part 2.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.
chapter 6.
chapter 7.
chapter 8.
chapter 9.
chapter 10.
chapter 11.

"most human beings have an absolute and infinite capacity for taking things for granted." - aldous huxley

i learned
all too quickly
what i had taken for granted
up until that point.

my home. a home i would never sleep in again. a home i would never cook a meal in again. a home i would never bring my new baby to. a home i would never get to tend a garden around again. a home to my dogs. a home to my husband. a home to me.

being able to squat
or balance on my right leg

using the toilet
taking a shower
walking
dancing
twirling
driving
running
hiking
yoga
biking
riding the motorcycle
going to restaurants
playing with my dogs
making love to my husband
sleeping in the same bed as my husband
sleeping in my own bed
sleeping
living without pain
living with a clear mind

a life without scars.

but without them
without the scars
i suppose i would still
just be taking it all for granted.

chapter 11.

(at last.)

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.
chapter 6.
chapter 7.
chapter 8.
chapter 9.
chapter 10.

i am not sure when
but at some point during the week i was at the university
the hospital became my home.
my real home
seemed a thousand miles away
and years from where i left mere days before.
granted
at the time
i would have rather been anywhere but in that bed
that bed with all of it's buttons
disheveled sheets
and excess pillows.

but without me realizing it
that bed became my world
and leaving it
would throw my sense of 'home'
into a tailspin once again.

* * *

my last night in the hospital
was a special one
bittersweet, even.
bill had gone back to work that friday
after using up all of his sick time and vacation
to camp out in a vinyl recliner next to my bed.
when he arrived back at the hospital that day
i remember beaming as i shared with him
that i had used the walker to move
from the bed
into the hallway.
it was probably a total of 20 feet
but was my biggest success yet.
i remember how disappointed he was that he'd missed it
and the look of despair on his face
when he realized that my dependence on him
would start to fade
the further i pushed myself
the further he pushed me.

so it was that night
with a wide range of emotions
knowing we were leaving the next day
knowing that my independence would return
knowing that we were not going home
knowing that a baby was in our immediate future
that my man looked at me
in my oversized iowa t-shirt
with shower cap washed hair
not having showered in a week
35 weeks pregnant
and a leg that was hanging on by a thread
and said

'how 'bout a date?'

this
was
the
best
part
of
my
week

we used my new found independence
to maneuver my bloated
broken
body
from the bed
into a wheelchair.
the process alone
took ten minutes to accomplish.

as we left the room
which i now solely occupied
we moved into the dimly lit reception area
of the orthopedics floor.
it was 11:00 at night.

bill pushed me through the hallways of the massive hospital
places i had never seen because i had been isolated to specific rooms
he showed me the bench where he had sat
cried
prayed
during my surgery
showed me the various cafeterias where everyone had been dining throughout the week
showed me the skywalk that connected the labor and delivery area to other parts of the building.
we finally found an open cafeteria on the lowest level
and made our way in
to get something to drink
as we made our way to a table
we spotted the med student
who dr. jack had lovingly referred to as 'jethro'
during my surgery.
bill explained our 'date'
explained that i would be released
and he smiled
and shook our hands
as we thanked him again
for all that he'd done.

we continued our travels
through the vacant hallways
bill always pointing out their relevance
to my presence
in the building.

we finally stopped at a bench
not far from the pediatrics wing
(if you've never been to the U
i should make mention
of the amazing artwork
that litter the hallways)
it was in front of just such art
that we paused
imagined we were in some wonderful museum
and talked about just how lucky we were.
lucky to be alive
lucky to have a healthy child still growing within me.
lucky to have two legs.
lucky to have family and friends that cared so much.
lucky.
lucky.
lucky.

and for the second time
on one of our dates
(since he had proposed in the cemetery 10 years before
a story for another time)

we both cried.

lumpy chapters and painted ceilings.

a conversation overheard while two souls painted a basement ceiling...

