to the drops. The doctor applied one drop of a numbing medication to each eye, and then added two drops of the dilating liquid to my eyes. Then we waited while the drops went to work.
I felt my hands get clammy, my body got tingly and felt like butterflies were flittering through my veins, and heart began to race. Faster and faster. I told myself to be brave, and to take deep breaths. The doctor said that I could walk out to the waiting area and that someone (a nurse, I presumed) would meet me at the doorway and would help me look at frames while the drops dilated my eyes. So up I went. I gathered my black North Face fleece and my purse, and began walking to the door.
To set the scene, here is the layout of the office: To get to the waiting room doorway, I had to walk straight out of the exam room, then turn left, then walk five feet or so, then turn right, and walk at least 10 feet.
I remember walking out of the exam room, and walking down the shorter hall, and then I saw the doorway to the waiting room from afar. I don't remember anything after that.
My hearing went. There was a loud ringing sound, and then I temporarily went deaf. My vision was all fuzzy, and then it was black. I was entering a nightmare. And there was no turning back.
The doctor checked me eyes, and had me read various letters on eye charts. It was pretty obvious that I needed some sort of corrective lenses, and I'm also quite sure that my mind was playing tricks on me. I was reading letters out of order as if I was dyslexic, and that made my feel frazzled. My heart beat faster.
It came to that fateful time where the doctor said that she would like to administer drops to dilate my eyes. I asked her what dilating my eyes would allow her to do, and she replied that it would let her see the back of my eyes. I felt so good that I had asked a question, and in the end, I consented to the drops. The doctor applied one drop of a numbing medication to each eye, and then added two drops of the dilating liquid to my eyes. Then we waited while the drops went to work.
I felt my hands get clammy, my body got tingly and felt like butterflies were flittering through my veins, and heart began to race. Faster and faster. I told myself to be brave, and to take deep breaths. The doctor said that I could walk out to the waiting area and that someone (a nurse, I presumed) would meet me at the doorway and would help me look at frames while the drops dilated my eyes. So up I went. I gathered my black North Face fleece and my purse, and began walking to the door.
To set the scene, here is the layout of the office: To get to the waiting room doorway, I had to walk straight out of the exam room, then turn left, then walk five feet or so, then turn right, and walk at least 10 feet.
I remember walking out of the exam room, and walking down the shorter hall, and then I saw the doorway to the waiting room from afar. I don't remember anything after that.
My hearing went. There was a loud ringing sound, and then I temporarily went deaf. My vision was all fuzzy, and then it was black. I was entering a nightmare. And there was no turning back.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
The Accident: Part 1
Let me preface this post/series by saying that I've been wanting to write down the events surrounding "the accident" along with my thoughts, feelings, lessons I've learned and how I feel more than five years after for a while now, but am finally feeling like now is the right time. It has taken me many years to feel comfortable sharing this ordeal, but stories like this must be shared. If I help or encourage one person, it will be all worth it to me. I wish I had thought to keep a blog as I lived through these events in real-time, but alas, this will have to do. This blog is a record of my life and feelings, so I want to be sure I can look back on these years and not feel like I've forgotten the details. I do not want people to pity me. My life is so wonderful and filled to the brim with happiness.
December 22, 2009. The fall semester of my junior year at Lehigh University had just ended. I was home in Niskayuna, NY, and would be there for the next month. I was excited to decompress and was very much looking forward to the holidays. The feelings that swirl around during Christmas are some of my favorite. I adore the traditions, and details, and sweets, and spirit of giving.
During the fall semester of 2009, I noticed that I was straining to see the board during classes, so I made an eye doctor appointment at the office where my mom, dad and youngest sister had gone several times before. Quite honestly, I remember feeling excited that this appointment might result in my being able to see. Imagine that!
My appointment was on December 22, 2009 around 12:30 pm. That morning I woke up, went to the gym, came home to shower, had leftover soup with some grilled cheese, and drove to the doctor's office. The office is in a large shopping plaza and it was somewhere I had been dozens of times before. I made sure that I had sunglasses in my car for after the appointment should my eyes be sensitive from being dilated. I had talked to my mom about what to expect during the appointment. I was ready.
My appointment was on December 22, 2009 around 12:30 pm. That morning I woke up, went to the gym, came home to shower, had leftover soup with some grilled cheese, and drove to the doctor's office. The office is in a large shopping plaza and it was somewhere I had been dozens of times before. I made sure that I had sunglasses in my car for after the appointment should my eyes be sensitive from being dilated. I had talked to my mom about what to expect during the appointment. I was ready.
