In addition to my somewhat-daily updates, I thought it might be interesting to throw in some random posts from time to time as the inspiration strikes me.
As an overweight person, there are many moments you experience that inspire you to lose weight. Some of these moments may be a little more persuasive than others...or so you would think. Other times, the exact moments that should catapult you into a healthier lifestyle have an adverse affect, somehow plummeting you even further into the abyss of overeating and obesity.
Of all the moments I've faced in my 31 years, this post deals with the one day that should have turned my freaking life around...and didn't.
Then again, maybe it did in some way...here I am thinking about it years later...perhaps it just took me longer than expected to start getting it right.
Either way...I digress.
January 17, 2005 I started a new office job for a popular catalog company. Around the same time, I had just inherited my parent's 1986 manual Honda Civic Hatchback and had begun driving it to work everyday. Driving a stick was nerve wracking at first, but I got the hang of it pretty quickly.
The trouble was that I was just so incredibly tired
all the time. At first, I blamed it on my sedentary new job - I had to deal with computer and paperwork and objects with minimal human interaction and I relied on caffeine pills and energy drinks just to squeek by. I started finding myself sleepy on the drive to work - my head actually lulling at stop lights. It scared the hell out of me, so I did everything I knew to do. I tried going to bed earlier and when I couldn't fall asleep, I depended on sleep aids to help knock me out. I woke up earlier and ate breakfast and showered trying to ensure that I was aware before I got in the car. Eventually, as I drove to work, I started an odd ritual of screaming at the top of my lungs, pinching myself or slapping my face trying to make myself more alert. It scared me, but I couldn't afford to lose my new job because I was "too sleepy".
I just had to make it till May 1st when my benefits would kick in. Then I'd have insurance and I could see a doctor and find out why I was so damn sleepy all the time. That seemed perfectly reasonable. I was a grown ass woman - I could keep myself awake till then.
As had become a habit, I slept through my alarm on Friday, April 29th, 2012. It seemed harder and harder to find ways to wake myself up on time. I cursed at myself for being too tired to wash clothes the night before and grabbed one of my mom's blouses, knowing that she'd forgive me for borrowing it without asking. I raced around the house to get dressed, grabbed a Red Bull, my keys and my purse and hopped into my car, hoping that I would be able to punch in before I was late.
The adrenaline rush of waking up late and rushing around was short lived. About five miles into my fifteen mile drive, the lull started and I could feel myself falling under - my body sinking deeper into the driver's seat as I drove. In my first three months, I had already been late a couple of times and couldn't risk another tardy - thereby forfeiting my job with all of it's pretty upcoming benefits.
I followed my ritual - chug the Red Bull and then torture myself by pinching myself and slapping myself and pulling my hair and punching my thigh - whatever it took to keep my damn eyes open.
I remember turning left onto West Dixie Highway - a road that cuts across both streets and avenues at a diagonal, creating a very dangerous six-way stop at every intersection.
Then, I blinked.
I could swear that's all it was - just a blink. But when I opened my eyes again, I was about five blocks further down West Dixie Highway with horns honking and a white truck in my peripheral on the right hand side.
I swerved to the left to avoid the white truck...it's odd, I can remember colors and movement, but actual details of this exact moment are a blur. I can remember the impact, the shattering of the glass, the tearing of metal and the intense noise - like a freight train running through my brain - but I don't recall any pain. It's weird how our bodies work, isn't it?
So many thoughts churning through my head in a second but I couldn't make sense of any of it. Call. Phone. I need it. Where?
Without looking, I reached lazily across to the passenger seat to pick up my phone and call for help. This alone tells me how hazy my thoughts were, because I knew for a fact that I had forgotten to charge my phone the night before - but none of that seemed to cross my mind at the moment. I reached blindly for my phone and was confused when I felt something hot and rough and hard...
Asphault.
I turned my head then and noticed that the right side of my car was gone. I was assaulted my more thoughts as certain things started to sink in.
I've been hit by a truck.
My car is torn in half.
Someone else can be hurt!
