15 | "Silver" Anniversary

Today marks the 15th anniversary of my car accident, which means I've been paralyzed for 15 years. 15 years is a long time! I'm calling this my "silver" anniversary.

A couple years ago I read an article in Meridian (an online magazine) with an analogy comparing the trials and sufferings of mortal life to the process a silversmith uses to rid silver of impurities. This excerpt is kind of long, but worth the read:

In Malachi 3:3 we are told that the Lord “shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.” There are some great lessons here for us. For centuries, silversmiths would put broken, crushed ore into a fiery furnace and turn up the heat to melt off the impurities. Are we not broken, rough, and filled with impurities?

Silver experts knew which impurities would melt off at which temperatures. And the refiner had to be vigilant and watch carefully, because if the temperature got too high, the silver could be ruined. This is exactly how the Lord watches over us, with constant attention to the details of our lives. He knows every pain, every sorrow you feel—in fact, he took those upon himself in atoning for us. He also will not allow us to be tried beyond our ability to withstand it, if we turn to him for help.

But one of the most beautiful analogies in this process is how a silversmith knows when the silver is done—he sees his reflection in it. And Christ will see his reflection in us when all our impurities have melted away, and we have truly given our hearts to him.

When harsh challenges arise, we still have a choice. We can be as a wisp of paper thrown into a fire and quickly consumed, or we can choose to be silver, and allow that trial to refine us, and make us into something better than we were. We can sink into despair and self-pity, adopting the victim role, or we can be fearless and faithful, determined to triumph.

James E. Faust once said, “Here then is a great truth. In the pain, the agony, and the heroic endeavors of life, we pass through a refiner’s fire, and the insignificant and the unimportant in our lives can melt away like dross and make our faith bright, intact, and strong. In this way the divine image can be mirrored from the soul. It is part of the purging toll exacted of some to become acquainted with God. In the agonies of life, we seem to listen better to the faint, godly whisperings of the Divine Shepherd.”

If you are struggling with a problem (or several) right now, ask yourself: Am I going to be paper or silver? We get to choose.

So often people look at their less-than-ideal, challenging, or unfair circumstances and they just get bitter and angry, and fail to use it as a springboard for growth. Anger and bitterness are normal reactions, of course, and they are justified for a time, but after a while you just have to accept things and make lemonade out of the lemons life has dealt you. With the Lord's help, I have allowed the challenges I've experienced as a result of becoming paralyzed to shape me into a better person than I was in my pre-paralysis life. There's truly nothing like adversity to expedite personal growth! For this reason, I'm so grateful for my accident and all it has helped me become. I've always maintained that the worst thing to happen to me physically, was the best thing to happen to me spiritually and emotionally, and I'd never change things if it meant forgoing all of that growth.

So the next time something bad happens to you, just consider it your own time to become a little less like paper, and a little more like silver. 

Dream jobs

Ever since I was a little girl I always knew I wanted to grow up, get married, have a bunch of kids and be a stay-at-home mom. I don't think there would be anything better than being a mother. However, now that I'm paralyzed from the neck down, this dream doesn't really seem to apply to my life anymore. This was extremely painful at first since it was my dream, but I've gotten over it and although it's disappointing, it's okay now.

Here are three other jobs that I contemplated when I was younger:

1. Meteorologist: when I was in elementary school I really wanted to be a meteorologist when I grew up because I found things pertaining to weather really fascinating.

2. Photographer: when I was in high school I took a photography class and I loved it! It was so fun learning how to develop film and to work in the darkroom. I decided that I wanted to be a photographer when I grew up, and although this was, and still is a dream of mine. I decided I needed to be more realistic about what I wanted to study in college. I knew I ultimately wanted to be a mom when I grew up, so I decided to put my dream of being a professional photographer aside, and settled on being an amateur since I knew I'd eventually have my own kids to practice on.

3. Hairstylist: I've always loved hair and makeup and think it would be great to be able to know how to do professional makeup, cut and color hair, style hair, do up-dos and braid in elaborate/fancy ways. Braiding tutorials on YouTube very popular right now and I love watching them, even though I'm not able to use my hands.

4. Nurse: after my first year in college I decided I wanted to be a nurse. It wasn't something I'd ever considered before, but after I decided to become a nurse, my mind was made up and I never looked back. I was so excited about becoming a nurse and I looked forward to being able to care for others. I still knew I wanted to be a mom, but I planned on working as a nurse until I had kids, and I knew it would be a practical degree to have just in case I ever needed to go back into the work field.

Now that I'm disabled none of these professions apply to my life, so I've had to regroup and form a new dream. I've decided that what I want to be most of all really isn't a new dream at all. My dream is to be somebody's wife. That's something I could still be and do a really good job. I know our marriage and life wouldn't be like everyone else's, but what I have to offer is an abundance of love and joy and happiness. There are so many people who are unhappy in their marriages, even though they seem to have "everything." My accident has given me a perspective on life where I have the ability to put the cares of the world on the back burner so I'm free to love purely and without the distractions that make some people unhappy.