I parked my car, walked inside, and spoke with the woman at the front desk. She asked for my name, insurance card, and photo ID. I was asked to fill out a bunch of forms since I was a new patient, and then I waited for the nurse to call me back. I vividly remember looking at a magazine and reading a recipe for a salad that sounded good. It felt like I waited for about 10 minutes and then was called back for the "puff test," to test for glaucoma. The nurse ushered me to a small waiting area outside of the exam room with just a few chairs, and told me I could wait there until I was called in. Keep in mind, thus far, I had not seen any other patients at the office. Since this was before the time that I had a smartphone, I looked around at the wall decor and tried to be patient. At this point, I felt good.
The doctor finally came out and said that I could join her in the exam room. When I walked in, the first thing I thought was that the apparatus looked like something from a scary movie. I let that thought go from my mind, and let myself feel at ease, and that I was in control of the situation.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Memorial Day Weekend 2015.
Mike had a ton of work to do this weekend so instead of spending the weekend alone in my apartment, I decided to hightail it home for the weekend to spend time with my mom and sister! Thanks to my office closing a 3 p.m. on Friday, I was able to be on the road by 4:15, so I made it home in about 5 hours and hardly hit any traffic.
Saturday felt like fall in upstate New York. It was a beautiful sunny day, but it was chilly with a breeze. I loved it. I will take cold, breezy, snowy, icy weather over hot, humid weather any day of the week.
Both of my sisters are in tremendously great physical shape. I offered to workout with my youngest sister on Saturday, and truly thought that I would be able to do some of it with her. But no, she blew me out of the water with her speed and strength within the first lap around the track. Shooee. She told me that she runs at 7 minute mile. I couldn't even dream of doing that.
Here is the only photo with people in it that I took during the whole weekend:
Because I have a wicked sweet tooth, and because Pinterest is my weakness, I decided to make this Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramel tart. It was very rich, but oh so delicious! You should probably all go make it as soon as possible.
Saturday felt like fall in upstate New York. It was a beautiful sunny day, but it was chilly with a breeze. I loved it. I will take cold, breezy, snowy, icy weather over hot, humid weather any day of the week.
Both of my sisters are in tremendously great physical shape. I offered to workout with my youngest sister on Saturday, and truly thought that I would be able to do some of it with her. But no, she blew me out of the water with her speed and strength within the first lap around the track. Shooee. She told me that she runs at 7 minute mile. I couldn't even dream of doing that.
Here is the only photo with people in it that I took during the whole weekend:
^^ Carrie is on the right side of the photo. This is our high school track. I spent many nights hanging here with my friends at football games.
My mom, sister, cousin Zach, aunt Barbie and grandparents spent most of Saturday watching NCAA men's lacrosse. It was intense, and fun, and stressful, and exhausting...even though I wasn't exercising, hah!
While at the grocery store with my mom, cousin, and aunt, we came across a veggie labeled simply as "produce." My cousin knew that these unusual looking veggies are called fiddleheads. During some googling of what fiddleheads were we found that they are only available for two weeks of the year and are unfurled fern fronds. We followed a Wegman's recipe (here) and they turned out surprisingly well!
^^ Washed and trimmed fiddleheads.
^^ Cooked fiddleheads.
Because I have a wicked sweet tooth, and because Pinterest is my weakness, I decided to make this Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramel tart. It was very rich, but oh so delicious! You should probably all go make it as soon as possible.
And then I promptly fell asleep in front of the TV. The end to a wonderful weekend at home! El fin.
xoxo,
Megan
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Girls day.
I truly have the best friends. They are smart and kind, funny and caring, beautiful and talented, inspiring and adventurous. They also call various parts of the country and world, home. So when my wonderful friend Courtney told me months ago that she was making the trip from San Francisco to the Bethlehem area, she asked if I would be able to meet up with her for the day. Obviously, I jumped at the chance and asked to take a vacation day. It is not every day that one of your favorite former residents turned friend makes the 3000+ mile trip.
Today was the day. And I was so excited. Yesterday was Lehigh's commencement ceremony so we decided to meet up near Lehigh, where Courtney was staying. Can we just have a minute to talk about how I still cannot believe that I graduated from college four years ago? Yeah, cannot believe it. I loved college. I miss college, but I miss being close to all my best girls always. Miss our spontaneous adventures, and late-night chats, and having so many opportunities at our fingertips.
So this morning I drove up to Lehigh to meet Courtney for breakfast at Blue Sky Cafe. This is far and away my favorite restaurant near Lehigh's campus. It is seriously delish. Courtney and I shared a veggie omelet and lemon ricotta pancakes with blueberry syrup. We chatted and chatted, and left smelling like Blue Sky!
