I have been encouraged by many friends, and sternly instructed by those who know me best, to ask for help when I need it. It is very difficult for me to admit to myself that I need help in the first place, and even more difficult to admit it to others. Accepting offers of help still causes me some discomfort but openly asking for help, especially when it is truly needed and not just something that might be nice, is close to impossible for me.
The truth is, I am in the most difficult situation I have ever been in. During my entire life, I have never needed support and help more than I do right now. This injury is the worst I have ever had, in terms of incapacitation - though thankfully the prognosis is good, and the incapacitation will ultimately be temporary. This situation would be difficult and painful for anyone, but those who know me will understand that my weaknesses being what they are, I am perhaps more vulnerable to this hardship than some.
I am not patient. I live in the moment, my world is what it is now. Knowing what tomorrow or next year will be has very little resonance for me. I bitterly resent anything that undermines my self-sufficience. Incapacitation is a personal nightmare. I once had a cast on my left wrist which immobilized my thumb completely, and 10 days later tried to tear it off in the single time I have ever experienced what can only be described as a fit of rage. I have great difficulty, as I mentioned, asking for help.
I know some people would be thrilled, minus the pain and back brace, to spend a summer free of obligations reclining and watching tv. I have always been utterly baffled by these people. I am not an "indoor" girl. I dislike days which pass without some type of strenuous activity, and when 3 or more of those days stack up in a row, I start to have trouble sleeping and my mood is seriously affected.
I am a climber. I have obligations to school and to my job, to my family and friends. I need to sleep and to eat. When I'm not doing those things, I am climbing. When weather and health allows, I climb. This is something you either understand or not, so I won't elaborate further. Being unable to climb for 3 months, or 6 months, is a serious emotional hardship for me. This goes far beyond that, to being unable to shower without assistance, to drive, to reach anything below my waist or above my head, to look over my shoulder, to sit up, to sleep through the night, to pick up a gallon of milk.
I'm not making (or asking for) value judgments on any of this. I'm not saying that any of these things are good or bad, unique or common, things to be proud of or ashamed of. I know that there are many, many people in situations far worse or far better than mine and I'm not making comparisons. These are just traits I bring to the table and the situation that I am in, and I'm just laying it out there. Read about it or don't, care or not, it's perfectly alright.
If you're still reading, here's some things that I need and that maybe you can help with, if you would like to help. I apologize for the long melodramatic introduction, I suppose that venting is one of the things I needed.
1. Above all, company. Distraction. Conversation. If you are in Boulder, think of me when you are doing something fun (that I'd be capable of doing - if you're not sure, never hurts to ask). When you go to the grocery store. Watch a movie. Make dinner. Short walks around the neighborhood with some good conversation are wonderful. Driving me somewhere else to walk is great too. This is very uncomfortable to ask because it feels like I am inviting myself places, especially when I may not be the most exciting company I have ever been - but the point is, always assume I'm not busy and would love even short visits or mundane errands.
2. If you are not in Boulder, and have always wanted an excuse to visit, you've got one! More realistically, any communication is good. Emails, real mail, phone calls, text messages, facebook notes, it's all good. Sometimes I am in too much pain or too tired or too drugged to answer the phone, or write back right away. I promise you I will still enjoy the voicemail. Every little bit helps, and reminds me that I am not as alone as I feel and lots of people care.
3. Driving. I am on less painkillers with each passing day, and I am hopeful that I will be able to drive soon. It is still too difficult to turn my head and look around for me to be comfortable behind the wheel. I depend on others to get me to the grocery store, pharmacy, and Drs. appointments. I wouldn't say no to trips to other places too.
4. Patience and understanding. I know that I am not my usual cheerful, optimistic, joyful self. I know that about 80% of my end of conversations usually turns into venting, and about 5% uncomfortable tears. I am excruciatingly aware of this and feel really, really bad about it. If it bothers you, avoid talking to me. I don't blame you at all. If it doesn't bother you, reassure me of this. Be patient, trust that I will be myself again someday soon. Maybe reassure me that I will be myself again someday soon.
5. Entertainment! Movie suggestions (I have netflix). TV show suggestions. Addictive online game suggestions. Brilliant creative ideas you have for things you can do in a lawn chair. Ideas for projects. If you are more of an indoor person, what do you do with your time? I'm seriously intensely curious.
6. Encouragement. The thing that I fear most right now is losing myself, who I'm really very fond of, in a rising tide of bitterness and frustration. Tell me that it will be ok, that I'm still an awesome person even in a lawn chair, that I am strong enough to get through this with my personality intact. I consider myself to be a strong person, but this is hitting me in all my weakest parts while depriving me of many of my usual coping mechanisms. This should go without saying, but if you believe that I "had this coming" or "brought it on myself" or would be stupid to ever climb again, then we should probably not talk for 3-6 months because I'm simply not in a position to stand up to that kind of thing right now.
It is probably strange to write so openly about my weaknesses and needs and then post it willingly on the internet. I have always been very open, at least with my friends, and trust that most will be understanding and supportive. Oddly, it's easier to do it this way than to call anyone individually and say flat out "I need your help today." So really, it's pretty much a cop-out. I'm ok with that. Baby steps.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
How crushed is my spine?
One of the benefits of this site is that I can write down the accident story once, and any interested friends can read it without me having to retell it countless times, while anyone who is not interested can skip it. This way everyone has been able to get caught up and can skip straight to the moral support, which is great. One friend pointed out that the accident story is lacking in a few major details, such as the outcome of my injuries and prognosis. So I will attempt to answer some frequently asked questions, such as "How crushed is your spine, anyway?"
I ended the accident narrative with being bundled into the ambulance, because the day got a lot less exciting from there. There were some interesting moments, like being given a tetanus shot while being asked to pee in a bedpan for the very first time. This was not, in my opinion, a good time for multi-tasking. Also, a public service announcement to doctors everywhere: surprises do not always make everything better. Surprise Party = Good, Surprise Suturing = Bad. You should always notify people when you are about to sew their faces, especially if they are supposed to be immobilized and flinching could be dangerous. There was also a brand-new, state-of-the-art X-ray machine about which the X-ray techs expressed, in hushed tones, fears that it had gained sentience.