him: so where's chapter 11?
her: i don't know.
him: 'cause you haven't put up a chapter since march 30.
her: [staring]
him: yeah, i check these things.
her: but we've come to a slow part of the story and i don't know how to write it. once sweet girl arrived, life got very exciting again.
him: every story has a slow part. you just gotta get through it to get to the good stuff.
her: but it's all commodes and percocet and recliners and coloring books and lots of seinfeld...how do you write that?
him: you just do. 'cause it's all part of the story. just lump it all into one chapter if you need to.

lumpy chapter to come...

chapter 10.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.
chapter 6.
chapter 7.
chapter 8.
chapter 9.

i came to love those labor and delivery nurses.
i came to love the wide open room with the big window overlooking the football stadium.
i came to love the couches and chairs that my family could rest comfortably on.

and so it was
with a swollen abdomen
a broken leg
and a heavy heart
that i watched an orderly
load my dozens of bouquets on a cart
throw my belongings into a bag
and unlock the wheels on my bed.

they needed the room.
i was to be placed on the ortho floor
for observation.

i was angry.
i was tired.
i was in a great deal of pain.

i do not adapt well to change.
i am a creature of habit
and routine
and like things in my world to be
just
so.

bill
unflinching
assured me over and over again that everything would be okay
as long as we were together.
he never let on that he was equally as frustrated
and ten times as angry.

upon arrival
i was hurried into a small room
with a recliner
and two beds.

not only am i a creature of habit
i tend not to share well.
two beds was not what i was ready to face.

the day seemed to transition
from grey
to black
in mere minutes.

my parents sifted through the menagerie of flowers and determined what they would take home
and what would stay with me.
in labor and delivery i had enough room for at least forty arrangements.
in this small orthopedic corner of the hospital i had room for four.
those flowers
all of them
had brought me such a sense of spring
of color
of life.
weeding through them broke my heart.

with bill boosting my optimism
and katie jo seeing to the spa side of things

i began to focus on the positives and settle into my new surroundings.
and then walked in the tech.
a petite brunette
barely out of high school
with fear written all over her face.

tech: i'm sorry...

we all watched her
waited for the reason behind the apology
more than a dozen eyes
fixed with anticipation on her timid features.

tech: we're going to have to move you to a different room...they need this one for a male patient...

no one said a thing.
flowers were loaded again.
bags were packed again.
and we moved...again.

by the time we settled in
to a room that i shared with an elderly woman
and her son
i was exhausted
swollen
frustrated
disappointed
and needing to use a bathroom
(something i had not done since before the accident).

the day had gone to shit
in more ways than one.

chapter 9 1/2.

more than a tab in this story.
but not quite a chapter.
this is more like a flower
pressed between the pages.
so precious to me
i want to keep it forever.
because i want to remember this.
i want charlie to know it.
but most of all
i don't want bill to forget this part of our story.

bill went through more than i did
in the seven days we spent in iowa city
and beyond.

when we arrived at the U
he was x-rayed
and examined
and found to be fit to return to work
if you will.

he was quite solemn
and incredibly strong
and beyond supportive
caring
attentive
patient
loving
doting
saintly.

he never let me know...

it wasn't until at least a week after the fact that any of what follows was ever revealed to me...

after i was wheeled back into the trauma surgery
the first surgery
my husband found
my sweet
burly
stubborn
irish
man
found a quiet
lonesome
stiff cushion
on a narrow bench
next to the west elevators

and cried.

i know now that the guilt he experienced in those days following the accident was all-consuming
and that he hid it behind a layer of optimism for me
his wife
who was in a significant amount of pain
and carrying our daughter.
but on that day
in that quiet corner
he sat by himself
and prayed
and cried.

two days later
in a similar scene
he waited for me
again
the guilt still all-consuming.
it was hard for him to look at my parents.
he was certain they blamed him.
hard to read their quiet natures.
we are not talkers, the people from which i come.
we process quietly and in prayer
and wait.
and so it was
that on wednesday
march 26th, 2008
my husband found a quiet corner
again
and cried
and prayed.

it was my mom who found him first.
who held him
and cried with him
and told him...

mom: it's okay. it wasn't your fault. this is not your fault. it was just an accident.

