The doctors told me it would be at least a year before I would be properly healed. I laughed at their timeline and convinced myself it would be 6-8 months at most. I’ve battle-crawled through my entire life. I’d be back in no time.
Then the infection set in and the possibility of losing my leg joined the party. My leg was eventually saved, but It would be months before I could resume rehab. Over half a year following the wreck and I had made almost no progress due to the complications.
After the infection was under control, it was time to move on to my wrist procedure. It had been postponed due to concerns with the previous infection. The last thing I needed was additional open wounds.
A year after the wreck, I learned a valuable lesson. Overwhelming physical pain does two things. It distracts you from the mental healing process while piling on the psychological baggage that goes unnoticed. The entire time I was learning how to walk and use my non-dominant hand, I believed my mind was strong… Until my body got stronger and became less of a distraction.
It was during the second year that I began to recognize my recovery would be even longer than I expected… But surely that would be it, right? Two years is a long-ass time to be down without work or the ability to be productive.
That’s when stage three made itself known. You see, the first year was focused on physical recovery. The second year was managing psychological trauma. The third year was the discovery of all the physical issues that have been waiting to manifest once all the previous detours were passed through.
Everything about my life has changed. Nothing is the same. I used to have a strong mind that improved with stressful situations. I had a talent for focusing under pressure and the ability to “do what needs to be done” -meaning cut out the bullshit and focus on the finish line. Now even the slightest hint at stress and my chest tightens up. The panic I feel drives me away from whatever was causing it. I choose flight over fight.
I’m only a few months away from the three year anniversary of my wreck and it feels as though I’m in a stalemate. A step forward in one form of recovery presents a step back somewhere else.
What was once viewed as a laughable option, social security disability, has become a harsh reality. I translate being unable to return to work as a life failure – yet it also feels like a blessing. It’s easier to accept my situation and focus on improving what I can for a better quality of life instead of being distracted by a daily 9-5.
There’s so much left to work through. The idea of buying a schoolie and turning into a gypsy sounds better every day. I just want to run away.
Off The Rails 