We met up with freshly-graduated Becca and decided to brave the humidity and take a nature walk/hike at Jacobsburg State Park. It was gorgeously green and lush. There were wildflowers all over, and the three of us were able to have some stimulating girl talk. We are all at very different stages in our careers and lives, so we were able to share advice and insight, and I soaked every second of it right up.
My fitbit indicated that we walked for about 4.5 miles. Here are some photos from the trail.
Today was the day. And I was so excited. Yesterday was Lehigh's commencement ceremony so we decided to meet up near Lehigh, where Courtney was staying. Can we just have a minute to talk about how I still cannot believe that I graduated from college four years ago? Yeah, cannot believe it. I loved college. I miss college, but I miss being close to all my best girls always. Miss our spontaneous adventures, and late-night chats, and having so many opportunities at our fingertips.
So this morning I drove up to Lehigh to meet Courtney for breakfast at Blue Sky Cafe. This is far and away my favorite restaurant near Lehigh's campus. It is seriously delish. Courtney and I shared a veggie omelet and lemon ricotta pancakes with blueberry syrup. We chatted and chatted, and left smelling like Blue Sky!
^^ Blue Sky Cafe!
We met up with freshly-graduated Becca and decided to brave the humidity and take a nature walk/hike at Jacobsburg State Park. It was gorgeously green and lush. There were wildflowers all over, and the three of us were able to have some stimulating girl talk. We are all at very different stages in our careers and lives, so we were able to share advice and insight, and I soaked every second of it right up.
My fitbit indicated that we walked for about 4.5 miles. Here are some photos from the trail.
^^ Jacobsburg State Park.
Of course, we had to document our fun with a sweaty, post-hike selfie.
^^ Jacobsburg State Park. All nice and sweaty.
Even though we had eaten so much for breakfast, we decided to make the most out of our time in Bethlehem and ate another great meal! Courtney and Becca had a food bucket list, and they invited me to join them for crepes at Full of Crepes. It opened after I had already graduated, so it was my first time and it did not disappoint. I could not pass up a sweet crepe, and that solidified how much of a sweet tooth I really have.
^^ Crepes in Campus Square!
We capped off our great visit with some chatting in the shade in Campus Square where I made sure to rehash some of my best stories from my days as a Resident Assistant (Gryphon).
Whenever I am at Lehigh, I always feel so at home. My four years at that school built into the side of the mountain really shaped me into who I am today. The memories that I made there are some of my favorite and most treasured. I had some of my happiest times there and lived through some of the hardest times. (More about that in a later post.) I experienced triumphs and tears, successes and failures, but I would not trade those times for anything in the world. My heart is swelling with such wonderful memories and true love for Lehigh, my friends, and all the lessons I learned. I'm not sure what I did to get this lucky, but goodness, I just adore my life.
^^ Just love the view from Lookout Point.
I definitely left a piece of my heart on old South Mountain.
Thanks, Courtney for coming to visit! Maybe next time I see you will be in San Francisco so you can show me all the best places to go! So glad you were on my hall five years ago. Long live Richards D2.
xoxo,
Megan
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Sweet pea and basil pesto.
I made this pesto recipe a few weeks ago and it was delicious, so I decided to make it again for dinner tonight and for lunches throughout the week. This time I took note of the measurements that I used. This pesto is especially appealing to me because it is not as savory and rich as traditional basil pesto--the peas make it slightly sweet, and really compliment the basil. It also takes about 5 minutes to make.
You just can't argue with that :) Here's how:
Sweet pea and basil pesto
8-10 large, healthy basil leaves
1 1/2 cups frozen sweet peas
1/4 cup fresh grated parmesan cheese
1 large clove garlic
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
1. Cook peas according to package. Drain and cool slightly.
2. In food processor or blender, puree basil and garlic.
3. Add peas, and puree until smooth.
4. Add parmesan cheese. Blend until incorporated, and drizzle in about 3 tablespoons of olive oil until combined.
5. Salt and pepper to taste.
**I served mine over pasta, with sautéed chicken sausage. The pesto reheats well and allows the cheese to melt.
xoxo,
Megan
You just can't argue with that :) Here's how:
Sweet pea and basil pesto
8-10 large, healthy basil leaves
1 1/2 cups frozen sweet peas
1/4 cup fresh grated parmesan cheese
1 large clove garlic
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
1. Cook peas according to package. Drain and cool slightly.
2. In food processor or blender, puree basil and garlic.
3. Add peas, and puree until smooth.
4. Add parmesan cheese. Blend until incorporated, and drizzle in about 3 tablespoons of olive oil until combined.
5. Salt and pepper to taste.
**I served mine over pasta, with sautéed chicken sausage. The pesto reheats well and allows the cheese to melt.
xoxo,
Megan
Saturday, May 16, 2015
I'm back and a recipe.