it was shortly after my surgery
as i fought through the pain
and waited for the morphine that my dad turned to bill
tears in his own eyes and said...

daddy: it's nobody's fault. these things just happen. it was just an accident.

we look for people
for conditions
for higher powers
to blame
and when the blame doesn't fit anywhere else
we blame ourselves.

but.

it was just an accident.

sweet man of mine
i've said it once
i've said it a hundred times
this
all of it
none of it
is your fault.
if it weren't for you
i wouldn't be here
i wouldn't be walking
i wouldn't be sharing these moments with you
and charlie
in our home.
if it weren't for you
my heart would be broken
much more than a leg ever can be.
you
saved
me
in more ways
than one.

this was just an accident.
so was charlie.
some accidents
are blessings
dressed up.

i love you.
forever
and
always.

chapter 9.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.
chapter 6.
chapter 7.
chapter 8.

chapter 9.

i wish i could set the stage for you by telling you that it was a sunny morning
or a rainy day
or bitter with a chance of flurries.

the truth is
time ceased to exist for me
after march 23, 2008.
days blended
into one
long
drug-induced
haze.

so when the nurses came to fetch me that morning for my second surgery
the surgery to fix my leg
i was unaware of the weather
the season
the time.

i was thirsty again, though.
everyone in my now established entourage had arrived
but only bill came back to pre-op with me and waited.
we sat and laughed
about what
i can't remember.
but it was important that we laughed.

dr. cocky walked in and informed us
somewhat glumly
that they would
in fact
be using an epidural.

i didn't gloat.
i just nodded.

as he went to the nurses' station to finalize everything
and the ob nurse stepped away from charlie's heart rate
our mood turned a bit somber.

me: no visitors, today. i don't want to see anyone.
him: okay.
me: please tell everyone i'm sorry...i just don't think i'm up to unexpected guests.
him: don't be sorry. it's fine.
me: just us.
him: just us. i'll go up to the library and check out some movies. any requests?
me: surprise me.

moments.

me: remember what i told you sunday, before the first surgery?
him: [staring.]
me: i know everything will be fine, but just in case it's not...
him: aim, don't. i don't want to think like that.
me: it'll be fine, i know it will. but if it's not, please save the baby.
him: just worry about you.
me: i can't do that anymore.

we parted with a kiss.
an 'i love you'.
an extra kiss.
a squeeze of the hand.
and i was wheeled out of pre-op
and into op.

what i didn't realize at the time was that
as they wheeled me away
bill pulled the ob nurse aside...

him: listen.
those two girls in there are the most important people in my life.
you take good care of them...both of them.

****

to me
this room was like something out of a horror flick.
i hadn't had time to process my environment before the first surgery
and once the epidural kicked in
i had slept.

now
i was wide awake
and fully aware of where i was
and what was about to happen.

stainless steel splattered the scene
and a wide bed
with crisp white linens
was waiting for me.

i was transferred to the bed
by at least ten hands
and a bedsheet.
with the help of a young
naive
scared shitless
medical student
i was seated upright
and prepped for the epidural.
the young girl in front of me wearing her green scrubs tried to make conversation
i remember thinking she must have been a cheerleader
she seemed completely oblivious to the pain i was experiencing.
the rods situated on the exterior of my leg
pulled at the skin
and the wound underneath the sponge-like vacuum
throbbed intensely.

i felt the long needle
enter my spine
cold
cold
pain
pain
ice running through my lower extremities
i was placed on my back
and within minutes
the pain just stopped.

thank god for drugs.

there were so many people in the room
an ob nurse
the scared shitless, cheerleader medical student
the 4th year who dr. jack referred to as 'jethro' (who would later call me at home just to check on me...something dr. jack never did...you decide who the better doctor is...)
dr. cocky
dr. cocky's boss (who agreed the epidural was the way to go...)
dr. jack's nurse (tess - my life line for the last year)
another med student

and then walked in the man of the hour.
he leaned over the sheet to look me in the eye.

dr. jack: you ready?
me: yep.
dr. jack: [to the ob nurse]: baby okay?
nurse: yes, she's perfect. 160. no problem.
dr. jack: what's her name?
me: charlie.
dr. jack: charlie. good. okay. we're gonna get started and make this beautiful.

