I struggled with confidence until I was thirty-seven. At 37 I was in a head on car accident, struck by a vehicle going 107 mph. Left entirely broken and helpless from the injuries. For months I found myself in pain, stripped of all dignity and cemented in an existence with no control.
I had many broken parts. The worst the result of my right leg being cut off at the point of impact. That leg attached only by tendons above the knee. When I arrived via helicopter to Jackson Trauma Center their incomparable trauma team achieved an amazing feat in not only saving my life, but also saving my leg.
As surgeons worked to piece me together through surgery after surgery the only movement availed to me was a medieval torture contraption set at the end of my hospital bed. This brutal device kept my leg pedaling in perpetual motion 24 hours a day. The single reprieve during surgery. Pain and this contraption two constants while multiple repairs were made and parts sewn back together. Weeks into this the stitches did not hold up during one of the rotations. The perpetual agony machine ripped my skin apart the day after surgery #7. What was left of my knee was a gaping hole. Skin grafts and hamstring restructuring bolted into my future. My leg permanently stuck straight. The agonizing hours spent with that machine totally wasted. Fresh stitches no longer a worthy foe; the vicious contraption my nemesis. My recovery and life changed as a result of its barbaric ripping apart of my weary skin.
During this time, I was consigned within myself with little ability for distraction. I couldn’t go to work; couldn’t be a wife; couldn’t be a mom. I couldn’t move any of my limbs without inexpressible pain and only then within the constraints of the casts and contraptions medical teams were using to hold my original parts together. What was left was me in a hospital bed with limited range of motion week over week.
Introspection.
Four hurricanes swirled around me that year while I was in the hospital. My stillness in direct contrast to the frenetic movement and frantic pace of everyone who moved in and out of my orbit. A space, at times, in total darkness as the hurricane force winds thundered outside my Miami window. The hurricane shutters blocking out any light that could potentially peak through. On generator power, the hospital had to use my one allotted outlet for the perpetual motion torture machine.
What I found as agony engaged me is that at the core of my being is kindness. It’s who I am. Absent of everything except pain, in complete darkness, it was still important to me to be nice to the nurses. It was imperative to me to say thank you to the doctors, my family, the gurney transport guy, anyone who helped me at all. That list is a long one.
Being kind is fundamental to who I am. I discovered that regardless of the circumstances, kindness can be something that remains elemental. I like that about me. I became aware of the importance of who we are essentially. If at my center there is a heart that is kind that is enough for me. I lost the use of my right leg, but I gained the awareness of the value of my soul. I don’t regret the exchange at all.
What I also found there are more people than I deserve who value me as a human. I did not have an accurate perspective before the accident on how I mattered to people. When I looked into crying eyes, held hands, heard the words of the people who reached out to me I was astounded at the impact of my life on each of them.
My family asked to give us time at the hospital and space because the nature of the injuries and my condition were such that my family thought it not beneficial for me to have many visitors. Risk of infection, need to rest, number of surgeries I was going in and out of all complicated my ability to have visitors.
Yet, there were those that couldn’t stay away. They just showed up.
It didn’t matter if I was in my room they would come and leave little notes. My friends’ parents would come to sit with me. The timing of meals and my inability to move to where the staff may leave my food tray complicated my capacity to eat if I wasn’t in my room when the food was delivered. If I was in surgery, x-rays, or at the twice daily trips to the hyperbaric chamber I’d be wheeled back in and eventually see my food tray over in the corner of the room. If no one could bring it to me it would sit there uneaten. The staff would take it back out sometime in the night when I was asleep. Understanding this occurred and watching my weight plummet, people would come and drop off snacks that I could serve myself with my limited mobility. My family would bring me cases of Ensures. One friend drove almost every day to bring me a Diet Pepsi. If I wasn’t in the room I’d find a post it and a case of Diet Pepsi on my bed when my gurney came back into the room.
I had not had a McDonald’s meal for more than 17 years. I swear I saw a halleluiah chorus cascading from heaven when I was rolled in and I saw that white bag with the golden arches. The smell of the french fries brought tears of joy to my eyes. No note, just a bag on my bed and some fries. Anonymous affection.
The genuine relief, a crazy amount of happiness, profound reflection – people reacted to seeing me after the accident so sincerely and meaningfully it was impossible not to be changed. The dire nature of the event and injuries provided me a unique perspective. I was afforded the gift of a glimpse of what it may look like at my funeral. The people who would go, the sorrow, the loss left behind by the gap that was me. Some of the faces were surprises to me. The quantity humbling.
A new friend called confidence walked through my door.
People say to me things like I felt so sorry for you about the accident. It makes me sad you can’t bend your leg. I hate to see you like this. I can tell you being in pain sucked. Actually every single thing about the accident, and aftermath was a horror show. I also would rather be this Joy who can’t bend my leg than the Joy I was before who was unaware of my own worth.
Not trying to pull out my Sally Field, but it changed my life seeing how I matter to people.
What also changed was my awareness of the impact we can have just by letting people know right now how much they matter. What a difference we make when we show up. Our words. Our presence. Our actions.
Just show up.
I was left here for a purpose. My life spared to make a difference. For me, that difference may be in you.
If I love you and haven’t told you lately. I do.
If we’re friends and you don’t know how much you mean to me. You do.
If I miss you and you don’t know how much, I do.
I wouldn’t be me without you. For that, I’m eternally grateful.
purelyjoyous 