I tugged on my seat belt but was too lethargic and still too confused to accomplish much. Were there people standing around? Were they okay? Where they watching? Where they on the phone?
I didn't know because there was something in my eyes. It was warm and wet and I could feel it on my face. I suddenly knew it had been there for a while, I just hadn' noticed it till now. But, it was thick on my neck and it was soaking into my shirt...
My mom's shirt! I ruined my mom's shirt!
I should have asked permission - this was one of her nicer shirts and now it was ruined by whatever was on my face. It was getting harder to see, my eyes were gunky now and starting to stick together by whatever was collecting in my eye lashes.
Oh Shit! I suddenly remembered that my Dad had left all of his expensive golf clubs in the back of my car. I turned around quickly to see if they were in the backseat...but the backseat was gone.
No, not gone...just
twisted...somewhere I couldn't see it.
I really hope I didn't mess up his golf clubs. Damn, we just got him that set for Christmas!
Oh no...my car! They just gave me this car and now look at it! I'm such a f*** up!
I couldn't see anymore. The red stuff was completely gunking up my eyes so that I had no choice but to keep them closed now. How long has it been?
The mind races in these situations - time slows inexplicably so that all of this nonsense weaved in and out of my head in only seconds from the collision.
"Sweetie, I'm a nurse. I'm gonna hold something to your forehead to stop the bleeding, okay?"
My forehead was bleeding? Why is there a nurse in the road? (I learned later that she had been on her way to work and just HAPPENED to be at the intersection in time to witness the accident.)
Time seemed to catch back up with me.
I've been in a major car accident. I have a head injury and I am bleeding profusely. Given my random thoughts, I more than likely have a pretty bad concussion. I can't move my legs and my arms feel really heavy. My car is split into pieces and others may be hurt.
I could die.
The nurse was holding some sort of blanket up to my face...I couldn't see it, but it had the texture of one of those white hospital blankets that they seem to always keep over the foot of your bed. But, it was covering my entire face and - whether from panic or claustrophobia or asthma, I couldn't breathe.
The paramedics were here now - there were a bunch of them working around my car and talking to the nurse, but no one was talking to me...and my face was covered and I couldn't breathe!
Mommy, Daddy...I am so, so sorry. I love you more than words can begin to say and I'm so sorry I did this. Dear God, please make no one else hurt but me. Just me. Give it all to me...let me be the only one. Please take care of my family...why doesn't it hurt? Why don't I feel any pain?
I could feel my tears dripping slowly over the blood that was now caking my face...trying to find pathways down my cheeks that were not already obstructed.
"Ma'am, can you hear me?"
"I can't breathe." I drug my left hand up my chest to signal at the blanket near my throat.
"I can't hear you." He asked again, lifting up a corner of the blanket.
"Asthmatic. Can't. Breathe." I yelled with the little bit of air I could muster.
"She's an asthmatic! Get me some oxygen!" He yelled, pulling the bloody blanket from my head and readjusting it so that it covered my forehead and the back of the seat, instead of my face. "We're getting you some oxygen sweetie, just try to calm down, okay? Can you see?" I shook my head no as a mask was placed carefully up against my face. I didn't know how bad my head injury was, but they didn't seem in any rush to place the elastic band around my head to hold the mask in place.
"Blood." I said through whatever breathing treatment they were giving me.
"Yes, there's blood. Is that why you are keeping your eyes closed?"
"In. My. Eyes." I wheezed.
"Okay, keep your eyes closed then and we'll take care of that as soon as we can. Now, there's gonna be a lot of noise in a minute because we have to use a machine to help open the car up and get you out. I know it's hard to breathe, but I need to put the blanket back over you so that you don't get hurt, okay? Just try to keep calm and breathe in deeply and we'll get you out of here as soon as we can."
With that, the blanket was thrown over my face and arms and the panic set back in. I tried to count my breaths and slow them down, but I was bawling now...scared and guilty and trapped beneath this constricting material and unable to see anything around me.
And my parents don't know. I just want my mom and dad!
There was buzzing and the car shifted around terribly as metal screeched against metal so loudly that no one could even hear me cry. Then, the blanket was pulled back abruptly.