the surgery took just over 5 hours.
they had thought it would take longer
but because the doctors on sunday had done such a nice job of cleaning out the debris
dr. jack got to do what he does best:
come to work and fix broken legs.

i rested through most of the surgery.
in and out of sleep.
i think dr. jack forgot i could hear him.
some of my favorite dr. jack-isms from that surgery include:

"Oh, this is just fuckin' beautiful."
"Jethro, give me that knife."
"Dr. 90210 has nothin' on me. Fuck."

in those five plus hours i was on the table
a titanium lisp plate was placed on my tibia
with thirteen titanium screws.
because dead tissue cannot regenerate
two of my four calf muscles were moved and grafted
to the shin area of my right leg.
finally, dr. jack removed a piece of skin from my upper right thigh
approximately 3 inches wide
and 9 inches long
and used that to graft on the wound site.

by the time the surgery was complete
and my leg outfitted with
gauze
gauze
wound vac
techaderm
and an ace bandage
i was having minor contractions
and
charlie's heart rate was over 200.

if you've been pregnant or work in the medical field
you know...
this is too high.
they had told my parents to bring their camera
in the event that an emergency c-section would need to be preformed...
they might be grandparents sooner than they had planned...

i was quickly placed on my left side
better for circulation
better for charlie
and wheeled into recovery where i was left to listen
to others coming out of anesthetic.
the ob nurse kept pushing me to get another bolus of the epidural.
as good as it was, i didn't want any more drugs in my system than absolutely necessary.

i refused.

if you've never experienced post-op recovery
you're not missing a damn thing.
all i wanted was a drink of water.
you would have thought i had called the post-op nurse a bitch...and her mama too.
she seemed to not even hear me.
i put on all my 'pleases' and 'thank-yous'
no water.
all i wanted was to be taken back to my room.
to my husband.
to my parents.
to my sister.
to my pitcher full of ice cold water.

charlie's heart rate came down.
she would stay put a while longer.
my epidural began to wear off
as i was wheeled back to labor and delivery
clinging to the rails of the bed
over every bump.

by the time i got back to the room
there were no jokes.
the epidural had completely worn off
and i was in the worst pain i had ever experienced.

i was given extra morphine
two percocets
and time.
i remember closing my eyes
and just praying
and breathing
and wishing it would all just stop.
my dad was there
sitting with me.
my mom was there
wringing her hands.
katie jo and troy were there
trying to make conversation.
bill just sat and waited for direction.
his parents came in long enough to say 'good-bye' so that i could rest.


the family left early

leaving me a bill
to work through the pain

one 'indiana jones' at a time.

chapter 8.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.
chapter 6.
chapter 7.

chapter 8.
or
my first thank you.

the two days between surgeries ran together
like watercolor on thin paper.
everything blurred
little was clear.
i was in and out of consciousness between percocets and morphine.
i had become increasingly uncomfortable in the labor and delivery bed
never quite getting the inclines and the reclines to match up very well.
the only food i could stomach was toast and grilled cheese with tomato soup.
bill felt it was a great waste of such a diverse menu.

flowers continued to pour in.
cookie bouquets.
balloons.
cards.
e-mails.
stuffed animals.
i was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support we received
especially considering i had never regarded myself as a social butterfly.
or a great co-worker.
or an outstanding teacher.

yet, i was the most popular person on the labor and delivery floor.

by day two i had vowed to be nicer and more considerate of those around me
and to never again take for granted the people in my life.
those days
that week
really drove home for me
who was important in our lives
and whose lives we were important in.

of those who were important
family was at the top of the list.
my parents
my sister
my brother-in-law
my parents-in-law
everyone was there everyday
making the 45-minute drive first thing in the morning
and staying until evening each day.

my mom knew just what to do
damp washcloths
combing my hair
putting lotion on my feet
adjusting my pillow.
i knew then
and know even more now
how difficult it was for her to watch me
day in
day out
hit the morphine button
and close my eyes
and wait.