Restless night

I had a terrible night's sleep last night because I could not fall asleep!! Part of the reason was that I was in a lot of pain. When you're paralyzed one of the side effects is neuropathic pain, which essentially is nerve pain that is hard for the average person to understand, unless you have actually experienced it firsthand. My hands and feet hurt so badly and my muscles kept twitching, which was as equally annoying as the pain. As soon as I would settle down a little bit, the twitching in my triceps would flare up again, which in turn would cause my feet to shake. It was so annoying! I finally drifted off to sleep some time between 3 and 4 AM, and then I stayed asleep until about 6:30 AM.

This pattern of sleep used to be my life after my accident, and it's only been in the recent year or two that I've started sleeping better at night. I don't want to risk jinxing myself, but I'm grateful that I've started sleeping more peacefully most nights. Restless nights are so frustrating!

I've always had trouble sleeping. When I was little girl it would take me forever to fall asleep! I wondered why my sister Laura who I shared a room with for a few years could be sleeping peacefully while I was wide awake! My sleeping troubles haven't ever really gone away (although they've been better lately, like I said earlier). I've always wished I could be the type of person who could fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. My sister Chandra is one of these people. She lies down and she's out – virtually dead to the world!

I always try to look for the good in every situation, no matter how frustrating or how bleak it might seem. Last night while I was awake it was a good time to think; to "count my blessings," so to speak. I really am incredibly blessed! I might not have everything I want, but I definitely have everything I need and I'm so thankful for that. I'm also so thankful to the Lord for taking such good care of me. The Lord is always there watching out for us, and even though we can't see Him, he's always there. I don't think most people realize just how invested the Lord is in our lives. It hurts me when I hear people say that the Lord doesn't know them or doesn't care about them, because this just isn't the case! I wish everyone could be as confident as I am that the Lord is there! He loves us and he wants the best for us. I think it's important for people to realize that just because the Lord doesn't intervene and solve all of our problems, it doesn't mean that He isn't there or that He doesn't love us. There's always something to learn from our trials, and we can't do that if the Lord comes in and fixes everything.

Anyway, I suppose a few sleepless nights here and there are a small price to pay if it means that my testimony and conviction in the Lord is renewed and made stronger!

California is much too far!

Much of my life for the past five months has been consumed with my sister Kristin and her family. They've been living with us since the end of July while Kristin's husband Scott looked for a job. In November Scott started having interviews for a job in California. When I first heard the word "California" my heart sunk as I thought about my sister and her family moving thousands of miles away.

When Kristin and her family moved here it was such a blessing because I didn't know her kids at all since I hadn't seen Kristin and her family in four years. I really thought that Scott would end up finding a job that was relatively close to us. I hoped it would be in St. Louis, but at the very least somewhere in the Midwest, no more than seven hours away so that we could see each other several times a year. No such luck!

Scott did get the job in California, which is an answer to prayer, but it's very bittersweet! My sister and her family will be moving to California a few days after Christmas. My heart is breaking at the thought of losing Kristin who is one of my best friends, and also Kristin's four little boys who I adore so much. I'm completely in love with them! They delight me and fill me with so much joy. I didn't really have much experience with little boys until Kristin moved here since my two oldest sisters each have four girls. I was completely partial to girls when Kristin moved here, but now I love little boys just as much as little girls, thanks to Kristin's boys!

It makes me so sad to realize that the kids won't really have any memories of living here since they are all so young. Kaleb probably will since he is 6 1/2, but the other boys are so young! Especially Aaron who isn't even a year old yet. He's grown up so much in the past five months and it's been really special to witness his growth and progress.

I'm thankful for modern communication so that Kristin and I can stay in contact with each other, but it's definitely not the same! Why did it have to be California?!

It takes courage

This past Friday I did something that I really didn't want to do -- I went to talk to a class of first year nursing students. My friend Lacee (that I went to nursing school with) teachers nursing school at Meramec Community College, and she thought her students would benefit from hearing a "professional patient" talk about their experiences with nurses, hospitals and other healthcare related issues.

Most people are terrified of public speaking. This actually isn't a problem for me because I actually enjoy speaking publicly. I think I'm good at it, as I'm good at clearly conveying my thoughts, etc. MY problem is that I can't speak very loudly, and it's hard for me to project my voice, especially when I'm in a large room. When Lacee told me that I would be addressing her students in a large lecture hall, I was filled with nervous dread! When I get nervous sometimes my body does things that I can't control, like muscle spasms, for example, and I don't like anything else drawing attention to me since I'm obviously physically "different."

Needless to say, I was very nervous on Friday when I was about to leave my house to go to the college, but I wasn't going to let Lacee down, especially since she's been such a wonderful, loyal friend to me since my accident. My nervousness melted away once I got into the lecture hall and started talking. (I had a little microphone attached to my shirt, and it actually worked really well and I know everyone could hear me.)

As I said, public speaking is something that I enjoy and I was glad that I could talk to these students. My mom told me that there's a good chance that I said something to the students that will impact them and that they will remember for years to come. I'm not sure if this is true or not, but any nervousness or discomfort that I felt was well served if I can help teach future nurses things about compassion and how to be better and nurses.