Overall though, the experience mostly consisted of a montage of ceiling tiles and being "log-rolled" into and out of various diagnostic machines while progressively losing almost all of my apparel. I will say that every single one of the dozen or more hospital employees I dealt with was at least kind and competent, and most were extremely considerate and nice. I even admire their apparent commitment to a game called "see who can come up with the least plausible explanation for stealing an item of clothing from a patient."
Here's a break-down of the results of my ER visit:
The doctor came out and gave me the news, but the delivery was all wrong. He told me I crushed 5 of my vertebrae, and acted like it was good news, then paused expectantly for... my sigh of relief? Leap for joy? I gave him neither.
Me: "wow, that sounds like a lot"
Dr.: "Only 5!"
Me: "How many vertebrae do I have?"
Dr.: "12 thoracic"
Me: "5 out of 12....still seems like a lot. What do you mean by crushed? Like am I shorter now?" (joking)
Dr.: "That's a good question. Yes you are!" (not joking) "1-2mm. shorter per vertebrae. You'll probably never notice."
I turned to Eric and informed him that for the rest of my life, whenever I can't reach a hold, he's getting blamed. (not joking)
Dr.: "You just have to wear a back brace for a few weeks!"
Me: sigh of relief, big smile. "That's not so bad. Like 2? 3?"
Dr.: "Haha, no 6! 6 weeks!"
This guy was way too cheerful. I realize that this probably stems from the fact that when a patient comes in with a probable back or neck injury, they start thinking about things like paralysis, and nerve damage, and dangerous surgery or lengthy hospital stays. None of that had ever entered my mind. I woke up that morning completely healthy, fully expecting to return to bed that night in the same condition. I was hoping for and fully expecting "The X-rays were normal, you're fine, go home." So 6 weeks in a back brace, which was exactly the amount of time remaining in my summer of climbing in Boulder, was terrible news.
I was fitted for a back brace, appropriated an ice pack, and Eric and I left the hospital about 12 hours after starting our unfortunate climb. We stopped on the way home to fill my prescription at Walgreen's, and while waiting discovered lawn chairs on sale for $25. These are the old-school kind of lawn chair, where it lays out flat like a cot about 6 inches off the ground and then the back and foot part can be adjusted to various intensities of reclining. After a brief reflection on the seating options at my house - which include straight-backed kitchen chairs, the world's most uncomfortable futon, and the floor - I bought one. Now all those references to spending my life in a lawn chair are starting to make sense, right? Foreshadowing! Anyway, it may have been the best $25 I have ever spent, but I am eagerly awaiting the day I will have a back brace and lawn chair bonfire.
5 days later, I returned to the ER to have my stitches removed. This service was performed by, I'm going to say, an orderly? He was wearing coveralls, stationed at the intake desk, and did not inspire any sort of medical confidence. Still, I trusted that suture removal has to be pretty simple, and also, I was mildly drugged so I didn't care too much. The first three were removed uneventfully. The fourth caused some problems, required several attempts, and brought on an excited whoop and sigh of relief from the suture removal apprentice when he managed it. I said, "All done?" His face took on a look of concern as he said "No, one more - this one's going to be tricky!" They teach that exact phrase in Bedside Manner 101. He then stood up and began to pace back and forth a bit, as though psyching himself up for the ordeal to come. The one stitch remaining was the one in my eyelid. Despite the percocet, I managed to dredge up some concern and suggested "Uh... if you want to get someone else, I can wait..." But this guy was no quitter. He went after that last stitch with everything he had. Breathing hard, forehead sweating, hands shaking - I do appreciate that he went the extra mile to add some excitement to an otherwise boring medical chore. The stitch came out though, and I still had all my eyelids. As I rode home, I pondered baking him a "Congrats on your First Medical Procedure!!" cake. I felt sorta honored.
A few days later, I went to the neurosurgeon's office for my follow-up appointment. I have been told by ERs that my wrist was fine when it turned out to be broken, that feeling would return when the swelling went down when in fact there was serious nerve damage, and that my foot was broken when in fact there was way crazier ligament tearing. (separate occasions) So I spent a week believing nothing about my diagnosis and went into this visit fearing the worst, yet still hoping, (though at this point I knew it wasn't possible) that I was not broken and could return to climbing soon.
He showed me my X-rays and CT scans and confirmed that 5 vertebrae were damaged, but he said it's really only 3, the other two are pretty much ok. This doesn't seem enormously helpful, since I am under the impression that bones heal concurrently, not consecutively. He also laughed when I asked him about being shorter, and said that is ridiculous, vertebrae being crushed 1-2 mm. doesn't translate, in my case at least, to actual loss of height. This confirms my suspicions of ER information and I am sad to lose this excuse in future climbing endeavors. He told me that my vertebrae are crushed on one side, so like they're tilting forward-ish, and that they are intact and if they heal the way they are now, I should be fine. Also, the side that is damaged is not the side where the spinal cord goes, so there was never any danger of scary nerve damage or paralysis. Basically, the worst case scenario is that I don't heal well, and require surgery. Not a road I want to go down, but still not the end of the world. Or, that I have lifelong pain. He believes the possibility of either is extremely small, especially if I "follow the rules". Here's the unfortunate part. The rules are, I'm in the back brace for - not 6 weeks - but 3 months.
....
Yep, twice as long. The reason is, if you break your arm, it will take about 6 weeks to heal, give or take. That's because your arm is in a super effective cast which keeps it really immobile. The back brace is less than perfect, and can't keep your spine totally immobile, so they leave you in it for 3 months. Followed by 3 additional months of "taking it easy". Apparently, the things you can do while taking it easy include walking. And hiking. Gently.