my dad would bring the paper
get me another sprite
hold the straw to my lips
and sit
and wait
and hold my hand when it hurt so bad
and quietly flip through the channels
and wait for the next doctor to come in.

my sister
bless my sister
she made sure i stayed clean.
shower cap hair treatments
and sponge baths.
she even emptied my urine once
when all the other nurses were busy.
people magazine
us weekly
she made sure i knew what was going on in the world outside.

my husband.
words aren't enough.
our vows were pushed to the limit.
in sickness...
he never flinched.
never blinked.
he watched monitors.
he watched my IVs.
he watched the time.
he watched my belly.
he watched my sprite.
he watched my wound vac.
he watched me sleep.
he watched me hurt.
he watched
and watched
and watched.

and more than once
a day
an hour
a minute
i thanked god
that he was my husband
my partner.
the cheese to my macaroni.
the oreo to my milk.
the hand i reached for.

sweet man of mine
there are no words.
i will love you
now
and into the next lifetime.

another turn in the road
just ahead...

chapter 7.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.
chapter 6.

chapter 7.

the waiting game had begun.
we were told that i would undergo more surgery on tuesday
to remove the external fixator (erector set)
and replace it with permanent internal titanium.

monday morning the flowers started coming in.
bill's came first.
a small
perfect
yellow
spring bouquet.
it seemed important to him that the first flowers i received came from him.
and despite the numerous bouquets i received throughout the week
his remained my favorite.



along with the flowers
came the doctors.
ob doctors.
anesthesiologists.
medical students.
surgeons.

well, one in particular.

he blew into my room sometime mid-monday morning
with all the flair and arrogance of a celebrity.
he had with him
his entourage of white coats
frothing at the mouth
and hanging on his every word.

i just did my best to keep up through the haze of the pain medications.

it took me a bit to realize that this was the man who would fix me.
a former university of iowa wrestler
who still sported cauliflower ear
and frizzy, greying hair.
he spoke quickly
and i could see bill leaning in to pick up the words spilling from his mouth
before they hit the floor and were lost under the bed.

for the remainder of this story
he shall hence be known as doctor jack.
not his real name.

doc jack: questions? (turning on his heel...heading for the door...)
me: will i run again?
doc jack: (puzzled...turning) um...yes. i don't see why you wouldn't.
me: how long?
doc jack: you're probably looking at three months recovery (unspoken: "times five.")
me: (digesting this info.) will you use an epidural again?
doc jack: um...the anesthesiologist will be in to discuss that with you.

he really didn't know what to do with my questions.
i decided not to push him further.
my head was swimming and i needed to process.
he didn't know how to handle a gimpy pregnant girl.
i didn't care to stroke his ego.

throughout the course of the day
four more anesthesiologists were in
and out
each with a different idea of how they would handle the surgery.
i clung to what the first anesthesiologist had told me upon my arrival at the U -
anything but an epidural would be a risk to charlie.
by the time the fifth
(and cockiest)
anesthesiologist came in
the mama bear in me was ready.

me: i want an epidural.
doc cocky: well, the surgery is extensive and i'm not sure that's best.
me: best for who?
doc cocky: (confused.) for you.
me: i don't want what's best for me. i want what's best for my baby. for charlie. i want the epidural.
doc cocky: well, we can bring my supervisory doctor in to discuss it with you...
me: fine. do that.
doc cocky: (blank.)
me: listen...i know you're just trying to do your job and you know better than me, but you're the fifth person in here today with another story about how i'm going to be tended to and quite frankly, i'm going to stick with what was originally given to me. i want the epidural. i want what's best for this baby.

he walked out without saying anything.
i laid down knowing i'd been heard.

more doctors.
more nurses.
we watched in awe as the ortho doctors maneuvered my leg by lifting it up by the bars held on with screws dug deep into the tissue.
there was pain
but it was deeply rooted
the nerve damage was extensive
and the bar trick was when the doctors would come in
run fingers over my feet
and not get a response from me.

i had no topical feeling in my right leg from the knee down.
[for the record: i still don't...at least not in the front half of the bottom half of my leg.]

i was thirsty all the time.
and i drank excessive amounts of water the day before my surgery
knowing that i wouldn't get to drink anything after midnight.
by 3 a.m. i was begging for ice chips.
bill fetched me pink sponges as frequently as the nurses would allow.