All in all, it was a great experience and I'm sure I will be doing it again in the future.... especially if Lacee has anything to do with it! ;)

Damaged goods

In my last post I wrote about my sadness over not being a mother and knowing that I won't have that opportunity in this life. I also wrote about not liking to write about tender feelings such as this because I don't want to make other people feel uncomfortable, or like I'm coming across as bitter or like I'm trying to get pity from people. Nonetheless I'm going to write about something else that causes me sadness and disappointment. I'm lonely, as I imagine most single people are. What makes these feelings worse is that I know how wonderful I am! At the risk of sounding full of myself, I know that I would be such an amazing wife if I were able-bodied because I'm the type that would want to be the kind of wife who likes to cook and clean, be a stay-at-home mom, run the household and things like that.

However, even though I'm an amazing person on the inside, I don't get a second look in the dating/marriage arena since I'm "damaged" on the outside. I'm basically a dented can of peaches! When you're shopping at the grocery store you pick the beautiful, normal canned goods and disregard the damaged, dented cans, even though what's inside of them is still good! (You know you do!)

I guess if I were to get married it would take a very special person to love me enough to be able to get over the fact that I'm physically "damaged" and to know that we wouldn't have a traditional life/marriage. I suppose they would just have to love the person that I am on the inside enough to realize that one day we WILL have that "normal" life together in the next life when we've both been resurrected.

I'm happy and positive and I truly know how to live joyfully, even in the midst of trials. I guess if somebody would want a happy life and marriage, even if it weren't "traditional," then I would be the girl for them! For now I'm content enough to stay joyous, even if that means being single!

Thoughts about babies and motherhood

Now that I'm at the age where I would be having children if I were married sometimes it hurts to think about not being a mother. There are so many things that I'll never be able to do and experience due to being paralyzed, and this is one of them. Almost every system in a paralyzed person's body is compromised except your reproductive system, so although I could still technically have a baby, I no longer have the desire.

First of all, I physically can't take care of myself, let alone a baby, so if I did have a child people would have to take care of my child as well as myself. This would be even more work for my family, friends and caregivers. Secondly, I would never want a baby that I couldn't hold and take care of myself. It would be excruciatingly painful to witness, especially when the baby was old enough to prefer other people instead of me. I'll just have to wait for the day in my next life when I am able to have children.

Here's a list of some other things related to pregnancy, motherhood and babies that I'm disappointed that I'll never be able to experience:

• Making the decision with my husband about how many children we want and deciding when it's time to start our family.
• Finding out the exciting news that I'm pregnant and telling my husband and family.
• Experiencing the changes that pregnancy bring to your body, both good and bad.
• Feeling the baby move inside me.
• Finding out the sex of the baby, whether I chose to have an ultrasound or wait for the delivery of the baby. (I don't know which I would choose because I think it would be so neat to wait until the delivery to find out the sex of the baby, but on the other hand, it would be so hard for me to be patient for nine months!)
• Experiencing child birth. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I would want to try natural childbirth at least once simply for the fact that I would want to know what women have gone through for thousands of years. Of course I've never been in labor, but I think I could/would do it. :)
• Experiencing that first mother/baby connection where your eyes meet and you realize that you've never loved anything more.
• Choosing a name for the baby. Baby names are one of my favorite topics to talk about with people; I think it would be so fun to be able to name a child.
• Being able to nurse my baby.
• Having a child that resembles my husband or myself, or was a mixture of the two of us. I would really want a little girl that looked like me. :)
• Being able to watch my child change and grow, develop and learn new things.
• Being able to teach my child things. I think this would be so exciting to know that I was the one who helped them learn whatever the skill was.

I hesitate to share these tender feelings, because I never want to come across as a bitter person, or like I'm trying to get pity from others. And I don't want my readers to feel uncomfortable. However, these are normal, natural feelings that I have, so I feel like it's okay to acknowledge them and write about them. I want people to know that I'm still human, even though I'm usually outstandingly joyful.

The lows: fortunately few and far between, all things considered!

One of the highlights of my time at Shepherd Center was when I had a visit from my friends Adam, Rick and Kelly. As you can imagine, I was quite lonely since I was so far away from all of my family and friends. The visit from my friends meant so much to me and I was so excited to have them come. They drove down Friday, spent the entire day with me on Saturday and a couple more hours with me on Sunday morning before they drove back home. I so enjoyed being able to show them the rehab facility and the different things I'd been up to. This visit really lifted my spirits and it was just what I needed to get me through the next few weeks of rehab before being able to come home.