At this point, I stopped worrying about my spine and started worrying about my sanity. My next follow-up is for 2 weeks later, when they will take more X-rays and see how I'm healing. I've been drinking extreme amounts of milk and eating lots of ice cream sundaes, and instructing my body very sternly to focus all it's energy on putting calcium directly into my spine. It's not like it's got anything else to do these days. Who knows, maybe the Dr. will look at the X-rays and be like "You must have magically super-fast healing bones! Or else you've been drinking extreme amounts of milk and ordering your body to heal with your incredible willpower and super loyal internal organs and parts! Or else I was wrong in the first place and you were never broken! Either way, go outside and play right now, young lady!"
In the meantime, I continue to wage war against my current life situation in defense of my emotional and mental health.
I ended the accident narrative with being bundled into the ambulance, because the day got a lot less exciting from there. There were some interesting moments, like being given a tetanus shot while being asked to pee in a bedpan for the very first time. This was not, in my opinion, a good time for multi-tasking. Also, a public service announcement to doctors everywhere: surprises do not always make everything better. Surprise Party = Good, Surprise Suturing = Bad. You should always notify people when you are about to sew their faces, especially if they are supposed to be immobilized and flinching could be dangerous. There was also a brand-new, state-of-the-art X-ray machine about which the X-ray techs expressed, in hushed tones, fears that it had gained sentience.
Overall though, the experience mostly consisted of a montage of ceiling tiles and being "log-rolled" into and out of various diagnostic machines while progressively losing almost all of my apparel. I will say that every single one of the dozen or more hospital employees I dealt with was at least kind and competent, and most were extremely considerate and nice. I even admire their apparent commitment to a game called "see who can come up with the least plausible explanation for stealing an item of clothing from a patient."
Here's a break-down of the results of my ER visit:
The doctor came out and gave me the news, but the delivery was all wrong. He told me I crushed 5 of my vertebrae, and acted like it was good news, then paused expectantly for... my sigh of relief? Leap for joy? I gave him neither.
Me: "wow, that sounds like a lot"
Dr.: "Only 5!"
Me: "How many vertebrae do I have?"
Dr.: "12 thoracic"
Me: "5 out of 12....still seems like a lot. What do you mean by crushed? Like am I shorter now?" (joking)
Dr.: "That's a good question. Yes you are!" (not joking) "1-2mm. shorter per vertebrae. You'll probably never notice."
I turned to Eric and informed him that for the rest of my life, whenever I can't reach a hold, he's getting blamed. (not joking)
Dr.: "You just have to wear a back brace for a few weeks!"
Me: sigh of relief, big smile. "That's not so bad. Like 2? 3?"
Dr.: "Haha, no 6! 6 weeks!"
This guy was way too cheerful. I realize that this probably stems from the fact that when a patient comes in with a probable back or neck injury, they start thinking about things like paralysis, and nerve damage, and dangerous surgery or lengthy hospital stays. None of that had ever entered my mind. I woke up that morning completely healthy, fully expecting to return to bed that night in the same condition. I was hoping for and fully expecting "The X-rays were normal, you're fine, go home." So 6 weeks in a back brace, which was exactly the amount of time remaining in my summer of climbing in Boulder, was terrible news.
I was fitted for a back brace, appropriated an ice pack, and Eric and I left the hospital about 12 hours after starting our unfortunate climb. We stopped on the way home to fill my prescription at Walgreen's, and while waiting discovered lawn chairs on sale for $25. These are the old-school kind of lawn chair, where it lays out flat like a cot about 6 inches off the ground and then the back and foot part can be adjusted to various intensities of reclining. After a brief reflection on the seating options at my house - which include straight-backed kitchen chairs, the world's most uncomfortable futon, and the floor - I bought one. Now all those references to spending my life in a lawn chair are starting to make sense, right? Foreshadowing! Anyway, it may have been the best $25 I have ever spent, but I am eagerly awaiting the day I will have a back brace and lawn chair bonfire.
5 days later, I returned to the ER to have my stitches removed. This service was performed by, I'm going to say, an orderly? He was wearing coveralls, stationed at the intake desk, and did not inspire any sort of medical confidence. Still, I trusted that suture removal has to be pretty simple, and also, I was mildly drugged so I didn't care too much. The first three were removed uneventfully. The fourth caused some problems, required several attempts, and brought on an excited whoop and sigh of relief from the suture removal apprentice when he managed it. I said, "All done?" His face took on a look of concern as he said "No, one more - this one's going to be tricky!" They teach that exact phrase in Bedside Manner 101. He then stood up and began to pace back and forth a bit, as though psyching himself up for the ordeal to come. The one stitch remaining was the one in my eyelid. Despite the percocet, I managed to dredge up some concern and suggested "Uh... if you want to get someone else, I can wait..." But this guy was no quitter. He went after that last stitch with everything he had. Breathing hard, forehead sweating, hands shaking - I do appreciate that he went the extra mile to add some excitement to an otherwise boring medical chore. The stitch came out though, and I still had all my eyelids. As I rode home, I pondered baking him a "Congrats on your First Medical Procedure!!" cake. I felt sorta honored.
A few days later, I went to the neurosurgeon's office for my follow-up appointment. I have been told by ERs that my wrist was fine when it turned out to be broken, that feeling would return when the swelling went down when in fact there was serious nerve damage, and that my foot was broken when in fact there was way crazier ligament tearing. (separate occasions) So I spent a week believing nothing about my diagnosis and went into this visit fearing the worst, yet still hoping, (though at this point I knew it wasn't possible) that I was not broken and could return to climbing soon.
