#30DAYSROLLING DAY 2/30 Reflections on the 30th anniversary of my injury
Being told that I had broken my neck and drowned and that I would never walk again felt like a death sentence to me.
At the beginning of the day I was a fiercely independent, active, and confident young woman.
Excited to be performing in the end of year school production of Mary Poppins the following night.
Excited to have recently done my orientation and gotten my uniforms to Hurlstone Agricultural High School, the selective high school where I would continue working towards my dream of becoming a vet.
Proud of my athletic achievements for the year – being the pitcher in the champion softball team, being the only girl in my soccer team and getting to rep athletics for every distance from 100m to the cross country (would have done even better without asthma too!).
At the end of the day I ended up in Intensive Care at Royal North Shore Hospital after an ambulance to Campbelltown Hospital, a helicopter trip to Westmead Hospital and the final snail-paced ambulance there.
The place I would end up spending the next 7 months.
The first 8 weeks of that time flat on my bag with sandbags either side of my head.
For the first bit I did not know if I was awake or asleep as the morphine messed me up.
I felt like the roof was the floor, like I was falling forwards and the dreams were awful.
The dreams where I was doing the things I would normally have done then collapsing suddenly unable to walk.
Being unable to do anything for myself I lost all my privacy and all my dignity.
I felt like the whole world had seen me naked.
I felt like the whole world had seen my piss, shit, and vomit.
Being so young that stint of being immobile led to a massive growth spurt and calcium started to leave my bones and into my blood causing vomiting like I’d never experienced before.
What made it even worse was that I was unable to move, unable to turn my head.
I felt exhausted and humiliated.
I had way too much time to think during those first 8 weeks.
Almost all those thoughts were mourning what I couldn’t do any more.
I was devastated that I could no longer follow that dream of becoming a vet.
I was upset thinking that boys wouldn’t be interested in me again.
I was angry that I couldn’t play the sports that I loved so much.
I was so angry not being able to play sport that I made a pact with my 12 year old self that I’d never play sport again because I couldn’t play like I used to.
And I kept most of this to myself.
A cassette player and a handful of tapes were a welcome distraction from the physical and emotional pain at that time.
The tape I played the most was Faith No More’s “The Real Thing” and the track “Falling To Pieces” summed up how I felt.