Despite having to go through a lot of things at rehab that I didn't like for various reason, I always tried to maintain a positive attitude and to be pleasant all of the time. I always thanked the nurses and therapists that cared for me, and I even thanked the techs (nurses aides) that weren't always so nice to me. (A lot of the techs seemed to have bad attitudes, probably from being overworked and under paid.) I knew that all of the things I was learning and going through were for my benefit, so I always tried to participate and be a good sport, even when I didn't really want to. All this being said, I did have a few low or sad times during rehab. Here are a few instances:

One thing that was particularly difficult was having lost all of my physical independence. In one swift move I'd gone from being an independent, self-sufficient young woman to now being no more physically independent than an infant. This was so frustrating and often humiliating, and I didn't like it! Here's an example: One evening when I was getting back to bed I found out that my pants were soaked with urine because the balloon that held my catheter securely in my bladder had ruptured, so the catheter had come out. I was so embarrassed to have basically "wet my pants." 19 year old adults don't wet their pants... backspaceor at least most don't/shouldn't. Of course this wasn't my fault, but I felt so humiliated that all I could do was cry. Fortunately, I had a wonderful nurse that evening that didn't make me feel badly for what had happened. She and my mom worked together to make everything right again.

I didn't often look in the mirror, but when I did it was a rude awakening. I didn't even recognize the person I saw. I felt like an ugly little girl and I wondered if I would ever feel pretty again. Before my accident I'd been a beautiful young woman (although I didn't fully appreciate how pretty I'd actually been until after my accident...after my looks had seriously changed for the worse.) As superficial as it sounds, it was very difficult for me to feel like I looked so awful.

These days my mom tells me that I used to be pretty on the outside, but now I'm pretty on the inside. (She isn't implying that I wasn't pretty on the inside before, or that I'm not pretty on the outside now, but she notices a change in my beauty, as do I.) I know I'm being petty since I could look far worse than I do now, especially considering the fact that I could've been disfigured in my accident, but I have to admit that I do miss looking pretty the way I used to, especially since I never fully appreciated my looks when I had them.

A few pictures of the "pre-accident" me:

The after accident me:

Me in rehab. Even though I didn't feel pretty at all, I always tried to smile in every picture. Whenever I look back at pictures from rehab, I realize how far I've come since then, and that makes me feel happy.

If you notice in all of the pictures of me from rehab, I have something taped to the left side of my glasses. I had double vision after my car accident. The patch on my glasses lens was to hopefully strengthen my eyes so that they would be able to focus together again. As ridiculous a it looked, it made it easier to see if I was only seeing one of everything, instead of two.

Another thing that frustrated me was to never be able to get comfortable. I was always uncomfortable, whether I was lying in bed, or sitting in my wheelchair. Although I was sometimes more comfortable than at other times, I never felt completely comfortable and I was always in some sort of pain or discomfort. My neck muscles were very weak on the right side of my neck (since that's the way my neck broke) so my head always leaned/listed to the right. No one seemed to ever be able to position my head in a way that was comfortable, and this was very frustrating. (My neck muscles have gotten stronger since that time, but it's still impossible for me to hold my head up straight.)

The absolute worst time of day was when my mom would leave for the evening. (I've already said that if I would've had things my way, I would've wanted my mom to stay with me 24/7, but I knew that it was important that she have a little time for herself, especially since she was devoting so much of her time to being with me.) I got so lonely in the evenings, and it was tough to not have someone with me who could help me get comfortable or do things for me that I obviously couldn't do for myself. My mom usually left for her apartment around 7 PM. I always worried about my mom taking a cab to her apartment since the apartment wasn't in the best part of town. So, when she would get safely back to her apartment she would call the telephone in my room and let it ring several times so that I would know that she had gotten home safely. I always felt better when I heard my telephone ring so I knew she was safe.

More to come...

More about rehab...

The patient census at Shepherd changed often, but for the most part when I was at Shepherd there were usually between eight and 10 patients in the young adult group. (There was an adult group of patients and a young adult group. Shepherd didn't really accept patients who were younger than 12.) I was the only girl and the only quadriplegic for most of my seven weeks at Shepherd. The rest of the patients in the teenage group were boys who ranged in age from about 14 to 17. They were injured in various ways; one was injured in a bicycle accident, another was injured by a gunshot wound and I know there was at least one other car accident. Another girl was admitted about a week before I went home, and she was a C1 quadriplegic (that's as paralyzed as you can get...I am a C2). She had been stabbed by her boyfriend. She was 21 and had a little girl; I remember feeling so badly for her and her daughter.

My favorite part of the day at rehab was when the mail cart came through...usually between 4 and 5 PM. My family and friends were so good about remembering me and keeping in touch with me. I got lots of mail/packages, and it made me so happy to have my mom read the cards and letters to me. I also had a speaker telephone in my room, and although I couldn't talk loudly enough for my friends/family to hear me, I could talk to them through my mom, and hear their responses. (I would mouth things to my mom for her to tell the person on the other end of the phone, so I was able to talk to people that called in a roundabout.) The sound of their voices was so heartwarming!

I got so sick of eating the same hospital food every week. I was still getting supplemental feedings via my feeding tube every night, so if the food on my dinner tray didn't appeal to me, then I just ate however much or little I wanted, and I knew that I wouldn't be under nurished with the nightly tube feedings.

This leads me to another part of the day that always cheered me. Like clockwork, every evening around 7 PM, a lady would come down the hall with a cart of snacks and yell, "snack cart!" At first I wasn't really interested in eating anything from the snack cart, but as my appetite returned, I looked forward to getting some sort of treat...usually chips. Knowing that the snack cart would come around every evening gave me something to look forward to, especially if dinner hadn't been appealing!