He showed me my X-rays and CT scans and confirmed that 5 vertebrae were damaged, but he said it's really only 3, the other two are pretty much ok. This doesn't seem enormously helpful, since I am under the impression that bones heal concurrently, not consecutively. He also laughed when I asked him about being shorter, and said that is ridiculous, vertebrae being crushed 1-2 mm. doesn't translate, in my case at least, to actual loss of height. This confirms my suspicions of ER information and I am sad to lose this excuse in future climbing endeavors. He told me that my vertebrae are crushed on one side, so like they're tilting forward-ish, and that they are intact and if they heal the way they are now, I should be fine. Also, the side that is damaged is not the side where the spinal cord goes, so there was never any danger of scary nerve damage or paralysis. Basically, the worst case scenario is that I don't heal well, and require surgery. Not a road I want to go down, but still not the end of the world. Or, that I have lifelong pain. He believes the possibility of either is extremely small, especially if I "follow the rules". Here's the unfortunate part. The rules are, I'm in the back brace for - not 6 weeks - but 3 months.
....
Yep, twice as long. The reason is, if you break your arm, it will take about 6 weeks to heal, give or take. That's because your arm is in a super effective cast which keeps it really immobile. The back brace is less than perfect, and can't keep your spine totally immobile, so they leave you in it for 3 months. Followed by 3 additional months of "taking it easy". Apparently, the things you can do while taking it easy include walking. And hiking. Gently.
At this point, I stopped worrying about my spine and started worrying about my sanity. My next follow-up is for 2 weeks later, when they will take more X-rays and see how I'm healing. I've been drinking extreme amounts of milk and eating lots of ice cream sundaes, and instructing my body very sternly to focus all it's energy on putting calcium directly into my spine. It's not like it's got anything else to do these days. Who knows, maybe the Dr. will look at the X-rays and be like "You must have magically super-fast healing bones! Or else you've been drinking extreme amounts of milk and ordering your body to heal with your incredible willpower and super loyal internal organs and parts! Or else I was wrong in the first place and you were never broken! Either way, go outside and play right now, young lady!"
In the meantime, I continue to wage war against my current life situation in defense of my emotional and mental health.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Vicodin VS. Percocet
For the first 6 days post-accident, I managed my pain with a prescription for percocet. (I finally looked up the spelling - before posting this but after creating my scientific graph). Taken every 6 hours, percocet eliminates pain by eliminating all higher brain functions.
As you can see from this graph, the percoceted brain spends very little time in the pain-crazy region on the bottom. Unfortunately, it speeds through the green lucid region quite quickly, spending no more than 20 minutes here on it's way up or down. These 20 minutes are important to perform necessary bodily functions like eating and peeing, leaving little time to apply rational thought to other pursuits. The brain spends the majority of it's time in the upper drug-crazy portion of the graph, reaching it's peak just short of actual coma. During this time the brain's main goals are to stare at pretty colors and drool as much as possible. Friends and family should be cautioned that during these times, the brain is capable of gross motor functions such as picking up the phone, but should not be expected to remember any ensuing conversation, nor held responsible for its content.
Having tired of the unpleasant sensation of drowning in my own brain, I decided on the 7th day not to take any medication. This worked out great for the first few hours, as I was able to operate the microwave to make my own breakfast, read my book, and respond intelligently to some emails. Unfortunately, it only took about 2 hours to get equally tired of being in severe pain. I lost all will to move from my trusty 45 degree angle lawn chair, and along with the broken vertebrae rediscovered my throbbing concussion which I'd falsely believed I'd recovered from. Just being in constant pain is exhausting, and I soon found myself semi-comatose for a very different reason, although I still maintain both reasons are equally unpleasant.
I finally swallowed a percocet and went to bed early. The next morning, I again avoided taking any medication because I had an appointment with a neurosurgeon as a follow-up to my ER visit, and I wanted to be lucid when making medical decisions. Aside from all the "how crushed is your spine" conversation, the nurse reported that I had a fever and heartrate far higher than it should have been for my state of complete inactivity. The doctor explained that, contrary to my belief, pain is not just an unpleasant symptom but is actually very hard on your body. Being in constant extreme pain is actually very physically stressful, in addition to being pretty emotionally stressful. In other words, stop trying to "man up", the pain medication is your friend. In other words, "NO Emily. BAD Emily. Take your pills!"
I explained that the percocet was having an unpleasant lobotomizing side effect, and that I flat out refused to ever take it again, regardless of sound medical advice. So he wrote me a prescription for vicodin, which he described as "just like percocet, but less intense, which is why most people prefer percocet". Those people must like their brains less than I do. Or maybe, it doesn't hit them as hard, and I just have a wimpy brain, easily smacked down into submission by big scary opiates.
Either way, I promised to give the vicodin a try. As you can see from the graph, vicodin has a similar brain effect curve, except that this curve is red and also lower on the graph. The vicodined brain spends more time in the pain-crazy portion of the graph than the percoceted brain, but it does bring these times up into the bearable zone. In addition, the brain spends less time in the drug-crazy zone and at a far less intense level, peaking at a mild buzz during which memory remains intact and stairs are generally climbable. Most importantly, the brain spends significantly more time in the green lucid region of the graph, and arrives at it gently rather than crashing through at high speed. Disorientation is minimized and the brain can enjoy activities such as cooking, talking, and watching non-shameful movies and tv shows.
Conclusion: Vicodin is way awesomer than Percocet.
Brought to you by: Science!!
As you can see from this graph, the percoceted brain spends very little time in the pain-crazy region on the bottom. Unfortunately, it speeds through the green lucid region quite quickly, spending no more than 20 minutes here on it's way up or down. These 20 minutes are important to perform necessary bodily functions like eating and peeing, leaving little time to apply rational thought to other pursuits. The brain spends the majority of it's time in the upper drug-crazy portion of the graph, reaching it's peak just short of actual coma. During this time the brain's main goals are to stare at pretty colors and drool as much as possible. Friends and family should be cautioned that during these times, the brain is capable of gross motor functions such as picking up the phone, but should not be expected to remember any ensuing conversation, nor held responsible for its content.
I finally swallowed a percocet and went to bed early. The next morning, I again avoided taking any medication because I had an appointment with a neurosurgeon as a follow-up to my ER visit, and I wanted to be lucid when making medical decisions. Aside from all the "how crushed is your spine" conversation, the nurse reported that I had a fever and heartrate far higher than it should have been for my state of complete inactivity. The doctor explained that, contrary to my belief, pain is not just an unpleasant symptom but is actually very hard on your body. Being in constant extreme pain is actually very physically stressful, in addition to being pretty emotionally stressful. In other words, stop trying to "man up", the pain medication is your friend. In other words, "NO Emily. BAD Emily. Take your pills!"
