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Creative Nonfiction

Wear clean underwear! That’s what they tell you, right? Well, at least your mom does. And why? In case you get in an accident, of course! 

Well, I have a little secret. Lean in close…guess what? If you’re in an accident, you really don’t care what state your underwear is in. Chances are, it will all be a mess anyway. Like the rest of you. I won’t get into details, I’ll just leave it at that. 

The day of my accident, I’m pretty sure I showered that morning. I think. But, it was summer so I very well could have shrugged off the shower before heading outside for a walk. 

The afternoon sun was shining, the birds were singing, and somewhere behind me, a car was swerving. Right into me. 

I woke up from my coma cloud bleary-eyed, with a tube down my throat in the ICU. (Not thinking of my underwear, mind you.) I couldn’t move, but could blink. I blinked at a person standing over me telling me I had a tube in my throat and couldn’t talk. Yep, valid. Then they told me I was in the hospital and just rest. They didn’t have to tell me twice. How long was I out? A week or so? Long enough. They took the tube from my throat, which felt like I had managed to swallow a garden hose then decided to yak it back up like a hairball-hacking cat. Not a very pleasant experience. 10/10 would not recommend. 

Still not able to move, yet I was deemed well enough to earn a roommate in a less touch-and-go setting of the hospital. I bid my private room farewell, and was wheeled whole-bed style to the new unit. 

A thin white curtain separated me from my new roomie. Not that I was eager to initiate our first Girl’s Night and play Truth or Dare giggling and getting to know her. I could hear her on the phone with someone. She had a thick tobacco accent. 

“They said they’re going to the house! You gotta lock the drawer. No! Get everything out you can THEN lock the drawer with what’s left…I gotta go. I’m gonna ring for more meds. See ya later.” *click* 

I tried to think of what needed to be removed and locked up so urgently as a nurse entered the room. 

“You need something?” she asked me. 

Before I could say anything, Secret Sally barked from behind the curtain, “She don’t need nothing! I need meds! The PAIN! It’s terrible! Get them now!” 

The nurse was unmoved and dryly asked her to please rate her pain on a scale of 1-10. If I were a betting gal, you know I’d put my money on the 10 here. Secret Sally was seemingly desperate. My meds were still being drip-drop-dripped through my IV in a steady flow, “to keep me comfortable” in my broken state. I could only imagine what I looked like based on the gasps and exclamations of horror from the nursing staff when they helped me and saw the bruises that had formed. You’d think they would keep all that to themselves. Like when your kid falls face first into the sidewalk and looks like a crime scene but you tell them it’s nothing so they don’t freak out.

“It’s a TEN! A TEN!” shouted Secret Sally in dramatic wails. 

“Ok, I’ll be back,” the nurse replied, and left the room. 

“Hey over there! I need my rest so don’t expect me to talk to you. You hear me over there?” she directed at the curtain. 

“Yes, that’s fine,” I managed with my post-intubation accent. 

The world was a blur since I had no contacts or glasses (casualty of the accident) to help me see. My vision had failed since third grade when I got glasses, then refused to wear them. I hid them in my desk instead. Since then, I had matured enough to want to see though. But now I could neither see nor feel anything when I tried to move my hands. Sensory input was definitely compromised, but, for how long? Forever? 

I clumsily grabbed my phone that was sitting on the bed tray. I held it close to my face, whole handedly, and tried to tap the green text message icon. Nope. It fell from my hands onto my lap in the bed. I managed to pick it up and drop it back on the bed tray with a sigh. Texting was talking and I couldn’t do it. I desperately wanted to message everyone I loved, everyone I missed, everyone who felt so far away. And I couldn’t. 

Secret Sally was on the phone again instructing someone to find a stash of something in the coffee canister in the kitchen. Oh, Secret Sally, that’s probably the first place they’ll look when they get there, I thought. I wondered how it would all play out. And hoped I wouldn’t be in the hospital long enough to find out. 

But days stacked up like legos to weeks, and two things happened: 

1. Secret Sally was arrested. 

2. I was released to a rehab facility. 

This happened at 9:30pm, via a one hour dark and bumpy ambulance ride while my wheelchair was precariously strapped into place. My still unworking hands tried their best to steady my neck-braced broken neck for the duration. 

I arrived at my new home close to midnight, and was wheeled to the Brain Damaged Unit. Really? Brain damaged? Apparently when you’ve been in a coma and had head trauma you’re labeled as such. If I could feel my hands enough to write, I’d insert “slightly” in front of that. Makes it seem better. Just a bit brain damaged, thank you. 