I had an hour of physical therapy and an hour of occupational therapy every weekday. My mom and I were taught different stretches for my arms and legs called "range of motion" exercises that we needed to do on a daily basis so that my muscles would stay limber and not get contracted. Another thing that I'd sometimes do during my hour of occupational therapy would be to paint with my mouth. The purpose of this was to be a form of exercise for my neck so that I could gain more strength in my weak neck muscles. A paint brush was taped to a mouth stick (something I held in my mouth) and then I would gently glide the paint brush over paper. My occupational therapist obviously had to be right there with me so that she could reposition the easel that held my paper, and also dip my paint brush when it ran out of paint. The pictures I painted were quite amateur, but painting did force me to stretch my weak neck muscles. My occupational therapist, Rashida, and myself with one of the pictures I painted

My occupational therapist, Rashida, and myself with one of the pictures I painted.

Painting of Shepherd Center's "helping hands" logo (left).

Recreational therapy was another thing I was required to participate in while at Shepherd Center. The purpose of this was to take outings into the community so that the patients could learn how to tackle the logistics of go out in public as a disabled person, which is easier said than done. The first outing I took was to the mall, and had lunch in the food court. After lunch I went to see Cheaper by the Dozen at the mall's movie theater. My mom came with me, as well as my entourage of nurses and therapists. (It truly was an entourage, because five or six Shepherd employees accompanied my mom and me.)

I hated my outing! I wasn't used to being stared at and being so different, so it was a horrible feeling to have all eyes on me. It wasn't until I was in the dark movie theater that I started to relax. I realized that this was my new reality, so I better get used to it, but I didn't like it, and was so relieved to get back to my room at Shepherd. 

My first venture into the world as a disabled person.

Remembering Dad

Yesterday was the 11th anniversary of my dad's death. When I tell people that my dad is dead it's always kind of uncomfortable. Not for me, but for the other person because it's like  they've stumbled onto a taboo topic, that they feel they shouldn't talk about. But it honestly doesn't bother me to talk about my dad at all.

January 17, 1999 was a Sunday (just like it was yesterday). My dad got up and took a shower because he wanted to go to church. My mom noticed how weak he seemed, so she asked him if he was sure he wanted to go to church, and he said he did. I went to church with my mom and dad, my older sister Kristin and my two younger sisters Laura and Chandra. (We were the only girls still living at home at this time.) My older sister Sharon and her husband Spencer were in town visiting, so they came to church with us as well.

Dad was tired and weak, so my mom and Sharon decided to take him home after the first meeting at church. When my mom and Sharon got Dad home, he collapsed as he was walking in the garage door to the house. Mom and Sharon tried to pick up Dad to get him to the couch, but they couldn't lift him. My mom ran over to our neighbor's house, and our neighbor helped my mom and Sharon get Dad onto the couch. Dad was dying. (Although, it's not quite clear when he took his final breath since dying usually happens in a process, instead of instantaneously.)

The rest of us were still at church (my brother-in-law and my three sisters) and my Bishop came into the room where the teenage girls were meeting and called Kristin, Laura and me out into the hall. He told the three of us that he'd just gotten off the phone with my mom and she said that my dad had just passed away. We went and got my younger sister Chandra from Primary (the children's organization) and my brother-in-law Spencer drove us home.

The drive home was silent -- no talking, no crying, just an awkward silence. We all knew that the end of our dad's life was near (he'd been battling pancreatic cancer for the past eight months), but I think we were all in a mild state of shock. The end of his life had finally come. As odd as this sounds, I was actually happy that Dad had finally gone home. After seeing him suffer and endure so much pain for months and months, I knew that he was finally pain-free.

When we got home we walked in the garage door and my dad's lifeless body was laying on the couch. I didn't look at him, I just quickly turned the corner, walked upstairs and changed my clothes. I'm pretty sure my other sisters did the same thing, and then we timidly crept downstairs. My mom, Sharon and Spencer were sitting in the family room with my dad, and one by one, we filtered into the family room. I sat on the couch opposite to the one where Dad was lying and sat between my older sisters Sharon and Kristin. It took several minutes before I could bare to in dad's direction, but after I did a few times it wasn't scary at all.

A short amount of time passed (maybe 30 minute to an hour) before the mortician and his team arrived with a hearse to take Dad's body away. The rest of the day had a hollow sort of feeling to it, although it also seemed like a normal day in many ways, too. Anyway, that's how the events took place on the day Dad died.

I don't have many pictures of just my dad and myself since I grew up in a large family and it seems like there was always several family members in every picture. Here are two pictures of me with my dad. The first one is of my sister Laura and me on my dad's back when I was in kindergarten (I'm the one in the dark blue sweater), and the second picture is of me and my sister Kristin with our dad a few months before he died (I'm the one on the left):

I think about my dad often, especially on the anniversary of his death. I have so much love, respect and admiration for my dad because of how he lived his life. He was raised in an emotionally abusive home, and he worked hard to overcome the issues that resulted from that. My dad wasn't a perfect man, but he was constantly improving and trying to change for the better.