I explained that the percocet was having an unpleasant lobotomizing side effect, and that I flat out refused to ever take it again, regardless of sound medical advice. So he wrote me a prescription for vicodin, which he described as "just like percocet, but less intense, which is why most people prefer percocet". Those people must like their brains less than I do. Or maybe, it doesn't hit them as hard, and I just have a wimpy brain, easily smacked down into submission by big scary opiates.
Either way, I promised to give the vicodin a try. As you can see from the graph, vicodin has a similar brain effect curve, except that this curve is red and also lower on the graph. The vicodined brain spends more time in the pain-crazy portion of the graph than the percoceted brain, but it does bring these times up into the bearable zone. In addition, the brain spends less time in the drug-crazy zone and at a far less intense level, peaking at a mild buzz during which memory remains intact and stairs are generally climbable. Most importantly, the brain spends significantly more time in the green lucid region of the graph, and arrives at it gently rather than crashing through at high speed. Disorientation is minimized and the brain can enjoy activities such as cooking, talking, and watching non-shameful movies and tv shows.
Conclusion: Vicodin is way awesomer than Percocet.
Brought to you by: Science!!
Friday, June 25, 2010
I like to stare at cake.
When I had an accident last week and it first became clear that my intended summer of climbing super awesome rocks in ways that made me super strong and awesome had suddenly and unpleasantly morphed into a summer of laying on a lawn chair in terrible pain, friends told me encouraging things like listing all the "fun" and "awesome" things I could do in a lawn chair.
Learn to play guitar! Improve my Italian! Get a head start on data analysis for my thesis! Knit a sweater! (err... maybe start with a scarf) Read all the books I've always wanted to read! Write emails to all my friends!
Unfortunately, the terrible pain portion of the equation was solved by the ER doctors with a prescription for percaset. (how do you SPELL that word?) This is how percocet works:
Hour 1: Pain gradually begins to ease....ahhhhhh.
Hour 2: "1-2 drinks phase" I become outgoing and super chatty. Everything is funny.
Hour 3: "3-5 drinks phase" I become dizzy and disoriented and should not be allowed near stairs by myself.
Hour 4: "6 or more drinks phase" My eyes unfocus, arms go limp, and I begin to drool.
Hour 6: "morning after phase" I gradually regain some semblance of lucidity, which lasts for roughly 20 minutes before the pain returns and I am useless for a different reason. Now it's time for the next dose!
It should be clear that under these conditions I will not be learning any fun new lawn chair skills anytime soon. Nowhere in that schedule is there time for so much as a sequence of rational thoughts. That 20 minutes of lucidity is wisely used for important things like peeing and eating.
I was particularly disturbed to discover that even movies were out of the question. Eric came over to make me an awesome dinner, which involved several different things from different food groups and was way nicer than even the dinners I usually made for myself pre-accident. Post-accident, the closest I came to a balanced meal by myself was when I found an unopened Snickers bar in my backpack. We then sat down to watch a movie, which seemed like an activity that should be within my power.
We watched "Batman Begins". I couldn't follow it. People, I have SEEN this movie before! I love Batman! Plus, you would think that you wouldn't really need to follow the plot and could enjoy it on a simpler "action movie" level. But these are some of the thoughts that went through my head:
"Who is that guy?"
"Wait, are they in a different country now?"
"Why are they being so MEAN to each other????"
"Did that guy change his clothes or is this a different guy? Change his clothes, and his face?"
....
"Why am I in this house, do I even LIVE here?"
"...oh hey, there's ERIC! I know Eric! Haha, I must be in the right house. I know that guy."
"Oh hey, there's a movie!"
...
"Who IS that guy?"
The next day, I tried watching some episodes of the Office. This is my standard go-to 20 minute entertainment. I love this show, have seen every episode at least twice, and it is brief and uncomplicated. Nope, couldn't handle it.
Then while searching the offerings of Netflix Watch Instantly I stumbled onto "Cake Boss". I loved it. Watched like 12 episodes in a row in a pleasant stupor. I'm not proud of this. It is a reality show about a bakery, and they make crazy cakes. Like, people will be like "I want a to-scale model of the statue of liberty, made out of cake! Except PURPLE!" and then they make it. Out of cake! Or, people will be like "I want a penis cake for my bachelorette party!" and the baker's mom is like "NO PENISES! We are a nice moral bakery!" and so the baker is like "No worries, I will make a SECRET penis cake!" and hijinx ensue. Or someone drops a cake on the floor, and everybody is sad.
I think the appeal was in the pretty colors, yummy-looking cakes, and complete lack of plot. I lay there in a drug-induced semi-coma and thought "those colors are nice, and that cake looks yummy" without any unreasonable demands made of my cerebral cortex to keep track of what had happened 10 seconds prior in order to enjoy the current 10 seconds to the fullest. I feel like I finally understand the mental level required to truly enjoy reality shows. I'm sorry if that offends anyone, it's knowledge that will always slightly disturb me to have so maybe we are even.
My description of my mental capabilities may cause you to be suspicious of my authorship of this blog. (or not, I don't know, it's not like a great blog. But I do think I am putting all the words in some sort of order, so that's good) This is because I am on new and better medicine now and also why I am writing about things from 10 days ago. But even now, with my brain more or less under control, I think I shall always have a nostalgic soft spot for Cake Boss.
Learn to play guitar! Improve my Italian! Get a head start on data analysis for my thesis! Knit a sweater! (err... maybe start with a scarf) Read all the books I've always wanted to read! Write emails to all my friends!
Unfortunately, the terrible pain portion of the equation was solved by the ER doctors with a prescription for percaset. (how do you SPELL that word?) This is how percocet works:
Hour 1: Pain gradually begins to ease....ahhhhhh.
