Missing Without A Trace (12 page)

I’d had surgery to close the deep laceration above my eye and another surgery to repair my left collarbone, which had been broken clean in half. It was still healing from the surgery and I wore a sling to immobilize my left arm, which the doctor told me not to move. It seemed as if all of my pain was concentrated at the center of my body, while the edges of my body—my sides—felt dead and numb, as if dosed with Novocain. I had several muscles—including three on my left hip—that had died and the doctor had to carve the muscles out of me, all the way down to the bone. After the fasciotomy, I had three more surgeries on my leg. Then, every two days, the doctor came to remove the wound-vac tape from my leg. The pain from this procedure was worse than anything I had ever felt and, at this point, that is saying something!

Several hoses tethered me down. In addition to the wound-vac hoses, I had a catheter as well as IVs that drowned me with a steady diet of medication. They forced much of this medication on me and it caused such nausea that I had no appetite, so then they added two anti-nausea medications to my growing list of pills and shots. It seemed as if they monitored my blood with blood draws every two hours, leaving me with only short naps in between. This was a hell of its own. Locked and alone in my car for eight days, I wished for someone to come. But, imprisoned in
a hospital bed, I just wished for some time alone so I could rest
.

Those weeks were a blur of pain medication and, through it all, I felt powerless and trapped. My caregivers told me what to take and when, and they would not even allow me to take my own vitamins. For someone as health conscious as I am, this was traumatizing to me. I felt even more powerless than I had in the car. Unable to move or to use my damaged, medicated mind, I was at the mercy of nurses. And, although the care I received in the hospital was exceptional, not all of the nurses were nice. Some of them, it seemed, didn’t like their jobs. They let it show. But I almost have to thank those nurses. More than anything, their attitudes and their way of doing things convinced me to take back control of my life. Before long, I wanted up and out. And, when I want something, I make it happen. It took about a week of trying and sweating and failing. With hard work and a lot of determination, I would take back my life
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Even as doped up as I was, I tried to sit up. I don’t remember how I did it, but I did, and then I felt like I was going to throw up and I was sure I was going to die. Still, I had a beautiful view of Seattle and, for that moment, I could see that people were still living their lives out there. It hit me that I wasn’t living my life. I wasn’t being productive. I wanted to get better so I could get back to my life. In this moment of clarity, I knew that I would do it. I would walk again. I realized that Tom was right—as usual—but I’m not going to tell him that!

“No matter what,” I told Tom, “do not allow me to quit!” I made him make a pact with me and he stuck to it. He was there, always there, and I drew strength from him. As long as he was there to shadow me and assist me, I felt safe. I knew that Tom wouldn’t be distracted and he would never let me fall. He wouldn’t get paged away at just the wrong moment, as the physical therapist had. The stability of knowing he would be there helped me cope with the reality that my life had become
.

We took it step by step. My first project was just to sit up but even this simple task was a great challenge for me. The first time I tried it, with
Tom’s help, I broke out in a cold sweat. Dizzy, I couldn’t continue. My muscles had been torn in the crash and, throughout my ordeal, they had lost even more strength, so I was extremely weak. But I had to keep working on it. It was the only way for me to improve my condition. If I didn’t push through the pain, no one else could do it for me. I always recognized that, no matter what the circumstances, there are just some things in life that we have to do for ourselves. Each time I tried to sit up, the effort made me break into a sweat, but I was determined! More than anything else, I needed to regain control of my life and the first step would be to retrain my body—to let my body know that my mind was in control
.

Of course, the pain was excruciating. Even through the constant mask of medications, the pain was almost unbearable most of the time. But, when I complained about my leg pain, Tom reminded me that it was okay, because feeling the pain meant that the nerves weren’t dead and I still had my leg. He was sure that I would walk again
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Sometimes, he was relentless in asking me to do more—and I hated him for it. I know, I asked him to push me, but did he have to be so good at it? When he pressed me, I could see the longing in his eyes and I suddenly realized how hard the whole ordeal must have been on him. Still, sometimes, I got to the point where I just wanted to yell, “No!” at him. That’s when he’d find a way to make me laugh. He could always make me laugh
.

