It's a weird phrase: "life day," but that's what everyone calls it..and since I don't have an "accident-iversary," the term "life day" will have to do. At times, I wish it was just a single day...just 24 hours to reflect upon, celebrate, or just get it over with and not think about for the next 364 days. Instead, I have a whole week. A whole week to remember the hell I went through. A whole week to wonder if I could've done something to change the outcome...gone to the doctor quicker, insist on different tests to be run, anything to stop that virus from attacking every single bit of me (more accurately, stop the virus before my body decided to attack itself). But I'm not really big on "what-ifs." Luckily. It's still a strange week, though. I don't want to say it's a "sad" week or a "celebratory" week, because it isn't really either. It's just strange.
It's upsetting to think about how many things could be different if none of this had happened, but it's also amazing to think back to how far I've come...and then the obvious thought of how I actually almost died on this day two years ago. That's when I'm glad that my short term memory was lost from all the brain swelling. I don't remember the worst of it all (unfortunately, my friends and family do), but I don't necessarily have bad memories or painful memories of this day or this week. I just know what everyone told me happened (and, trust me, that's enough).
I know that on this day two years ago, I crashed. They almost lost me and I had to be put on the ventilator...I couldn't breathe on my own. That thought alone gives me goosebumps. I remember the process of learning how to breathe again and trying to get off that ventilator and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I don't remember my last breaths or the events that led up to needing a machine to do something for me that seems so easy and effortless.
Even just thinking about this time last year is weird. Things had changed so much in those first 365 days, but I think the changes in the last 365 days may be even more significant. That first year included milestones like: being able to feed myself, no longer being in a hospital, dressing myself, getting in and out of a car, etc. The second year has consisted of: learning how to drive, loading my own chair in and out of the car, finishing all my courses and starting back to clinic (seeing patients again!!), and living on my OWN in Philadelphia. The first year was me going from being so incredibly sick and learning how to move different parts of my body again--getting used to my new "normal." But this year has been about being "me" again. About being happy again. About not having anything holding me back anymore.
I can honestly say that I'm happy now. I tried to fake it before and put on the smile that everyone wanted to see, but I was sad. I wasn't back at school. I wasn't graduating with my friends. And I didn't feel independent. Now, I'm doing literally everything I did before. It may not be as graceful and certainly not in a timely fashion, but I'm doing it. My whole outlook on life and how I viewed my situation changed. I think that's how it is with any life changing event. I went from being in denial, saying I didn't need to order a wheelchair because I wasn't going to need it. Or that I didn't need to learn how to drive with hand controls because my legs were going to start working. To, now, figuring out ways to make my current situation work. I finally decided that I wasn't going to waste any more time waiting for things to improve. I was going to discover how to accomplish the things I wanted to now, in whatever way I needed to get it done. And it has worked (so far at least). I've always been afraid of failure. Afraid of not getting things right on the first try. But now, I realize that it doesn't matter how many times I have to do it, all that matters in the end is that I was successful. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot more to accomplish and a lot more to figure out. I hope that in 364 days, I'm able to sit down and write another blog about how much greater things are and how the difference between years one and two seem so small compared to years two and three.
I'll say it again, it's a marathon, not a sprint. This past year has gotten me a lot close to that finish line. My recovery isn't just physical. It has involved a lot more mental and emotional development than anything and I know the race isn't over yet.