I dream about my dad all the time, and one of my recurring dreams is that he's come back to life. My dad was very into technology and computers when he was alive, and I often dream that he's come back to life and I'm introducing him to all of the new technological gadgets and advancements that didn't exist when he was alive. (Like DVDs, iPods, digital cameras, cell phones, etc.)

Part of the reason it doesn't bother me to talk about my dad is because I know I will see him again someday. I know that life goes on and that death is truly only the beginning. I'm just trying to live my life in a way as to make both of my fathers proud -- my Heavenly Father and my biological father.

Learning a new normal

In my last post I wrote about leaving for rehab in Atlanta with my mom. It was important that I go to rehab so that I could learn to live as a disabled person, and also so that my mom and I could learn how to take care of my specialized needs, so that I could have the best quality of life possible.

We left for my rehabilitation at Shepherd Center on Wednesday, January 7, 2004. I had to spend my first few days in the facility's ICU since I was a ventilator dependent patient. During this time a physical therapist came to see me as well as one of the wheelchair technicians. They got a temporary wheelchair ready for me that I could use while I was in rehab. This wouldn't be my permanent wheelchair, but it would be the chair I would use while in rehab. (I would ultimately have my own chair built for me and it would be customized and personalized to suit me and my preferences. I had choices between different things like various headrests, armrests, backrests, and of course, color.)

The real work in rehab started the Monday after I arrived. I started a "weekday routine" which started at 7 AM each morning when the techs (nurse's aides) came in to give me a sponge bath and get me dressed. No more hospital gowns, which is what I had been wearing for the past seven weeks while in the ICU. I was no longer able to dress myself since I couldn't move any of my body parts from the neck down, so the techs had to physically dress me. I was a grown adult, so this was easier said than done and it involved a lot of pulling, tugging and rolling my body from side to side to get the clothes on. I no longer wore any sort of collar or brace around my delicate neck, so I hated having to have my body turned from side to side and moved back and forth because it hurt my weak neck.

Every day I had an hour of occupational therapy and an hour of physical therapy. I enjoyed getting out of my room and going down to the gym where the patients had therapy. I still couldn't talk, so it was frustrating trying to have any sort of conversation with anyone because it was very difficult for people to read my lips. I really enjoyed my occupational therapist, Rashida, because she was young (26) and had gone to occupational therapy school at Washington University in St. Louis. Not only did we both have a connection to St. Louis, but we had several other things in common, too. Talking to her made me feel normal.

There were also classes that my mom and I went to. In these classes we were taught about spinal cord injury (sci) and the effects that spinal cord injuries have on the body. We were taught the importance of skin care and turning/repositioning the body every few hours to make sure that I wouldn't develop pressure sores (or bedsores, as they are most often called). I lost all bowel and bladder functioning after my accident, since the muscles required to go to the bathroom were now paralyzed. We learned different ways people could take care of these needs, depending on whether you were male or female, and what your level of injury was. We also learned the best way to do a bath in bed and also the easiest way to wash my hair. None of these things were exactly fun to learn and figure out, but since I wasn't going to be getting any better, these things were necessary to learn so that I could have the most comfortable, healthy and productive life possible.

I also had assistive technology classes where the patient's were shown some of the different types of assistive technology available to help disabled patients do different things, depending on what their limitations were. Since I still wasn't able to talk at this time, voice recognition programs for things like computers weren't an option for me. There was a system on one of the computers called a Darci system, where you hold a special sip and puff straw in your mouth, and then you would be able to write words through Morse code. Each letter is made up of a series of dots and/or dashes in Morse code, and to make a dot you had to gently sip on the straw, and to make a dash, you would gently blow or puff through the straw. Making each letter involved several sips and/or puffs to make the different dot/dash combination for each letter.

Here's an example of how you would type out the name Heather using this system: H: .... (four short sips on the straw), E: . (one short sip), A: .— (one short sip and one short puff), T: — (one short puff), H: .... (four short sips), E: . (one short sip), R: .—. (one short sip, one short puff, one short sip). As you can see, it was quite a tedious process trying to make just ONE word, let alone an entire sentence. The process was time-consuming, but it got easier and faster the more I did it. Although it was painfully slow, it was something I could do all on my own. A small peace of independence.

Here I am using the Darci system to type an email.

Leaving for Shepherd Center

After my accident my body had changed in so many ways, and it was imperative that I go to a rehabilitation hospital that specialized in spinal cord injury so that I could learn to live as a paralyzed person, and so my mom could learn how to care for me. At that time there were two model facilities that specialized in the kind of care I needed: Craig Hospital in Denver, Colorado, and Shepherd Center in Atlanta, Georgia. I've already written about the battle my mom faced with our health insurance company, since the insurance we had at the time didn't want to have to pay to send me to a specialized facility. They basically told my mom that I could get the care I needed at any rehab facility or nursing home...not true! Although it was after open season for switching insurances, my mom was able to switch health insurance to a company that was willing to pay to send me where I needed to go for rehab. That was such a blessing and made all the difference.

