It’s been nine months since that fateful night. That’s enough time to create a new person–which is pretty much what I did. Yes, I’m the same person as I was before that night, but I’m also–not. This is something I’ve had to live with for the past nine months–the tension between two seemingly disparate things. I’ve mused often about how everything is the same and everything is not the same at the same time.
I’m sitting on my couch, sipping coffee, watching YouTube videos (in this case, an infuriating video by Legal Eagle about how cops don’t have a legal duty to protect individuals) while eating grocery store sushi. Shadow is in his little cat house taking a long cat nap. The sun is shining, but it’s not too hot out. I’m sipping a low sodium V8 as I’m typing this post. This is on the actual 9-month anniversary and will be posted the day after.
Up until this point, I’ve been coasting along and just appreciating the fact that I’m still here. I call these my bonus days, savoring each and every one. I should not be here so the fact that I am with nothing more than a bit of short-term memory issues is truly miraculous.
The first two months, I worked on getting back my stamina. Wait. Getting even more granular, the first week out of the hospital, I was waiting for my eyesight to get better. I spent most of my time at my computer. Not being able to read computer fonts was frustrating, not to mention worrying. My brother enlarged the font on my laptop, which helped, but I still took twice as long to read something as I normally would have.
In addition, the faces of all people (and my cat) were melty/fused. Everyone had one big eye and a candle wax-looking mouth. It was really bizarre and disconcerting. I could gauge how my eyesight was improving by how Shadow’s face was doing. His was the first to revert back to normal. I rejoiced when he had two eyes and a distinct mouth again.
The first two months, I had a nurse’s aide who came every week to wash my hair. I didn’t need her after a month, but my mother kept pushing to have her (and the weekly nurse check). When I pushed her on it, it turned out that it was more superstitious than practical. She wanted the weekly nurse check because they could catch anything wrong with me. But that wasn’t their job. Yes, they took my vitals, but it wasn’t as if they were doing a full physical every week. my mom helped me dry off after my showers, but I didn’t need her help after a few weeks. I allowed her to do it for a few more weeks just because it made her feel better.
I didn’t need much when I came home. My mom took care of Shadow’s need for the first month and then I took it back. The only thing I let her do the entire time I was here was the laundry. We had food delivered so we both took care of that (dishing it out, heating it up, etc.). Or rather, I started helping about a month after coming home from the hospital.
The biggest issue I had after leaving the hospital–besides being high and out of my gourd–was the sheer exhaustion I felt. My stamina was at about 10%. Other than that, though, I was fine. A week after I got home, my blurriness cleared up. Two weeks after I got home, the drugs were pretty much cleared from my system–and suddenly, I could feel pain again. That wasn’t fun, but it was a relief because I had been flying high for so long. It was nice to know that I could actually feel something in my body. I had a bunch of scars from all the needle pokes (and because I scar twice as badly as other people), but other than that? Oh, the numb patch on my right thigh. But other than that? (Which the docs were not concerned about.) I was fine.
The second day I was home, I tried to do the Sword From. I knew I shouldn’t, but I had to try. I was able to do three movements with my steel sword before having to stop. I was exhausted when I was done, but so happy that I actually got to do my beloved Sword Form. I switched to a wooden sword (after I got one from my Taiji teacher because I gave mine to a classmate years ago) and was able to go through the entire form…maybe two months after I got home? I don’t remember exactly any longer.
I will say that by the time my parents went back to Taiwan, three months after that night, I was 90% back to ‘normal’–and that last 10% was just stamina-related. When I was in the hospital, I passed all their tests with flying colors. I had an appointment with my heart doc two months after I got out of the hospital and a head doc as well. Both gave me a clean bill of health and I’m GTG.
It’s time to get serious about what I’m going to do with the rest of my bonus days. When I got out of the hospital, I decided to give myself six months to just recover from what I had gone through. It’s nine months now, which means that I should make a plan for the rest of my bonus days. I can still be thankful for each one and still plan on being around for more than just one more.
Right now, I’m better than I was before the medical trauma. My body issues? Gone. My hatred of my face? Gone. My body is a temple and saw me through hell and back. And I’m cute AF! I was questioning my gender before that night, mostly stuck on not wanting to be a woman, but not a man for sure, and not nonbinary. I didn’t like any of the pronouns and was really struggling with what to do. Because of my medical trauma, I now don’t really care about gender. I still don’t like pronouns and have settled on genderqueer, but I don’t really want to spend too much brain cells on it.
My depression and anxiety have eased up vastly, and I’m sleeping 7 1/2 hours to 8 hours a night. I slept at most 6 1/2 hours before the medical trauma, and it was fractured sleep. Now, it’s a solid 7 1/2 hours a night, with 8 hours being very common. I’m much more apt to shrug off things as unimportant and not be bothered by it.
I don’t mean to suggest that everything is hunky-dory. I still care too much about what people think of me. I am still cranky and quick to take offense (at least in my mind). I’m thin-skinned and antisocial. And I’m still not a great driver. But overall, I am a better person since my medical trauma 9 months ago–and I’m grateful to still be alive.