As the staff traded paperwork with my ambulance Uber, I tried to get comfortable in my room before they helped me into the bed. The Velcro holding my neck brace in place had loosened on the ride. Loosened enough for my useless hands to grip it enough and then take off for just a minute of relief from that uncomfortable feeling of being choked 24/7. 

Success! I took it off and placed it on the wheely bedside table in front of me. Ah, sweet release felt so good! But, what were those flashes of red lights in the hallway? And why did it appear a SWAT team of nurses were charging full-speed toward my room with terrified looks of concern on their faces? 

“Stop! You can’t do that! Your neck is broken! You’ll be paralyzed!” they shouted. 

A nurse nearly dove across the bed to get the brace and quickly choked me with it once again. I thought maybe one would swing in through the window too like you see in movies. No such luck. 

They all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Wow, these nurses were dedicated. They pressed the alarm as soon as one noticed what I had done, and immediately sprang into action. 

That earned me a place on the unit’s “Restricted” list. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without supervision. I think there may even have been a mug shot behind the nurse’s station with my picture and “Mocks Safety!” above it. Look at all I accomplished in only a few hours in Rehab! 

The next morning, I opened my eyes, and was immediately met by another pair of eyes and a hand with a large needle that swiftly stabbed my stomach. I screamed. He screamed. My 92 year old brain damaged roommate screamed. Nurses ran into the room. 

“Oh my God I’m so sorry! I had to give the daily injection! I thought I could do it while she slept!” nurse Stabby explained. He was clearly new ‘round here. 

“Did you honestly think I’d sleep through it??” I high-pitch gasped so dogs could probably hear it (if they were also rooming in the Brain Damaged Unit) as I held my throbbing stomach. 

“Um, yes?” he whispered, then backed out of the room as the other nurses tried to explain why that was not the best idea. 

Wide awake, the nurses got me dressed, washed, and wheeled to therapy. Time to learn to walk again! And, time to train my hands again to feel and move and go back to working like hands. I still couldn’t text, hold a brush, brush my teeth, or write my name holding a pen. My fingers felt tingly pins and needly, and I had little strength to do much of anything. 

Fast forward: Months of physical therapy finally got me back to walking. Armed with my shiny silver walker and a nice dose of pain meds, I was able to lap Betty around the therapy gym. Betty was my third rotation of roommates, and had a stroke, but she was no match for me. Was I decades younger than her? Yes. But the car that leveled me also leveled the playing field there.  

“Hey Betty, you better keep working hard in therapy so I don’t smoke you doing laps in the gym again!” I teased her. 

“What? Oh sorry, I haven’t smoked since ‘92! My doctor said knock it off unless I want those cancers going around from them!” Betty replied. 

“Good for you Betty!” I didn’t correct her, and she smiled. 

Slowly, I started to make progress feeling again too. Repetitive exercises of squeezing things, moving beads around wires, and all sorts of other ostensibly silly tasks began to help. The numb tingles remained though, even as strength slowly came back. I’d gotten used to the feeling of unfeeling. 

I sat in my wheelchair one morning as usual, staring down at my “lucky llama” socks my sister had brought me. We had a theory that socks with llamas could be lucky, and help me walk again and get out of rehab. 

“Come on already!” I impatiently chided them. 

“I’m sorry, it’s your turn now!” a sweet therapist replied. 

“Oh! No, I was talking to…” Don’t say the llamas on your socks, they already have you in the Brain Damaged Unit, I told myself. 

“Nevermind, I’m ready!” I finished instead. 

And now, for the amazing part. Are you ready? Out of nowhere, it’s as if the Lucky Llamas expanded on their territory and not only lucked my walking, but lucked my hands too. 

           As the therapist took my hands when I stood, I felt it. Stunned at feeling feeling again, I looked at her wide-eyed and mouth agape. 

“Are you ok? Are you in pain?” she panicked. 

“No! No not at all! It’s the OPPOSITE of pain! I can feel you squeezing my hands! I can feel your fingers wrapped around my hands pressing down! I can feel how warm your hands are!” I rambled as a smile swept up my lips. 

“Alyssa! Come here!” she shouted, and my Occupational Therapist dashed over. 

“Squeeze my hand!” I challenged her. And she did.

“Feel this?” she asked, barely able to hide her excitement.

”Yes!”