"There. It's over, okay? I'm sorry I had to cover you sweetie-"
"It's. Okay." I gasped, gaining control of myself once I was able to feel the breeze on my face again.
"Okay, I know you can move your left hand, can you move your right hand for me?" I wiggled my fingers and bent my wrist. "How about your feet?" I did a shuffling motion with both feet. "Alright, we're going to have to put a brace around your neck. It's going to be tight and uncomfortable, but it's going to help you so you don't hurt yourself, okay?" I nodded.
The brace went on and the breathing mask was secured around my head as they brought the backboard over to the car. They asked me if I could scoot from the driver's seat onto the backboard and then - to add salt to the wound - they told me to stop.
"Woah! We're gonna need some more help over here! Bring all the men over!" They hollored to the rest of the crew that I couldn't see.
I was so overweight that numerous men who were trained for this exact situation couldn't lift me.
I had to listen to the men that I couldn't see as they grunted and groaned trying to lift me out of the wreckage.
I don't know what flipped the switch, but once I was on the gurney and in the ambulance, my sarcastic self resurged with a vengance.
"Hey, I'm a lady! Aren't you at least going to buy be dinner first?" I asked as the first paramedic began removing my clothes. In all honesty, I was a virgin - these men were going to be the very first to see me naked as a grown woman, and that was just a bit disheartening. Maybe that's what made me joke around - it's a defense mechanism of sorts. Or, maybe it was because I was suddenly certain that I wasn't going to die. It may also have been the fact that they assured me that no one else was injured in the accident. Either way, it got the crew laughing as they rushed me to another location where a Medivac Helicopter was waiting.
With just a sheet between my naked body and the rest of the world, they rushed me from the ambulance to the chopper and I didn't see any of it.
"What's the in flight movie?" I asked my new medic.
He laughed. "ER."
"And the in flight meal? I skipped breakfast, I'm starved." I said, thankful that my breathing was now under control.
"Well, you're going to Jackson Trauma, so it's probably road kill." He joked. "By the way - what hit you?"
I shrugged. "All I can tell you is that it's a white truck."
I could see just well enough to recognize the bright flourescent lights in the hospital as they wheeled me into trauma, and to see the even brighter light in the room while several people looked me over and hooked me up to different things.
"This may be uncomfortable, but I need to do a rectal exam for bleeding. I'll make it quick and it shouldn't hurt at all." Somebody whispered in my ear.
"That's not fair, I don't even know you're name!" I teased.
"I'm Mark."
"Can someone tell me if Mark is cute? I'd like my first time to be special."
"Yeah, Mark's a hottie." Someone else called out while everyone laughed.
My stomach was tight and I was ready to throw up, in all honesty, but Mark kept his word.
"Was it good for you?" I asked afterward to hide my embarrassment.
"The best." He joked back.
One of the medics in the far side of the room asked "What kind of vehicle did you hit?"
"All I can tell you is that it was a white truck."
"What make and model?" Somebody else asked.
"It was a white make in the model of a truck." I responded cluelessly.
If it wasn't for the very, very odd predicament I was in, I would say I felt completely like myself.
"Do you have anyone we can call for you?"
My brain was working well enough that I knew I wanted them to call my father; I thought he would be able to be stronger for my mother when she found out. But when they asked me for his phone number, I couldn't remember the cell phone number that my father has had for over ten years.
"It's alright - you have a concussion so it's normal for you to have a hard time-"
"You don't understand! It's the same cell phone number he's had for years!" I cried.
"Who else can we call?" Someone else asked, taking my hand and rubbing my arm to try to calm me down.
The only phone number I could seem to recall was the house number I have had my entire life. My mom was going to have to be the one to get the call that her little girl was in Trauma.
"Can I talk to her?" I asked, hoping that I could sound calm and cool so that it would lessen the impact of hearing it from a stranger.
"No, we'll have one of the nurses call-"
"But she'll be so upset! It will be easier for her if I call-"
"It's hospital policy."
It broke my heart to think of what my parents were about to go through, and I hated knowing that I couldn't do a damn thing to make any of it any better.