This blog has been sorely and embarrassingly neglected. I wish I was better about posting content here, but I always feel as though I do not have anything to write about. I've decided that I am going to seek out things to write about, after all, this blog is about my life, and I do get up and live each day so I should have things to write about, right?
So today I'll start with a recipe that I made this past week that turned out so well. It's my take on vegetarian tacos, but they were more similar to fajitas. This is not based off of any other recipe, and just popped into my mind while wandering the grocery store. And they were soooo good. My recipe is below. Keep in mind that I don't really measure when I cook, so everything is an estimate, and feel free to modify based on your preferences. Hope you enjoy!
Zucchini and Sweet Potato Tacos
1 medium sweet potato
2 small zucchini (or 1 large)
6 oz. white mushrooms
1 can black beans
1/2 medium vidalia onion (Spanish onion would also work)
2 large cloves garlic
1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon cumin
Salt and pepper, to taste
Olive oil
Soft taco shells
Colby-jack cheese (cheddar or a blend would also be good)
Avocado (not pictured, I added it later)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Wash and peel sweet potato, and chop into small chunks. I made mine about 1/2 inch in size. Toss in 1 tablespoon olive oil and spread on baking sheet covered with aluminum foil (helps prevent sticking). Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until pieces are tender. Remember to mix about halfway through cooking. They should not be mushy, and should keep their form.
2. Wash, and cut zucchini and mushrooms into 1/2 inch chunks.
3. In a large skillet, add one tablespoon olive oil and add zucchini and mushrooms. Cook on medium heat until veggies are tender. Do not overcook!
4. In small saucepan, heat black beans over low heat.
5. Once zucchini and mushrooms are done cooking, drain 1/2 of the liquid, and pour into medium bowl. Add sweet potato to bowl. Mix in chili powder, paprika, cumin, and season with salt and pepper.
**Next time I might add in a dash of cayenne pepper for a little heat, but I didn't this time and I still thought these turned out great.
6. Wipe out skillet with paper towel, and add in 1/2 teaspoon olive oil. On medium heat, add one taco shell to skillet and allow shell to get lightly brown and crispy. Make sure to flip shell over so both sides get good and toasty. Don't skip this step--it totally takes these tacos to another level!
7. Assemble tacos. Here's how I did mine: Place two taco shells on plate, and fill each one with one large spoonful of black beans, and lots of veggies. Top with cheese and some avocado chunks.
8. Enjoy!
xoxo,
Megan
So today I'll start with a recipe that I made this past week that turned out so well. It's my take on vegetarian tacos, but they were more similar to fajitas. This is not based off of any other recipe, and just popped into my mind while wandering the grocery store. And they were soooo good. My recipe is below. Keep in mind that I don't really measure when I cook, so everything is an estimate, and feel free to modify based on your preferences. Hope you enjoy!
1 medium sweet potato
2 small zucchini (or 1 large)
6 oz. white mushrooms
1 can black beans
1/2 medium vidalia onion (Spanish onion would also work)
2 large cloves garlic
1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon cumin
Salt and pepper, to taste
Olive oil
Soft taco shells
Colby-jack cheese (cheddar or a blend would also be good)
Avocado (not pictured, I added it later)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Wash and peel sweet potato, and chop into small chunks. I made mine about 1/2 inch in size. Toss in 1 tablespoon olive oil and spread on baking sheet covered with aluminum foil (helps prevent sticking). Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until pieces are tender. Remember to mix about halfway through cooking. They should not be mushy, and should keep their form.
2. Wash, and cut zucchini and mushrooms into 1/2 inch chunks.
3. In a large skillet, add one tablespoon olive oil and add zucchini and mushrooms. Cook on medium heat until veggies are tender. Do not overcook!
4. In small saucepan, heat black beans over low heat.
5. Once zucchini and mushrooms are done cooking, drain 1/2 of the liquid, and pour into medium bowl. Add sweet potato to bowl. Mix in chili powder, paprika, cumin, and season with salt and pepper.
**Next time I might add in a dash of cayenne pepper for a little heat, but I didn't this time and I still thought these turned out great.
6. Wipe out skillet with paper towel, and add in 1/2 teaspoon olive oil. On medium heat, add one taco shell to skillet and allow shell to get lightly brown and crispy. Make sure to flip shell over so both sides get good and toasty. Don't skip this step--it totally takes these tacos to another level!
7. Assemble tacos. Here's how I did mine: Place two taco shells on plate, and fill each one with one large spoonful of black beans, and lots of veggies. Top with cheese and some avocado chunks.
8. Enjoy!
xoxo,
Megan
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