And as if her warm squeeze was directly connected to my tear ducts, I started to cry the happiest tears. Then she cried. Then we were all just standing there squeezing and crying. Because it had been the longest road to get there. And because there were so many tears before that, tears not of joy. And then I told Alyssa to grab my phone. I held it and tapped the screen, tapped the green message icon, and watched it open through blurry watered eyes. I made a new group message with everyone on it that was in my heart, typed “I love you”, and hit send. My feelings, from finally feeling. 

August 30, 2023 14:39

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37 comments

Rebecca Miles
05:35 Sep 11, 2023

Truth as more hard hitting and somehow funnier than fiction here. Everyone has said everything already about the humour lifting us clear out of the tragedy ( I love the irony of Secret Sally). All I can add, is that your therapists must have loved your upbeat take on it all if you presented with one tenth of the sparkle you show here.

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Nina H
09:36 Sep 11, 2023

Thanks so much Rebecca ☺️

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Delbert Griffith
13:20 Sep 08, 2023

Wow! Non-fiction. Did this happen to you? When I was 23, I was in a car accident and my neck was broken, so I can relate to your tale. When I got out of ICU, I was fitted with a halo vest. Yeah, that was a fun six months. I still have little indentations in my temples from the incident. A constant reminder of how fortunate I am. You told this tale with humor and verve. And, if this happened to you, I rejoice with you. A broken neck (C3 for me) is no joke, right? I loved that yo had a Nurse Stabby, though I don't envy you having to go throu...

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Nina H
13:33 Sep 08, 2023

What wonderful praise, thank you so much!!! ☺️ And yes, my head broke off too! Mine was C1/C2. The fatality rate for that one is quite high, let alone paralysis rate. My doctors told me all the time in the hospital that even a sneeze could cause paralysis in my situation. I’ll never forget the first time I sneezed after the accident and held my breath to see if everything could still move! They took my hip bone and put it in my neck with some stylish steel rods to connect to a metal plate attached to my skull. I set off the metal detectors...

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Delbert Griffith
13:53 Sep 08, 2023

Damn! The C1 and C2! I didn't have any surgery. Just 6 months with a halo vest. I think I read two books a day during that time, so it wasn't all tragic, right? LOL Yes! The elitists! LOL How many of us are out there, I wonder? I wonder if impostors would try to sneak in. Maybe they broke a finger and figured, "What the hell?" LOL At any rate, I'm chuffed that you can joke about it now, and I certainly understand what you went through, my friend. I think we're stronger because of it. Cheers!

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Nina H
14:09 Sep 08, 2023

Wow, 2 a day!! The silver lining of your injury!! Im not opposed to requiring X-ray proof as part of the application process to our club. We must be vigilant. 😑 Or, I guess we can just welcome anyone who identifies with a neck injury?? We are nice like that. 🤗

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Delbert Griffith
14:19 Sep 08, 2023

Nice like that, as only the broken-necked can be. Cheers!

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Michał Przywara
20:33 Sep 07, 2023

Considering how devastating the accident was, this story is very upbeat and funny - I could *feel* the joy when the therapist squeezed the hands, like a huge relief :) The ending winds up on a huge inspirational note, which is a great way to leave it. The bits about Sally are funny - though probably, not to her - the opening sets the mood, and the tone is frequently amusing, being a little self-deprecating or sarcastic or ironic. It makes for a good contrast to the gravity of the injuries, and the uncertainty of where things would go. All ...

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Nina H
21:05 Sep 07, 2023

I titled this story “Feel This”, and you did. 😄 that makes me smile. And yes, you certainly can take the little things for granted once they’re (sometimes very suddenly) gone. Secret Sally was an interesting “character” to me. She was always just a disembodied voice behind the curtain. I often wondered what she looked like, but never actually saw her. Thanks for reading and your thoughtful comments! 😊

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Mary Richards
18:30 Sep 07, 2023

Wow, you have been through it! Thank you for sharing your story. I loved the reality of the way you told it. Kind of "it is what it is."

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Nina H
19:13 Sep 07, 2023

Thanks so much, Mary! 😄

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Jonathan Page
22:05 Sep 04, 2023

"The afternoon sun was shining, the birds were singing, and somewhere behind me, a car was swerving. Right into me." Nice! "10/10 would not recommend." Lol!! "Just a bit brain damaged, thank you." Haha. "a SWAT team of nurses..." You did a great job of breaking the tension and keeping the story moving with vivid, imaginative interludes even though the subject was more of a tragic and scary situation. Great humor and a "touching" story!

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Nina H
22:11 Sep 04, 2023

A “touching” story - ha!!!! You just tickled my punny bone 😂 Thanks for the read and feedback, Jonathan! 😄

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Hannah Lynn
02:32 Sep 04, 2023

You got me at “Wear clean underwear” and kept my attention to the very end. Great job!

