Mortality 101

(Originally published 02/27/08)

I think each of us gets a mental hotfoot sooner or later and becomes aware of his/her own mortality and strength. Some of us get crazier ones than others. I joke that God hits me with big stuff because I don't pay attention to little hints.

When I was twenty-two, after breaking my engagement and coming home, I was I was having a big old time -- lots of friends, parties, and craziness. One late March night I was driving home after stopping for a drink with my man of the moment after work and hit wet pavement and the next thing I remembered was intense pain and falling in and out of consciousness. I learned that the "white light" people talk about is a very real thing. It isn't frightening. It's actually rather comforting. I'd said my Hail Marys and Our Fathers and was ready to go meet my Maker (thus proving my contention that I have never been afraid of dying) when the police and emergency people finally arrived and transported me to the hospital.

At the hospital, I heard someone say, "We have to call her mother." I told them not to do that because she'd kill me. When after x-rays, they told me that I'd fractured my neck, I asked, "They shoot horses, don't they?" Eventually after calling in a neurosurgeon and orthopedist, they loaded me with painkillers put me in a private room in a weird bed called a Foster frame (which are no longer used, I’m told) with my head and neck immobilized with straps and fifteen pounds of traction that was to become an important part of my life. My mother finally arrived and sat next to my bed taking my being there personally and talking about how she didn't need any more troubles. Thank God I was too medicated to get too upset.

The interesting thing about a Foster frame is that it was designed to allow a patient to be turned and thereby avoid bedsores. They put a mattress board on top of me strapped it to the bed and flipped me over like a burger -- it was like being human sandwich. It scared the hell outta me when they did it and I screamed a lot at first -- eventually I'd sleep through it. After visiting hours ended and my poor beleaguered mother left, I heard footsteps and asked, "Who's there?" The answer came, "Me! And I have good news! When you get out of here, I'm gonna give you driving lessons!"

It was my good buddy Al, a rookie cop. He arrived bearing Heggy's chocolate and I didn't have the heart to tell him I was on a liquid diet. It was the first of many visits -- he stopped by every single day I was in the hospital and is my friend to this day. We don't hang out much these days but he's always good for a hug when I run into him at the grocery.

The next morning my mom was back when the orthopedist, a no-nonsense type with no sense of humor, came in and announced that I was going to have surgery that afternoon. No problem. I soon found out that what he didn't tell me an hour later when the nurses came in and said that in preparation, they had to shave my head. I threw what a Southern friend would call a Hillbilly fit! I'd spent months growing my hair longer and had just had it frosted. This upset my mom terribly and she really tried to console me as the nurses set about scalping me.

They trundled me to surgery where I discovered what the game plan was. They were going to surgically attach my traction by drilling holes on the sides of my head to surgically attach my traction to separate the two cervical vertebrae that were fractured so they would heal properly. I had to be awake albeit groggy for the surgery and was very, very scared. Afterwards, they gave me some mega painkillers so I'd sleep and the plastic surgeon went to work stitching up my left eye. He was good -- I don't even have a scar. I took some ribbing from friends though about the sloppy purple eyeshadow I had until I healed.

When I woke a few hours later, the man of the moment was there with flowers and serious concern in his eyes. Like Al, he was a daily visitor -- usually more than once -- and he and Al got into a friendly competition to see who could bring me the most stuff. I had everything from flowers and stuffed animals to liquor-flavored lollipops. After the word got out that was I in the hospital, there was a steady stream of visitors and paraphernalia. I told Mom we'd need a U-haul to get me home.

I finally got my surgeon's partner to sit down and tell me my prognosis. He said that it looked good but I would be in the hospital flat on my back for 10-12 weeks and have to wear a brace all summer. I told him to plan for 10 weeks because I had places to go and people to see. He chuckled and said that from what the nurses told him, I had plenty of people coming to see me.

A bit later a friend called and said she was coming to visit and asked me if I needed anything. I asked if she could bring a pen and a calendar. Perplexed, she brought them and I figured out what the date was that would mark 10 weeks and for the rest of my stay I told anyone who would listen when I was going home.

It was an exercise in pain and patience and fortunately, my friends were wonderful support. I don't think I ever went through visiting hours without someone stopping to visit. My room was a regular stop for my friends and the phone rang constantly and I became Information Central for visitors and callers: "Have you heard from Al (or Lynda or Joe)?" "Yeah, he called and said he'd be up at six." "Cool! I'll be up later."

They threw me a surprise party on my 23rd birthday and crammed twenty-two people in my little private room. Cake and presents abounded and I cried. My mother was stunned and amazed. I wanted to tell her, "Just because you don't like me, it doesn't mean no one else does." but I was good and I didn't.

My x-rays kept showing good improvement and I kept doing everything I could to stay focused on going home on the day I'd selected. One day the doctor came in and showed me an exercise he wanted to me to do with my knees. I asked why and he said if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to walk so I added that to my day.

I didn't sleep much -- not surprising since I was flat on my back or stomach all day -- so I read and thought a lot. The man of the moment got me a portable radio so Chicago and Simon and Garfunkel blared all day to the delight of the student nurses assigned to care for me. I was their guinea pig as they learned how to operate my bed.

Some days I got depressed and worried about the whole thing but it was then that I decided that if I gave up I would never get better so I kept joking with the doctors and nurses and my friends cracking them up when I asked, "Does my hair look all right?" And I never looked in a mirror until just before I went home. If I had, I think it would have set back my recovery.

Finally the day came when the man from the medical supply place came to measure me for my custom neck brace and the doctor informed me that I might just reach my goal. I told him that I was definitely was going home on the appointed day.

A couple weeks later he came in and told me that my films looked great and the nice man was going to come and fit me for my brace. They would be removing my traction and I would have a real bed! I would then have physical therapy and, if all was well, I could go home on Friday -- the day I'd designated!!!!

I got on the phone and called my mom and my friends with the news. My good friend Patty, an excellent hairdresser, promised she'd be up with a wig to cover my crew cut.

What a surprise it was to sit up for the first time in ten weeks! I got dizzy and had to lie back down. I was appalled at the big ugly brace I was going to be wearing for months but decided it beat the alternative. I wasn't allowed to walk until I'd been to therapy and the next day I passed that test with flying colors. It was nice to put on my own nightgown and robe after wearing a hospital gown for weeks. It was nice to be able to use a bathroom. It was nice to sit up, walk around, read, and eat almost like a normal person. Amazing how much we all take for granted!!!!
Friday morning, I hung around the nurse's station waiting for the doctor to arrive and release me. He actually smiled when he saw me and said, "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow . . ." I interrupted and delivered an emphatic "NO!!!!" He signed the release and gave me my scrips and orders and I called my mom who came to take me home.

It was a long summer with the damned brace on and my mother giving me a hard time if I wanted to go somewhere with my friends. After a month, I went for my check up and begged the doctor to send me back to work and give me permission to drive. He said yes to the first and no to the latter but only for another month. By September, I was back to pretty much normal but I'd changed in a lot of ways.

Life lessons do that and I had 10 weeks' worth.

Next week I'll be back with probably the biggest challenge I've ever faced in my life.

Happy Blogging!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kay