I was eventually taken to another partition for stitches and, lo and behold, there was a professional Plastic Surgeon who had decided to leave his practice in Arizona to do a trauma rotation at Jackson Memorial Hospital...and he just happened to be working when I was flown in. If I hadn't just been in a major car accident, I would say it was my lucky day!
Thankfully, someone had washed the blood out of my eyes in time for me to see that Dr. Joe was a cutie. I had yet to see the injury to my forehead, but it didn't hurt at all, so I could only assume that it couldn't be that bad. But, Dr. Joe was absolutely amazed and even asked to take pictures. "You never lost consciousness?" I shook my head. "And what other vehicle was involved?"
"All I saw was a white truck. I can't tell you the make, model, license plate and VIN# because I was too damn busy trying to get the heck out of the way." I responded to intersect the next set of questions I assumed were coming.
Although I could now open my eyes, the back board and neck brace assured that all I could see was what was put directly above my face - mostly Doc Joe (but I wasn't complaining). I had two terrific nurses named Karen - having overheard one of their conversations, I referred to one as "Karen with the big dog" and the other as "Karen with the little dog". They were great, checking in with me often to make sure that I wasn't losing my mind. Karen with the little dog even came in to hang out with me because she said I was much more fun than her other patients. The only other face I had come to recognize was Paul, the orderly who was responsible for moving me around. They were all in the room when Doc Joe began squeezing saline solution into my head injury to clean away any and all debris, and then he would push down on my forhead to force the solution back out. I laughed at the squishing sound that it made, earning me the nickname "Squishy" for the day.
That's why it was so unexpected when I looked up to find my Uncle Bob standing over me - a look of absolute heartbreak on his face. I had been happily laughing and joking with the staff for an hour when he suddenly appeared, and it caught me so off guard that I could feel my face crumple as the tears began to pour down my temples and collect in my ears.
Once my parents knew about the accident, word had quickly spread throughout the family. As a firefighter and a paramedic, my Uncle had the best opportunity to get in to see me immediately, and to get the most accurate information from my doctors and nurses. So, with lights and sirens running, my Uncle and his team rushed to the hospital so that he could get in to see me.
It was hard to see through my tears, but I remember him tearing up as well and struggling to remain composed for my sake. He told me that my parents were in the waiting room, as well as other family and friends, but that they weren't being allowed to see me yet until I had been cleaned and stitched up - but he told me they all loved me and were worried about me and assured me that I was going to be fine.
My parents sat in the waiting room for five hours while Dr. Joe meticulously stitched the wound closed. I still hadn't seen it or felt it, but I was told that the laceration went from above my left eye into the hair on my right temple. Since it was a very noticable injury on my face, he was determined to do the best he could to eliminate any scarring, so he would literally come in and do five to ten stitches on me, run over to stitch up someone's hand or arm, and then run back to do five or ten more stitches. He was so meticulous that he actually took some stitches out and did them over again to make sure they were to his liking. All in all, it took 130 stitches to close the wound - 50 interior stitches and 80 exterior.
He explained that the reason I never felt any pain was that the laceration went down to my skull, instantly severing all the nerves and pain receptors. Furthermore, it was not a cut, but a tear. As the car was torn apart, the ceiling was stretched, thereby pulling it much lower than usual. As the momentum pulled me forward, my forehead hit the ceiling, tearing the top of my scalp back away from my face. My head then crashed into the rearview mirror, knocking it loose and chipping the end of my nose.
With the stitches done, Paul wheeled me into radiation for X-Rays. "Hey Paul, no one seems to have a mirror. How'do I look? Like Frankenstein?" I joked.
He skewed his mouth and looked hard, pondering his answer. "No, more like a baseball."
I swatted at him. "Shuddup."
"You asked!" He smirked.
The X-Ray technician put me in a series of odd poses - literally taping me to the wall with medical tape to ensure that I held every awkward pose perfectly. He was fun too - after one "provocative" pose, I told him to "Paint me like one of your French ladies."