Hour 2: "1-2 drinks phase" I become outgoing and super chatty. Everything is funny.
Hour 3: "3-5 drinks phase" I become dizzy and disoriented and should not be allowed near stairs by myself.
Hour 4: "6 or more drinks phase" My eyes unfocus, arms go limp, and I begin to drool.
Hour 6: "morning after phase" I gradually regain some semblance of lucidity, which lasts for roughly 20 minutes before the pain returns and I am useless for a different reason. Now it's time for the next dose!
It should be clear that under these conditions I will not be learning any fun new lawn chair skills anytime soon. Nowhere in that schedule is there time for so much as a sequence of rational thoughts. That 20 minutes of lucidity is wisely used for important things like peeing and eating.
I was particularly disturbed to discover that even movies were out of the question. Eric came over to make me an awesome dinner, which involved several different things from different food groups and was way nicer than even the dinners I usually made for myself pre-accident. Post-accident, the closest I came to a balanced meal by myself was when I found an unopened Snickers bar in my backpack. We then sat down to watch a movie, which seemed like an activity that should be within my power.
We watched "Batman Begins". I couldn't follow it. People, I have SEEN this movie before! I love Batman! Plus, you would think that you wouldn't really need to follow the plot and could enjoy it on a simpler "action movie" level. But these are some of the thoughts that went through my head:
"Who is that guy?"
"Wait, are they in a different country now?"
"Why are they being so MEAN to each other????"
"Did that guy change his clothes or is this a different guy? Change his clothes, and his face?"
....
"Why am I in this house, do I even LIVE here?"
"...oh hey, there's ERIC! I know Eric! Haha, I must be in the right house. I know that guy."
"Oh hey, there's a movie!"
...
"Who IS that guy?"
The next day, I tried watching some episodes of the Office. This is my standard go-to 20 minute entertainment. I love this show, have seen every episode at least twice, and it is brief and uncomplicated. Nope, couldn't handle it.
Then while searching the offerings of Netflix Watch Instantly I stumbled onto "Cake Boss". I loved it. Watched like 12 episodes in a row in a pleasant stupor. I'm not proud of this. It is a reality show about a bakery, and they make crazy cakes. Like, people will be like "I want a to-scale model of the statue of liberty, made out of cake! Except PURPLE!" and then they make it. Out of cake! Or, people will be like "I want a penis cake for my bachelorette party!" and the baker's mom is like "NO PENISES! We are a nice moral bakery!" and so the baker is like "No worries, I will make a SECRET penis cake!" and hijinx ensue. Or someone drops a cake on the floor, and everybody is sad.
I think the appeal was in the pretty colors, yummy-looking cakes, and complete lack of plot. I lay there in a drug-induced semi-coma and thought "those colors are nice, and that cake looks yummy" without any unreasonable demands made of my cerebral cortex to keep track of what had happened 10 seconds prior in order to enjoy the current 10 seconds to the fullest. I feel like I finally understand the mental level required to truly enjoy reality shows. I'm sorry if that offends anyone, it's knowledge that will always slightly disturb me to have so maybe we are even.
My description of my mental capabilities may cause you to be suspicious of my authorship of this blog. (or not, I don't know, it's not like a great blog. But I do think I am putting all the words in some sort of order, so that's good) This is because I am on new and better medicine now and also why I am writing about things from 10 days ago. But even now, with my brain more or less under control, I think I shall always have a nostalgic soft spot for Cake Boss.
Accident Story
Tuesday morning, June 15, Eric and I got up bright and early psyched to start getting serious about climbing. After a few weeks of visitors and 4 days of pouring rain, we were looking at a weather forecast of 10 straight days of mid-80s and sunny. Eric had picked out a few awesome climbs that we would be able to swing leads on, so we packed up our gear and started a long, steep hike up to the Redgarden Wall in Eldorado Canyon. I led the first pitch of Green Spur, which was about 50 feet of 5.5 (very easy, even for me). I built a gear anchor at a small ledge, tied in, and belayed Eric as he climbed up to join me.
The next pitch was 5.9, and started with a tricky section in a sorta flaring dihedral. Eric got a piece of gear in above the anchor and spent some time trying to figure out the moves - climbing up to try something and climbing back down to a stance several times. It actually occurred to me during this time that if he fell in this tricky section, he would probably land right on top of me. With this in mind, I asked him to wait at his stance while I shortened my tie-in to the anchor. I was standing comfortably on a ledge with a long tie-in and was visualizing being knocked off the ledge if he fell, and didn't want to risk losing control of the brake strand. So I shortened my tie-in so that it was almost taut as I stood belaying. At some point, Eric was able to get a second piece of gear about six feet above my head, and I stopped worrying about him falling on me.
On his last attempt at the starting moves, he tried something a bit different off to the side a bit, so that even though he was no higher than previous attempts, there was more rope out. Without any warning, Eric slipped off the rock and crashed full force into my head. My perception is that he hit me with full force and immediately after, the rope came taut and caught him. It all happened kinda immediately and all at once - I felt sharp pain in my back, neck, and head and the first words out of my mouth were "Eric you broke my back!". For a second, I wasn't sure I'd be able to breathe properly or keep standing. Then I noticed extreme dizziness and confusion and my next thought was fear that I would lose consciousness and drop his belay rope. I said something like "Eric you have to take your rope I might drop you!" (I did not ask if he was ok until several minutes later, luckily he was unhurt and was able to think much more clearly than I). Despite my request, apparently I refused to let go of his belay rope, even after he was safely on the ledge and he eventually had to peel my fingers off the rope.