I really didn't want to go far away to rehab, but I knew it was a necessary step that I had to take to achieve my ultimate goal, which was living at home. Since each case is different, I wasn't sure how long I'd have to stay at the rehab hospital, either, but my mom was coming with me, so I knew I'd be okay with her by my side.

I dreaded leaving my friends because I didn't know how long it would be before I would see them again. Leaving my friend Adam was especially difficult. He and I were both managers at the movie theater and had worked together for a couple of years. We'd started dating in 2002, and dated for several months, but ultimately broke up in February of 2003. We were different religions, and neither of us were willing to compromise what we wanted when it came to religion, so we broke up. It was initially very painful, but after the awkward romantic feelings lessened, we were able to maintain a friendship. We'd known each other for several years, and had became each other's best friend. We usually worked the same shifts at the theater and would hang out with each other when we weren't working. We saw each other nearly every day and we talked on the phone every night.

Adam was devastated when I had my accident, as I would have been if our situations had been reversed. I was in the ICU at Barnes for seven weeks, and Adam came to see me every day, with the exception of two days. He was an amazing source of support, and his visits did so much for my spirits. Having my two best friends (Mom and Adam) there with me every step of the way was one of the things that kept me emotionally strong. As much as I dreaded leaving my friends and family, Adam was definitely the person I was going to miss the most. Knowing that it would be weeks or even months before we would see each other again was excruciating. I still couldn't talk, so telephone conversations weren't even an option, either.

I was flooded with visitors the day before my mom and I left for rehab at Shepherd Center. Everyone wanted to come see me off and wish me good luck. My mom left early that afternoon so that she could go home, pack, and finish the other preparations and arrangements she was making so that she could come with me. My friend Lacee (from nursing school and the movie theater) went over to my house that evening to help my mom pack the things I would need for rehab. I gave my mom a list of some of the things I wanted to take, and she and Lacee did the rest.

Most of my friends that came to visit me that last day in the ICU left around nine in the evening, but my friend Adam and our friends Rick and Kelly (who we had worked with and often hung out with) stayed later. Rick and Kelly left around 11 and although I would miss them a lot, I was glad they left so that I could have a little alone time with Adam to tell him goodbye. As soon as Adam and I were alone we both started crying. The thought of leaving my best friend made me so, so sad. Adam stayed with me for a couple more hours, but then he left around 1 AM, since he had school the next day. Watching Adam walk out of my hospital room was terrible, and our friendship would never be the same from that point on.

My mom arrived at the hospital early the next morning—Wednesday, January 7, 2004. At nine o'clock the flight team that was taking my mom and me to Shepherd Center arrived. I was moved from my hospital bed to a stretcher, and then I was bundled up because it was very cold outside. The hallway was lined with different hospital employees who'd cared for me the past seven weeks, and came to see me off and wish me luck.

It was cold outside, but since it had been seven weeks since I'd been outside, I welcomed the fresh air on my face. It was very refreshing! My mom and I took a 20 minute ambulance ride to the airport hangar where the small commuter plane that would take us to Shepherd Center was located. Before no time at all my mom and I were packed into the plane and we took off. I'd only flown on an airplane one other time in my life, and that was when I went to Washington D.C. for a one day class trip my junior year of high school. The flight to Shepherd Center took about 2½ to 3 hours, and then there was a 45 minute drive by ambulance to get to Shepherd Center.

Since I was a ventilator dependent patient I had to spend my first two days in Shepherd Center's ICU, just to make sure I was stable. Two days later on Saturday afternoon I was moved to the regular patient floor. I was in a two person room, but luckily I was the only patient in the room. Shepherd Center owned a few small apartments where the family members of the patients could stay for free, and that's where my mom stayed during my time in rehab. When my mom left that Saturday evening to go to the apartment, I was overwhelmed with loneliness. It was a Saturday night and I should have been working at the movie theater or hanging out with friends, but instead I was lying in a hospital bed in Atlanta, Georgia, unable to move and so far away from being and feeling normal. I started to cry for one of the first times since my accident. My nurse came into my room and demanded to know why I was crying. I tried to tell her that I just wanted to be left alone, but I still couldn't talk, and she couldn't read my lips. The frustration of not being able to communicate just made things worse. That was probably one of the worst nights of my life.

I couldn't wait for Mom to arrive at the hospital the next morning. She usually arrived every morning between 8 and 8:30, and would stay with me all day until about 6 or 7 in the evening. If I would've had it my way, I would've wanted my mom to stay with me 24/7, but I knew how important it was that Mom have some time to herself so that she could keep her strength up so that she could continue spending each day with me. A few days after that lonely Saturday night I was moved to a different room—a single patient room. Most of the rooms in the hospital held between two and four people, but I was one of the lucky few who got my own room.

I didn't like having to be away from all of my friends and everything I knew and was used to, but I was grateful to be in a good rehab facility. I knew that I was going to have to stay for anywhere from four weeks to three months, so I decided that I would continue to have a positive attitude so that I could get the most out of rehab that I possibly could so that I could go home as quickly as possible.