It worked. Soon, I was able to sit up and, by the end of the next day, I could almost sit up without help. It’s strange to be so proud of accomplishing such a simple thing! By the third day, he asked me to repeat each motion more than once. “Can you do that once more for me?” he’d say, continuing to push me
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I always tried hard but, some days, I only succeeded with help from Tom. Being so close to him, I found great comfort in his scent but, when I looked at him, I realized that he was unkempt. Putting all his effort into my recovery and devoting every waking moment to my needs, he was
not taking care of himself. The evidence was plain on his furry face
.

Before long, I could sit up by myself, so then we set a new goal—sitting on the edge of the bed. The first time, I almost passed out because the pain was beyond anything I’d ever felt before and it scared me. Then, after a short rest, Tom gave me a generous helping of encouragement and asked me to try again, so I would. And, no matter how small my progress, Tom’s eyes lit up and made me to want to do more
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But I began to wonder if this would be our lives from then, on—me, trapped in a bed, with Tom chained to my side, not letting me give up. As I improved, I drew strength from the look of pride in his eyes and, before long, I didn’t want to let him down. When the doctor came in and saw me sitting on the edge of my hospital bed with Tom hovering nearby, a look of utter amazement flashed across the doctor’s face. It was more incentive for me to push myself
.

I had told Tom what I needed from him and he focused all his energy into making it happen. Almost a month after the accident, Tom and I started to work on standing. I thought I was going to die. For a moment, I was sorry I hadn’t. The pain was excruciating. I cried, straining over each movement with my teeth clenched to build my strength. But, almost an hour into that session, I stood by my bed as Tom supported me. One of my nurses did a double take as she walked by my room. She nearly tripped. On my third attempt, he asked me to go again. I started to notice that, the nearer I got to total collapse, the more I could do the next time
.

The next morning, Tom helped me stand and sit five times. Each session, he prodded me. “You can do more,” he’d say. I admit that, sometimes, I’d flash him a nasty look or balk at his suggestions, but he always reminded me that we’d made a deal and he was just keeping up his end of the bargain. As we went on, he would decrease the amount of support he gave me and, at the end of each session, he’d go and get me a reward for all my hard work. Since I suffer with depression, a therapist once told me that I needed to do things to make myself happy—which
should be my number one goal. When Tom brought me small rewards for working so hard, it helped, making me feel productive again. Jamba Juice smoothies—with an energy boost—were becoming my favorite as I went from sitting up to standing
.