Once again, I was laughing and joking when a loved one appeared - catching me totally off guard. When he was done, the lights came up and the door was opened, there was my mom with a mix of love and relief and worry and terror all caught on her face at the same time. And, once again without warning, the floodgates open as I sobbed "I'm so sorry I ruined your shirt!"
Yes - hours after the accident, that was still the very first thing I wanted to say to my mom.
Eventually, my mother and father were let in and then they brought in other family and friends one-by-one, all who had left work and dropped whatever else they were doing to rush to the hospital once they heard I was injured. My brother left a job in Key West and drove three hours to be there. My mom's sisters and my cousin came. And, much to my surprise, a childhood friend who I had been in and out of touch with over the years showed up, totally unexpectedly. As a result of my accident, she later gave me the Energizer Bunny that appears in my Facebook cover photo.
They all told me about the medic who came into the waiting room looking for them, just to tell them about the jokes I made during the helicopter ride. They all agreed that it was a huge relief for them to know that I was still joking...as if they knew I would be JUST FINE as long as my humor was in tact.
Just when I thought this roller coaster of a day had reached it's happy ending - a police officer came in to answer the "Question of the Day"; the "white truck" that everyone kept asking me about? The vehicle that demolished my little compact car? It was a City Dump Truck. And I was issued a ticket for having run a red light. Apparently, that was the major factor I had missed when I "blinked".
It was my fault. No amount of stitches, pain, medication, stress, hospital bills...nothing will
ever compare to the guilt and remorse I felt...I
feel...knowing that it was all my fault.
It took a month for me to get over the hourly "what-ifs". What if it had been a minivan full of kids? What if there was a pregnant woman crossing the street? What if it was an elderly couple on their way to a doctor's appointment?
Every show on television seemed to feature a car accident, and that would send me back into a tail spin of first, panicking when they showed the collision and then, the guilt eating away at my subconscious.
I was fine in a car, but anything that came at me from the right hand side made me jump. If a vehicle on the right came to an abrupt stop at an intersection, or if I was in a car that made a turn in front of a vehicle...anything out of the corner of my right eye upset my stomach. To this day, I still jump and tense up when the right side of my car gets splashed by a puddle on a rainy day. And I HATE driving near Dump Trucks with a passion.
I was released ten hours after the collision and made to walk out to my car because it was Friday, and my brand new insurance didn't kick in till Monday. Aside from the partial scalping, the concussion and the small chip in my nose, the extent of my injuries consisted of severe bruising (it felt as if my insides had shattered from the impact of the seatbelt) and numerous cuts from the broken glass. I am still paying off the $20,000 medical bill for those ten hours, and was later sued for damages that my Honda caused to the paint job of the "white truck", as well as neck injuries supposedly experienced by one of the workers.
Less than a month later, I went for a sleep study and discovered that I have sleep apnea as a side effect of my obesity. If you are not familiar with sleep apnea, it causes me to stop breathing numerous times every hour that I am asleep - thereby preventing me from getting any real rest.
Had I never let myself get this unhealthy, this entire accident would have never happened.
After all of this, why had it taken me so very long to get to this point? Sure, I made changes - I started trying to use a CPap machine to force air down my throat when I sleep (but I can't seem to stop taking it off while I'm sleeping). I've dieted off and on and managed to lose up to 100 lbs a couple of years ago. But I think the problem was that the entire incident only added to my anger and loathing of myself. Maybe, subconsciously, I kept eating and kept putting on weight as punishment, or just to bury the guilt I've always felt about that day. I'm no psychoanalyst, so I suppose I'll never really know.
Either way, I like to think that it's helping me to be better
now. Better late than never, right?
The passenger seat was found 20 yards away. And the wire you see where the passenger seat SHOULD be? That's the gas line - completely intact although nothing else is around it.
Dad's golf clubs made it out just fine, believe it or not.
Sadly, today is the last day of September and - although I won't know how I did until my final weigh in tomorrow, I can't help but feel like I've really failed myself and all of you this month. Well, maybe fail is too strong of a word...but I KNOW I could have done better and I most definitely should have tried harder. For that, I am disappointed in myself.