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Nina H
11:17 Sep 04, 2023

Lol! Thanks for read, Hannah!! 😄

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Sarah Martyn
00:52 Sep 04, 2023

Creative nonfiction! Wow. Always interested in tidbits of reality in story form. Well done. 💛 My most recent is also a creative nonfiction.

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Nina H
11:20 Sep 04, 2023

It’s easier and harder at the same time to draw on something personal and charged. Thanks for reading, Sarah!

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16:56 Sep 03, 2023

I like the Llama socks

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Nina H
09:59 Sep 04, 2023

Llama socks: a symbol of strength. Perseverance. Or, maybe they’re just super cute 😂

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Martin Ross
16:45 Sep 03, 2023

“My feelings, from finally feeling”! That’s brilliant, and touches an emotional cord. You told a difficult, wrenching story with such humor and optimism, without compromising any of the gravity of the situation. That’s great writing, and writing than can provide comfort and hope for others. Well done!

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Nina H
10:01 Sep 04, 2023

Thanks so much, Martin. What a wonderful compliment your comments are ☺️

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Martin Ross
13:33 Sep 04, 2023

I’ve spent the last week on an absolutely toxic writers FB group that seems to HATE meaning, individual style, or intelligent, original narrative. It’s made me appreciate what a truly wonderful, positive, searching group this is. Those jackals rip newbies apart for the sport, and argue use of a semicolon is more important than finding a voice. If I see a miserably written mess of a story here, I search harder for those raw nuggets the author can build on. You are both a sterling writer AND an author with great stories to tell and share. Fo...

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Nina H
13:49 Sep 04, 2023

I hope you aren’t still hanging out in that Facebook group! Sounds pretty awful and closed minded. 😕 (And nobody uses semicolons anyway, let alone properly. 😝) So far, the suggested edits I’ve received have been delivered so gently and respectfully here. It feels like a writer’s hive of helpfulness and inspiration for me. I’ll just keep buzzing around here, and avoid Facebook groups if they’re like that! You have a great approach in seeking the golden nuggets. And thank you for your encouragement!! A little positivity goes a long way 🤗

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Martin Ross
22:47 Sep 04, 2023

I'd recommend any new writer come here! Everyone's been wonderful and helped me define where to go and how best to go there. I leave it to othe writers to suggest the physical changes, and focus mainly on the writer's concepts and thematic talents.

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Dena Linn
08:45 Sep 03, 2023

very nice story, nicely crafted and moving

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Nina H
09:42 Sep 03, 2023

Thanks so much for reading, and for the kind words Dena! 😄

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Kevin Logue
14:13 Sep 02, 2023

Human spirit at its best right here, take something horrible and make it fun. This story had a great voice, it really leapt out like a story narrator, aided by moments were you directly speak to the reader. Really good stuff 👍

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Nina H
15:27 Sep 02, 2023

Thanks so much Kevin! ☺️

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Marty B
00:33 Aug 31, 2023

Great story, with some interesting characters! I laughed out loud at this line! 'Armed with my shiny silver walker and a nice dose of pain meds, I was able to lap Betty around the therapy gym.' Thank you!

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Nina H
14:06 Aug 31, 2023

Lol! Thanks Marty! Glad it caused a chuckle!! 😄

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Mary Bendickson
00:18 Aug 31, 2023

Oh,my! Creative non-fiction. Who is this about? If you then God bless. Or who ever God be with them. Guess He already was since someone survived this nightmare.

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Nina H
14:05 Aug 31, 2023

Yes, it’s me. First time I’ve written about it since it happened!

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Mary Bendickson
14:07 Aug 31, 2023

Wow, Nina. So glad you are doing better.

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Chris Miller
18:17 Aug 30, 2023

Hospital wards are the worst places to be when you need rest. Sounds like a tough time, but there's nothing like a strong comeback. I hope you are fully recovered. Thanks for sharing, Nina.

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Nina H
18:30 Aug 30, 2023

You couldn’t be more right! For so many reasons! I think I’m as recovered as I’m going to get at this point, and it’s a good place. So I can’t complain! Thanks Chris! :)

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Unknown User
17:03 Sep 01, 2023

<removed by user>

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Nina H
17:09 Sep 01, 2023

Yep, the names were changed to protect the innocent (you read that in a deep tv voice, I know you did!) And thanks! Who knows, maybe I’m new and improved after all the surgeries?!? 😂

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