9 a.m.
i would be prepped for surgery in an hour.
i was parched.
i was in pain.
i just wanted that epidural.

10 a.m.
doctor jack blows into my room.
something has come up.
the surgery has been postponed.
he doesn't want to feel rushed.
we'll do it first thing next day.

as he blows back out of my room
i look to bill.

me: i need water.

he was already there with the pitcher.

chapter 6.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.
chapter 5.

chapter 6.

one thing that bill has always held fast to
is the idea that when you come out of surgery
making a joke is the best way to let people know you're okay.
so when i was wheeled into the labor and delivery room for post-op recovery
i looked at him and said...

me: i think we may need to reconsider natural, drug-free childbirth. this epidural is awesome...i'm not feeling a thing!

he smiled at me. he knew i was okay.
as the young labor and delivery nurses rolled me onto the bed
they commented on my tattoo.
i had completely forgotten about it
as tends to happen when ink is out of sight.
but it had me seeking out bill's initials on my right ankle
wondering if the accident had stripped my leg of his name.
but they were there
safe
and unscathed.

the room was dimly lit.
the sun had gone down for the day.
it didn't strike me at the time
but looking back i realize that it had been over ten hours since the time of the accident to the time i was finally sent to recovery.

my dad stood at my head
quiet
stoic
teary.

me: hi daddy.
daddy: (kiss on the forehead). hi baby.

the night wore a veil of sobriety.
my parents quietly slipped out.
they would take care of the dogs.
my sister threw her arms around my neck.
she would be back in the morning.
bill stood with the nurses
learning about each monitor
each beep
each flickering light
each iv
each bag of fluid.

we spent a good majority of the evening staring on the erector set fixated on my leg

and the new curvature of my shin.
we chatted with the labor and delivery nurse.
flipped through channels
checked to see if we'd made the news.
we hadn't.
i tried to eat
but was unsuccessful.
bill slipped into some scrubs
and finally peeled off his now infamous 'lucky' fleece
crusted with dirt
grease
blood
sweat
tears.

the night turned quiet.
but we didn't sleep.
we just sat
and stared
and listened to the quiet
but steady
ba-da-dump ba-da-dump
that came from deep within me.

chapter 5.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.
chapter 4.

chapter 5.

his words didn't resonate right away.
my initial reaction was, 'yes,
let's save my leg.'
as if there weren't a doubt in my mind that they weren't going to.
but as we all waited in that room
now stained with the blood from my lower limbs
and resonating with charlie's heartbeat
i began to grasp the severity of the situation.

i couldn't focus.
bill picked up the information
the doctors threw on the floor at his feet.
i don't know how many times he answered my 'what?'
but each time he did it with more patience and love
than i have ever demonstrated.

the surgeons explained that they were going to clean out the debris
that had been left in my leg
by the truck
by the beam.
it was uncertain how long the surgery would take;
no one knew what they would
or would not
find in the leg.

there were concerns of arterial damage.
there was a very real possibility of amputation.
and then
there was the chance
the very real chance
that they would need to perform an emergency c-section
as being on my back for such a lengthy period of time
and under any type of anesthetic
put her at a great risk.

anesthesiologists came in and explained their role.
they would use an epidural.
putting me under put the baby at too much risk.
they would continue to give me a bolus
to keep my lower extremities oblivious to the dissection that would be occurring in my right leg.

surgeons came in and explained their role.
they would be cleaning out the debris and removing dead tissue from my leg.
the tissue would
more than likely
never regenerate.
there was a slim chance that i may regain some tissue given my age and physical condition
but more surgery would be needed
including muscle grafts
to rebuild my leg.

the nurse
whose name i can't remember
but whose face i will never forget
explained her role.
to keep charlie safe.
she would stand with me however long it took.
she would hold my hand
talk to me
tell me how charlie was doing
and make sure that she was safe at all times.