What I was feeling at the time

Although I was fully aware of my condition, I wasn't fully able to comprehend how it would impact the rest of my life. This was a blessing because I think I would've been completely overwhelmed if I'd known then just how drastically different my life would be. One thing I remember thinking was, "Am I really never going to shower again?" Of course, this was the least of my problems, but it was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I would never shower again.

I also realized my nursing career was over before it had ever really begun. I was now the patient! Although it had taken me a while to decide what I wanted to study in college and "what I wanted to be when I grew up," I was completely committed to being a nurse.

My ultimate dream was to be a wife and a mother. It's not a glamorous dream, exactly, but it's what I'd always wanted most out of life, and I assumed I would have it. I didn't think anything would ever get in the way of that dream, either. In my mind it was just a given. [The loss of this dream didn't really sink in until the following May when my sister Sharon was in town visiting. She had two girls at the time and when I saw her mothering her own children, I started to cry because I could see in front of me what I'd never have. Although I was devastated at the time, this is something I have accepted, and it really doesn't bother me anymore. It's given me a lot of empathy for any woman who can't have children, or who has fertility problems.]

If I can't have children of my own, truly the next best thing is being an aunt. I dearly love my nieces and nephews, and I'm so glad to have them as part of my life. All of my sisters understand the importance of families, and they are all on their way to having relatively large families.

Even though I knew my "normal" life was over, and I would forever be disabled, I was still happy and still in good spirits everyday. The nurses in the ICU were wonderful and they took such good care of me. My sister Sharon said that I had the ability to charm anyone who was around me long enough. I'm not sure if this was the case or not, but the nurses genuinely seemed to like me and enjoy taking care of me. The feelings were very mutual, because I enjoyed the nurses just as much as they seemed to enjoy me.

The thing I enjoyed most at this time were the visits from my family and friends. The outpouring of love from my friends was overwhelming and it truly sustained me at a time when I definitely needed extra support. I had a steady stream of visitors and I was never left alone. Visiting hours started at 11 AM, and I watched the clock and expectantly awaited the arrival of my mom each day. My face would light up with a smile when she walked into my room and it was wonderful to have her near me, even if we were only watching TV or sitting side by side. My mom would leave for home every afternoon around 4 PM because she still had responsibilities at home to take care of; most importantly, still being "Mom" to my two younger sisters, Laura and Chandra. I never liked it when Mom left, but I knew it was important that she have time to take care of her other responsibilities.

In the evenings is when my friends would take over. Most of my friends were in school and/or working, so they would visit me in the evenings. The visits from my friends made it bearable to be without my mom. (It would've been a lot harder for me to say goodbye to my mom every afternoon if I knew I was going to be alone all evening.) Spending time with my friends made me feel "normal" at a time when my life was quite the contrary. You are only allowed two visitors at a time in the ICU, but after the nurses got to know me and my family and friends, I was able to bend the rules and have a roomful of visitors. Friends and family made all the difference.

I'm not a teenager anymore!

My sister Chandra and I were hanging out the other night, and the Teen Choice Awards were coincidentally on, so we watched them. While watching the awards I realized how old I'm getting (I turned 25 earlier this summer)! I enjoyed watching the awards, but I found a lot of what I was watching juvenile.

However, I couldn't help wondering what TV shows and young celebrities I would be in to if I were a teenager right now. I'm sure I would have a crush on boys like Zac Efron, Chace Crawford and the Jonas Brothers. I also bet I would want to watch popular teen shows that are on TV right now, like Gossip Girls, 90210 (the new remake), The Secret Life of the American Teenager, etc. I'm sure my parents wouldn't allow me and my sisters to watch these shows and ones like them because of the content in them! Anyway, I was just wondering what I would be like if I were a teenager today, instead of 10 years ago.

Monkey bars and "The Soloist"

When my sisters and I were young we used to play on the jungle gym in our back yard. I remember my mom cautioning us to be careful on the monkey bars because if we fell off we could break our neck and be paralyzed. My mom always said that becoming paralyzed was probably just about the worst thing that could happen to a person.

Last night I watched the movie "The Soloist" with Robert Downey Jr. and Jamie Foxx. It was wonderful! I thought the acting was fantastic, and it was a true story, so that made the movie even better. The rough gist of the movie is that Nathaniel (Jamie Foxx's character) was a very gifted musician, and he went to Juilliard, but dropped out after two years because he was a schizophrenic and couldn't live a normal life.

20 or 25 years later, Nathaniel was still suffering from schizophrenia and was now homeless. Robert Downey Jr.'s character, Steve Lopez, a reporter for the LA Times, finds Nathaniel and befriends him. He starts writing a very successful newspaper column about Nathaniel while trying to help him get his life back on track.

Anyway, I don't want to say too much more about the movie, but I just thought it was really great. You might be thinking what my story about monkey bars and this movie have in common, so I'll explain. I have to disagree with my mom's thought that breaking your neck and being paralyzed is the worst thing that could happen to a person. I feel incredibly blessed to have a normal mind. After seeing how mental illness ravaged Nathaniel's life and his family, I much rather live as a quadriplegic than a person who is riddled with delusions and voices screaming lies in my head. To me, there are afflictions that are far worse than being paralyzed.