Jason Street (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itwontstopme) wrote2008-12-21 10:01 pm
itwontstopme) wrote2008-12-21 10:01 pm
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on_thecouch | 31.1. Stop staring at me...
31.1. Stop staring at me…
There are two things I remember following my accident as clear as if it was yesterday. One, that there was no pain. I had crushed a vertebrae in my spine, yet there was no pain… there was no nothing. There was just a sense that I knew my lower abdomen and my legs were all there but I couldn’t feel them. I could see them. Body parts attached to me, but not even an itch or a tickle to tell my brain that they were connected to me. It was going to be okay, though. I really was going to walk again.
No, really. I was. Those first few days stuck in traction, braces, tubes, catheters, unmoving and stripped of any mobility, I had hope that it was really going to all be okay. Football was my one true love; there was no way one single tackle was going to take me down. I would sooner kill myself than let that happen. I could even handle the embarrassment of having to rely on nursing staff and my family for everything. Those first few days, I wasn’t bitter because I was going to get out of there soon. It was just a hitch in the road and I could handle it. I was the Quarterback of the Dillon Panthers and I was going to go on and play football at college because it was my absolute damn passion. God wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t.
Then the days started passing at a slow pace, because really, lying on your back and staring at either the ceiling or straight ahead of you isn’t conducive for time killing. Nothing changed. I was still immobile and I was still in a brace and still wondering if those were my legs attached to me because I couldn’t feel them. Days later, and I still couldn’t feel them. It was then that the second thing I remember most clearly started to bother me and eat away inside as the frustration built.
The looks.
Sympathetic looks. Hopeful looks. Sad looks. Pathetic goddamn looks at the cripple stuck in bed, unmoving and unable to even wipe his own backside. But then, stuff the wiping; he couldn’t even crap at will. The worst part was the false hope and bouncy optimism. While the optimism seemed to build around me, my own was stamped out like a wildfire tearing across a field of dead grass. He couldn’t move. Would he walk again? What if he couldn’t walk again? What would happen to the Dillon Panthers? Yeah, it was just peachy lying there listening to people discuss you like you were a piece of meat dropped on the floor at a cookout while a scramble outside occurred to find a replacement steak for your bread roll The looks continued, only the hopeful was gone and gave way to just plain regret and defeat. How was I supposed to fight when everyone around me stopped fighting along with me?
Days turned into a week and still nothing changed. Still, I wasted hours upon hours away lying in a hospital bed trying to plaster a smile on my face when my family and friends waltzed in day after day telling me everything would be just fine. And then it came. C7-T1 spinal injury. My lower body was paralysed. I wouldn’t walk again.
I didn’t care who was looking then. Who would, when your world just came crashing down around you?
Word Count | 577
There are two things I remember following my accident as clear as if it was yesterday. One, that there was no pain. I had crushed a vertebrae in my spine, yet there was no pain… there was no nothing. There was just a sense that I knew my lower abdomen and my legs were all there but I couldn’t feel them. I could see them. Body parts attached to me, but not even an itch or a tickle to tell my brain that they were connected to me. It was going to be okay, though. I really was going to walk again.
No, really. I was. Those first few days stuck in traction, braces, tubes, catheters, unmoving and stripped of any mobility, I had hope that it was really going to all be okay. Football was my one true love; there was no way one single tackle was going to take me down. I would sooner kill myself than let that happen. I could even handle the embarrassment of having to rely on nursing staff and my family for everything. Those first few days, I wasn’t bitter because I was going to get out of there soon. It was just a hitch in the road and I could handle it. I was the Quarterback of the Dillon Panthers and I was going to go on and play football at college because it was my absolute damn passion. God wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t.
Then the days started passing at a slow pace, because really, lying on your back and staring at either the ceiling or straight ahead of you isn’t conducive for time killing. Nothing changed. I was still immobile and I was still in a brace and still wondering if those were my legs attached to me because I couldn’t feel them. Days later, and I still couldn’t feel them. It was then that the second thing I remember most clearly started to bother me and eat away inside as the frustration built.
The looks.
Sympathetic looks. Hopeful looks. Sad looks. Pathetic goddamn looks at the cripple stuck in bed, unmoving and unable to even wipe his own backside. But then, stuff the wiping; he couldn’t even crap at will. The worst part was the false hope and bouncy optimism. While the optimism seemed to build around me, my own was stamped out like a wildfire tearing across a field of dead grass. He couldn’t move. Would he walk again? What if he couldn’t walk again? What would happen to the Dillon Panthers? Yeah, it was just peachy lying there listening to people discuss you like you were a piece of meat dropped on the floor at a cookout while a scramble outside occurred to find a replacement steak for your bread roll The looks continued, only the hopeful was gone and gave way to just plain regret and defeat. How was I supposed to fight when everyone around me stopped fighting along with me?
Days turned into a week and still nothing changed. Still, I wasted hours upon hours away lying in a hospital bed trying to plaster a smile on my face when my family and friends waltzed in day after day telling me everything would be just fine. And then it came. C7-T1 spinal injury. My lower body was paralysed. I wouldn’t walk again.
I didn’t care who was looking then. Who would, when your world just came crashing down around you?
Word Count | 577