the room was being prepped.
the family was being moved.
bill and i were given a moment.
only a moment.
but a moment long enough for me to tell him
with as much urgency as i could muster...

me: if something happens...
him: (shaking his head. squeezing my hand.)
me: no, listen to me. if something happens...if something goes wrong...you get her out. take care of her first. save her.
him: everything will be fine.
me: i know, but if it's not...
him: (nodding). okay.
me: promise. promise me.
him: i promise.

there were 'i love you's', interlaced fingers.
there wasn't time to be scared.
there was barely enough time for a kiss good-bye
a kiss for luck
a kiss for love
but there was enough time for me to wish
he didn't have to leave my side.

i was wheeled down a long, yellow hallway
and given something resembling grape soda to drink.
it was supposed to neutralize the acid in my stomach prior to the epidural being administered.
they told me it would taste like a sour sweet tart.
they lied
but it was the first thing i had had to drink since the tragic loss of my starbucks
and i was parched.

another i love you.
a squeeze of the hand.
i was pushed into another sterile room
with more gadgets and tools than one person could name.

i had to sit up to be given the epidural.
the morphine had weakened me
the pain had intensified
and i was given strict instructions not to move my right leg.
but i needed to sit up to be given the epidural.
it was a dance
but somehow we all managed.
within minutes
i felt ice course through my veins
and as i lay down
i lost all feeling below my waist.

and for the first time in a week
my sciatic pain was gone.
for the first time that day
i was able to sleep.

chapter 4.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.
chapter 3.

chapter 4.

everything up until this point had drifted.
if there had been urgency on the part of the doctors and staff in waterloo
they had done an amazing job of concealing it from me.
they had been gentle
soothing
and worked at a pace that i seemingly set.

but as i was pushed through the double doors at the university of iowa hospitals
my world spiraled out of control.
i was pushed into a room
very much like the ones i watch every thursday night.
teal tiles
a bright light overhead
surgical steel
sterile draperies
trays of tools
and a waiting staff

hands began grabbing at me
throwing me onto another gurney
without any regard for the pain that was surging through my right leg
scissors
my modesty was cut off of me
along with the rest of my clothing
questions were thrown at me from every direction...

how far along are you?
what is your name?
how old are you?
do you know where you are?
can you feel this?

then there were the orders...

take off her jewelry!
get those dressings off!
get x-ray on the phone!
don't move your head!
don't move your head!
wiggle your toes!
stop moving your head!

i remember trying to ask questions...

where is my husband?
does he know i'm here?
can i have some water?
how is my baby?
where is my husband?

at some point everything slowed down.
after my clothes were cut off of me
and the leg dressings removed
i was wheeled into x-ray
three young women, barely out of college
worked to lift me
34 weeks pregnant
onto the flat x-ray table from the gurney.
the nurse, a woman who worked with my sister per chance
stood behind me and rubbed my hair.
it must be something they teach all nurses to do
as it was the second nurse today to try and calm me down using this method.

the girls puzzled over how to position me to get the best shot.
they couldn't move the leg
they couldn't move me.

can you roll over?
can you lift your right hindquarter in the air?
can you lift your left leg?

i wiggled as best i could
realizing very quickly that i had no control over my lower extremities
and the inability to control my abdominal region.

i was wheeled
helpless
back into the sterile environment which i had arrived in.
men in white coats waited for me and stood
stoic
in corners of the room without saying a word.
a woman
a nurse whose name i have sadly forgotten
stood with me
and my baby
watching her heart beat
helping me to see
and hear
the little thumps that sounded so much
like the clogging of horses' feet.

a charlie horse.

bill arrived.
my family behind him.
his family behind them.
and we waited.
and waited.
and waited.

i sucked water out of small pink sponges
and kept an ear on charlie's heart rate.
i mourned the loss of my jean jacket
an article i had had since college
a birthday present from bill (that i bought and informed him of).

him: i'll buy you another one.

that little ba-da-dump was got us through the waiting.
ba-da-dump.
ba-da-dump.

nurse (whose name is forgotten): do you have a name?

we had vowed to only tell family charlie's name.
we had our reasons
and they were many.
but as we waited in that room
in that environment that reeked of blood and rubbing alcohol
it was clear we needed to say it out loud
for she was as much a patient in all of this as i was.

him: charlie.
me: charlie jo.
nurse: how perfect...charlie jo. i love it.

