Out of nowhere, I got a virus that paralyzed me from the nose down and put me on the ventilator all in a mere 5 days. I was in various ICU's and rehab centers for the next 4 months, learning how to breathe on my own, talk again, and do daily functions like get dressed and feed myself. Many of you remember my posts about all of those struggles and small victories...if not, you can look back at the beginning of my blog just to see how much I had lost and how much I had to learn. Sometimes, I have to reread some of those posts in order to remind myself what I've accomplished.
With it being the night before the big move, I have a lot of things running through my head. There's definitely a lot of anticipation and excitement, but I'm also pretty nervous. I'm worried about things like: what if I can't find a handicapped parking space every night? what if I fall on the ground since I haven't perfected my floor transfers yet? what if things take me way longer than I think they will and I'm late to clinic every single day? how am I going to pump my own gas if there isn't someone at the station to help me?
I could keep myself up all night thinking of everything that could go wrong, so I'm trying to think about the excitement of being independent again instead. In all honesty, I've never ever lived completely on my own. In college and grad school, I always had at least one roommate, if not two, three or even four. I've never really been one to like being alone for long periods of time, but I think with all that has changed, maybe that has too. Not that I don't want to be around other people, but I think that the achievement of doing everything 100% on my own is the next thing on my list. It means that there isn't anything I can't do. It means that I've made it...I've gone from not being able to do anything at all (not even breathe on my own) to being able to live in a studio apartment in Philadelphia and finish my last year of optometry school independently.
I'm also reflecting on a lot this evening. I'm looking back over this summer as it comes to a close. I've gone to the beach, a few weddings with friends, countless breweries and wineries, learned how to adaptive sail, gone indoor skydiving, and attended another adaptive surf event with Life Rolls On. I'm also looking back on how much has changed over the past year, and reflecting on what life was like the last time I lived in Philadelphia. I can't wait to tell my friends and family that they can visit me in Philly again, but not in a hospital, like the last time they came to town! I'm also hoping that I can get involved with local adaptive sports programs and possibly visit newly injured patients at the rehab facility I attended.
I'm pushing back the feelings of anxiety and stress in order to focus on the possibility of what all I can accomplish next. There's no denying that I've been dealt a pretty crappy hand, but I'd like to think that I took it and made the most out of it. I didn't let things stop me, at least not for long. I used to think it was a little annoying when people called me an "inspiration." I know that sounds ungrateful, but when you hear it enough, it almost doesn't sound like a compliment anymore. I could be in the grocery store and a stranger would tell me I was inspiring just for getting out of my house and completing my daily tasks. I've spent a lot of time thinking about how to handle these comments. I think there's a difference between just saying "you're an inspiration" and saying "you inspire me to ___." When I hear it now, I try to remind myself it's a compliment and that if I inspire someone to do anything positive, then that's a good thing. Heck, I've accomplished a lot and if I was looking at my situation from the outside, I'd be the one saying I was inspired. I hope that after this move and after getting back into clinic, people with be inspired to do something...anything. If I can do all of this, other people can too.
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