At this point, blood was gushing from a nice deep gash across my eyebrow, courtesy of one of the cams hanging on Eric's harness. I was aware enough to know that I wasn't in any condition to be thinking or deciding anything, and told Eric this. He was extremely calm and reassuring and told me I would be fine and he would take care of everything. Which he did. He lowered me to the ground, only 50 feet below, and then my mind went completely blank and I said "I don't know what to do now". Not getting any helpful response, I said louder "I don't know what to do now!" and burst into tears. This got the attention of two climbers who had been waiting to climb the route after us, then my gushing head wound probably convinced them I needed assistance, and they helped me untie and sit down. These nice gentleman later collected all our gear and left it at the bottom of the route for Eric to retrieve later. (We didn't lose a single sling or biner! Pretty impressive. Though some are slightly bloodier now.)
For the next hour or so, I remained extremely disoriented and confused. I repeatedly instructed Eric to call John, my boyfriend and fellow climber who had left 4 days before and was now in California. I was convinced that he was climbing nearby, and if Eric would just call him, he would be there in about 5 minutes and take me home. Also, the act of "taking me home" would magically make me uninjured. Eric, living in the real world, chose instead to focus his efforts on getting me to the hospital. What a jerk. I got increasingly agitated about this until Eric finally said "I just talked to John, he'll be here in 5 minutes." After which, I promptly forgot all about it.
I next decided that Eric should just "go get the car". Now, in my mind, this seemed perfectly logical. I mean, how lazy was Eric? Couldn't he see that I was hurt? I can't walk like this! Just go get the car. To understand this request from Eric's perspective, you have to visualize the trail we were on. Picture a staircase. Now, make it twice as steep. And 5 miles long. Now, instead of being made out of stairs, imagine that it is made out of a giant pile of rubble, loosely held together by the tenuous bonds of friction. Seriously. This is a no joke hike. It's not even a hike. Noone would hike there if they weren't trying to get to a climb. If you have great shoes and two free hands it's doable, but not fun. If you are a Hyundai Elantra, it is not happening. I believe Eric tried to explain to me that the only vehicle that could possibly get to us was perhaps a helicopter. I think it dawned on me slowly that this was not happening as I half-heartedly responded "so.... go get the helicopter?"
Instead of calling John in California or jogging down the trail to bring back "the helicopter", Eric chose instead to try to help me walk safely down the trail. Here's where my head wound really paid off. The laceration near my eye turned out to be the most superficial of my injuries, but stumbling around holding a blood-soaked t-shirt to my face (Eric just loves any excuse to show off his pecs) and, in general, being blood-soaked is WAY more flashy. Bystanders usually don't have X-ray vision, so they can't be like "Hey, I see you crushed some vertebrae! Need a hand?" But blood is like body-language for "HELP ME NOW!" and soon enough, a friendly fellow climber offered to help me down the trail. With friendly bystander in front and Eric behind, I now made safe and timely progress down the trail. And they only forgot that I couldn't see out of my right eye once.
After we'd gotten almost halfway down, my blood distress signal flagged down two more fellow climbers, one of whom volunteers with the Rocky Mountain Rescue Group. He made us stop and called them in, and they all responded to some magical bat-signal and swooped in to save the day. Some of them took my vital signs and poked things into me, some of them strapped me into a giant litter, some of them bandaged my face, and all of them were super happy and friendly and nice. This is really impressive, considering they managed to stay happy and friendly and nice even while carrying me, in a giant litter, down the trail. That trail that I described earlier. While I was all cozily packed away, with no other task than to lie there and look pretty, I heard things like "Loose rock on your side there, Allison"; "Watch out for that tree branch, Allison"; and "Yay, we get to walk straight through a giant patch of poison ivy. Shame you aren't wearing pants, Allison." Allison was super badass and chill about it all though. This was some seriously strenuous, uncomfortable, hot, dangerous, and itchy work and they still had energy to make bad jokes for me.
After I start a blog, maybe my next project will be to bake some cookies for them. I used to work as an EMT, and if there's one thing I learned, it's that you can never have too many baked goods at the squad house. Luckily for our patients, I learned WAY more than one thing. I'm just saying, nobody hates cookies.
UPDATE: I will always be sorry that we didn't get any pictures of the rescue operation or of my completely bloodied face immediately post-accident. This was the best we could do the next day - we are trying to show off my stitched up eye and Eric's blood tie-dyed T-shirt at the same time.
Sigh... it looked so much cooler the day before.
The next pitch was 5.9, and started with a tricky section in a sorta flaring dihedral. Eric got a piece of gear in above the anchor and spent some time trying to figure out the moves - climbing up to try something and climbing back down to a stance several times. It actually occurred to me during this time that if he fell in this tricky section, he would probably land right on top of me. With this in mind, I asked him to wait at his stance while I shortened my tie-in to the anchor. I was standing comfortably on a ledge with a long tie-in and was visualizing being knocked off the ledge if he fell, and didn't want to risk losing control of the brake strand. So I shortened my tie-in so that it was almost taut as I stood belaying. At some point, Eric was able to get a second piece of gear about six feet above my head, and I stopped worrying about him falling on me.
On his last attempt at the starting moves, he tried something a bit different off to the side a bit, so that even though he was no higher than previous attempts, there was more rope out. Without any warning, Eric slipped off the rock and crashed full force into my head. My perception is that he hit me with full force and immediately after, the rope came taut and caught him. It all happened kinda immediately and all at once - I felt sharp pain in my back, neck, and head and the first words out of my mouth were "Eric you broke my back!". For a second, I wasn't sure I'd be able to breathe properly or keep standing. Then I noticed extreme dizziness and confusion and my next thought was fear that I would lose consciousness and drop his belay rope. I said something like "Eric you have to take your rope I might drop you!" (I did not ask if he was ok until several minutes later, luckily he was unhurt and was able to think much more clearly than I). Despite my request, apparently I refused to let go of his belay rope, even after he was safely on the ledge and he eventually had to peel my fingers off the rope.