I could hardly believe the look on Tom’s face the first time I stood up all by myself, and I got such a kick out of the nurses who walked past my room. Their heads whipped back in disbelief at the great progress I’d made in the hours since their last shift. One time, a crowd gathered to watch and I sucked all the strength I could from their wide eyed looks. As Tom steadied my walker, I stood for a few seconds before I sat back on the edge of my bed, and then I repeated the motion
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After that, we worked on taking my first steps since the accident. Threatening to give out, my legs were rubbery and protesting with pain like I had never felt before. But, as soon as I recovered, I was standing in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth and looking in the face of a stranger. Knotted in a swirl, my untidy hair stood straight up in the air. “This isn’t me,” I kept telling myself as I looked at the image of the stranger in the mirror
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Soon, I was getting out of bed and brushing my teeth without any assistance. I know that most people think that brushing teeth is such an easy task. Yes, most people take it for granted but, of course, I was not like most people. Before they give it a shot, they should try strapping on about five-hundred pounds and then try to brush their teeth. I think that might approximate what such a simple task was like for me, with the weakness in my legs and the missing group of muscles in my hip
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One time, I almost went down. I was showing off for Tom by trying to take a sideways step. It seemed simple at the time but I suddenly felt as if I’d been shot by a Taser. I was in so much pain! Tom flew across the room and caught me before I fell
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Day after day, we worked together. Finally, I could sit and stand without much assistance. Whenever we completed a certain number of
repetitions, we’d move on to something more demanding. Though every movement was slow, tiring and grueling, I kept my mind on my goal and Tom gradually pulled back, withdrawing his support so I had to rely on my own body more and more. With my mind coming back to normal and, finally, in self-control, I was determined to force my damaged body to regain control, as well. As much as I wanted my mind and body to be back on the same page, it was as if they were fighting a civil war, and both were determined to be the victor. The whole time, neither my body nor my mind would freely give an inch so, finally, I determined that I would have to join the battle and fight against two enemies
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The next phase of my workouts involved getting in and out of my wheelchair. I was always very cautious, but I had a good sense of my body and knew what I was capable of, so I never fell. My skill at getting into my chair improved and, finally, one day, Tom and I went for a push around the hospital. My tangled mass of hair stood straight up at the back of my head, but Tom still looked at me as if I was the most beautiful woman in the world. I could tell that he was proud of me, too, for all the work I was doing. That motivated me even more
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But, then, Tom had to go back to work. He worked all day and then came to see me in the evenings, bringing my dinner and some food for the next day. Then he went home to shower and sleep before going back to work again
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On his first night away, Tom called to tell me that it looked like some “confused burglars” had broken into our house. He said that, instead of stealing anything, these bungling burglars had left some things—a kitchen set, washer and dryer, bedroom set, tables and lamps. All of these things had come from Tom’s boss, Gary, who pulled the furniture from some of his model homes. He’d also had a fence built, made the first six payments on our mortgage, and paid Tom for the time he was at the hospital with me. Through everything, Gary had been there for us. Thanks to him, I would be able to return to a comfortable home—and have a bed to sleep in
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But being alone most of the day was a setback for me. Without Tom there to push me, I had to push myself. It was very scary for me
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Even though I was getting stronger, I felt more vulnerable because Tom wasn’t there to catch me. And I missed him. But all of these feelings steeled my resolve to be home by Christmas. To do that I had to prove myself to the rehab team, and I had to pass all their tests. I had to! I had made up my mind and, now, all I had to do was convince my body
.

Unaware of the extensive media coverage about her case, Tanya watched a DVD that Tom brought to the hospital. The DVD recapped some of the media coverage, including Tom’s appearances on media outlets. Though Tanya said it was incredibly sad, she also felt that it was incredible. Her story of survival reinforced her belief in the amazing power of God and she strongly believed that God played a part in her survival and recovery. She felt blessed.

Still, Tanya had a hard time. She still had no control over her left ankle, which drooped, getting in the way when she tried to take steps. Finally, the therapists made her a brace to keep her foot from dropping. It was an improvement, but walking was still a great challenge. “Many times, I almost fell backwards,” she said. “It was really traumatic to realize I didn’t have control of my body.” That was all she wanted—control over her own body and her own life.

After she was at Harborview for about a month, her care team noted that she was emotional and crying, so they asked the psychiatry team to evaluate Tanya for anxiety and depression. One of the physical therapists had pressured Tanya to stand and walk from her chair to her walker, without holding on to anything. Afraid that she would fall, Tanya felt that the therapist was pushing her too hard, so she refused to do it. In response, the physical therapist threatened to transfer Tanya to a nursing home if she didn’t try harder. Anxious about falling, Tanya refused to do it and refused to work with that therapist again. Dreading a bleak future in a
nursing home, she had cried after the altercation with the therapist.

Despite all of her operations, Tanya was able to stand and transfer into a wheelchair with little help, just two months into her recovery. From lying down to sitting up and from climbing out of bed to sitting in her wheelchair, Tanya worked as hard as she had every worked at the gym before her accident. “It was like the two-hour workout I used to do at the gym,” she said, “just getting to the bed or to the potty.” And then, already past the point of exhaustion, she still had to get all the way
back
to her bed.