At this point, blood was gushing from a nice deep gash across my eyebrow, courtesy of one of the cams hanging on Eric's harness. I was aware enough to know that I wasn't in any condition to be thinking or deciding anything, and told Eric this. He was extremely calm and reassuring and told me I would be fine and he would take care of everything. Which he did. He lowered me to the ground, only 50 feet below, and then my mind went completely blank and I said "I don't know what to do now". Not getting any helpful response, I said louder "I don't know what to do now!" and burst into tears. This got the attention of two climbers who had been waiting to climb the route after us, then my gushing head wound probably convinced them I needed assistance, and they helped me untie and sit down. These nice gentleman later collected all our gear and left it at the bottom of the route for Eric to retrieve later. (We didn't lose a single sling or biner! Pretty impressive. Though some are slightly bloodier now.)
For the next hour or so, I remained extremely disoriented and confused. I repeatedly instructed Eric to call John, my boyfriend and fellow climber who had left 4 days before and was now in California. I was convinced that he was climbing nearby, and if Eric would just call him, he would be there in about 5 minutes and take me home. Also, the act of "taking me home" would magically make me uninjured. Eric, living in the real world, chose instead to focus his efforts on getting me to the hospital. What a jerk. I got increasingly agitated about this until Eric finally said "I just talked to John, he'll be here in 5 minutes." After which, I promptly forgot all about it.
I next decided that Eric should just "go get the car". Now, in my mind, this seemed perfectly logical. I mean, how lazy was Eric? Couldn't he see that I was hurt? I can't walk like this! Just go get the car. To understand this request from Eric's perspective, you have to visualize the trail we were on. Picture a staircase. Now, make it twice as steep. And 5 miles long. Now, instead of being made out of stairs, imagine that it is made out of a giant pile of rubble, loosely held together by the tenuous bonds of friction. Seriously. This is a no joke hike. It's not even a hike. Noone would hike there if they weren't trying to get to a climb. If you have great shoes and two free hands it's doable, but not fun. If you are a Hyundai Elantra, it is not happening. I believe Eric tried to explain to me that the only vehicle that could possibly get to us was perhaps a helicopter. I think it dawned on me slowly that this was not happening as I half-heartedly responded "so.... go get the helicopter?"
Instead of calling John in California or jogging down the trail to bring back "the helicopter", Eric chose instead to try to help me walk safely down the trail. Here's where my head wound really paid off. The laceration near my eye turned out to be the most superficial of my injuries, but stumbling around holding a blood-soaked t-shirt to my face (Eric just loves any excuse to show off his pecs) and, in general, being blood-soaked is WAY more flashy. Bystanders usually don't have X-ray vision, so they can't be like "Hey, I see you crushed some vertebrae! Need a hand?" But blood is like body-language for "HELP ME NOW!" and soon enough, a friendly fellow climber offered to help me down the trail. With friendly bystander in front and Eric behind, I now made safe and timely progress down the trail. And they only forgot that I couldn't see out of my right eye once.
After we'd gotten almost halfway down, my blood distress signal flagged down two more fellow climbers, one of whom volunteers with the Rocky Mountain Rescue Group. He made us stop and called them in, and they all responded to some magical bat-signal and swooped in to save the day. Some of them took my vital signs and poked things into me, some of them strapped me into a giant litter, some of them bandaged my face, and all of them were super happy and friendly and nice. This is really impressive, considering they managed to stay happy and friendly and nice even while carrying me, in a giant litter, down the trail. That trail that I described earlier. While I was all cozily packed away, with no other task than to lie there and look pretty, I heard things like "Loose rock on your side there, Allison"; "Watch out for that tree branch, Allison"; and "Yay, we get to walk straight through a giant patch of poison ivy. Shame you aren't wearing pants, Allison." Allison was super badass and chill about it all though. This was some seriously strenuous, uncomfortable, hot, dangerous, and itchy work and they still had energy to make bad jokes for me.
After I start a blog, maybe my next project will be to bake some cookies for them. I used to work as an EMT, and if there's one thing I learned, it's that you can never have too many baked goods at the squad house. Luckily for our patients, I learned WAY more than one thing. I'm just saying, nobody hates cookies.
UPDATE: I will always be sorry that we didn't get any pictures of the rescue operation or of my completely bloodied face immediately post-accident. This was the best we could do the next day - we are trying to show off my stitched up eye and Eric's blood tie-dyed T-shirt at the same time.
Sigh... it looked so much cooler the day before.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Start a blog!
I have become obsessed, this evening, with figuring out how to start a blog. I don't particularly care if anyone reads it, but I have decided that starting a blog is going to keep me sane this summer. If anyone besides me is reading this ever, then I guess I figured it out.
The reasons I have decided to start a blog are: 1. I am hilarious, and the world deserves my hilarity. 2. I have 5 crushed vertebrae, and am currently spending roughly 12 hours in bed flat on my back and 12 hours in a lawn chair in my living room at a 45 degree angle. Daily. This is even less exciting than it sounds. 3. I am on lots of pain medication and have difficulty remembering who I've talked to, what happened today, what I've told who. I am also tiring of retelling stories such as "how I crushed my vertebrae" and "why vicodin is way awesomer than percoset". I need some sort of public record. 4. I need a project. In a super serious way. My sanity depends on it.
I took percacet (yeah I don't know how it's spelled) at about 11pm in anticipation of immediate bedtime, and then got all confused by blog templates and next thing I know it's 12:45 and life is painless and super weird once again. Let's try this publish post button.
The reasons I have decided to start a blog are: 1. I am hilarious, and the world deserves my hilarity. 2. I have 5 crushed vertebrae, and am currently spending roughly 12 hours in bed flat on my back and 12 hours in a lawn chair in my living room at a 45 degree angle. Daily. This is even less exciting than it sounds. 3. I am on lots of pain medication and have difficulty remembering who I've talked to, what happened today, what I've told who. I am also tiring of retelling stories such as "how I crushed my vertebrae" and "why vicodin is way awesomer than percoset". I need some sort of public record. 4. I need a project. In a super serious way. My sanity depends on it.
I took percacet (yeah I don't know how it's spelled) at about 11pm in anticipation of immediate bedtime, and then got all confused by blog templates and next thing I know it's 12:45 and life is painless and super weird once again. Let's try this publish post button.
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