****

thin and lanky
long white coat
coffee in hand.

i had seen him when i was brought into the trauma center.
he had spent much of his time observing what was going on.
he was not as hurried as the others;
he carried himself slowly and quietly
which is probably why i noticed him
and remember him.

he stood at the foot of my bed.
introduced himself
doctor something.
coffee in hand, he reached out and brushed a finger along the top of my right foot.

doc: can you feel that?
me: no.

a quiet sigh through the nose.
some further pondering.
further poking.
he'd seen the x-rays
he'd seen me
he'd sipped his coffee.

and then he said the words that will stay with me for the rest of my life:

"well...i think we're going to try and save your leg."

chapter 3.

introduction.
chapter 1.
chapter 2.

i don't remember much about my brief stay in waterloo.
i don't remember if i was given blood
i don't remember how much morphine was pumped into my bloodstream
i don't remember how long i was there

i do remember the nurse
with her three-pack-a-day voice
bossing everyone around and making sure i was comfortable.
i remember my parents and sister arriving
my sister gathering my stats in an effort to better understand my condition
me explaining how pissed i was because i'd had a good hair day
and now it was all fucked up.
i remember telling them all i was okay
the baby was okay.
i remember them kicking everyone out of the room
the doctor and an emt kneeling by my leg and examining it.

this is going to hurt.
pulling.
twisitng.
me grabbing the sheets.
turning my head.
the nurse rubbing my hair.
you're doing great, honey.
more pulling.
gentle as he could.

i know it hurts.
i'm so sorry.
we have to set it before we can do anything else.

i couldn't look.
i couldn't see past charlie.

when they finished
bill walked in.
still holding the camera bag.
crying.

me: i'm okay.
him: nodding.

he gripped my hand.
rubbed it raw with his thumb.
we watched the monitors
listened to the beeps
waited.
waited.

answers finally came.
we're sending you to iowa city.
there may be vascular damage.
cedar rapids won't take you with vascular damage.
there is no one here to fix it.
there is no one there to fix it.
we'll have to send you by ambulance.
it's snowing and the ceiling is too low to fly you in.

at that point i wondered, how bad must this be?

a broad man walked in
dark blue uniform
bald
moustache

emt: i'll be riding with you today, amy. we're going to take good care of you.

****

there was no room for bill.
an emt.
an ob nurse.
a tech.
a 34-week pregnant girl with a bum leg.
he followed behind with my sister.
he got to see the wall again.
i never did.

they had the leg packed tight.
ice.
ace.
sheets.

they had strapped me to a board
to stabilize me.
i had to lay on my left side which set the board at a 90 degree angle to the gurney.
my leg was the least of my discomforts.
my head, strapped tight, was trapped.
my hair begin to hurt halfway through the ride.
i couldn't move.
every bump sent the leg up.
and down.
white pain shot up through the top of my head
and out my aching hair follicles.

the broad emt
sat at my head
with a clipboard
eyes on the monitor at all times.
the ob nurse chattered away
eyes on charlie's monitor.

me: how's the baby?
ob nurse: she's perfect.

i tried to rest.
rest did not come.
there were no sirens
but i could feel the wheels speeding beneath us.

i waited for another patch of ice
until we pulled into the garage
in iowa city.

chapter 2.

introduction.
chapter 1.

chapter 2.

there was smoke coming from the dash.
that put me a little on edge.
i had flashes from movies i had watched in which the car blows up.
i couldn't get out
i was stuck.
my leg was pinned between the door and...was that the dash?
huh.
the blazer must have been made from sturdier metal that i would have thought.
bill stood just outside my window.
his face was ashen.
someone was with him.
a woman. she was talking to him.
talking to me.
i wasn't listening.
i just kept looking around the cab of the blazer trying to figure out my next move.
dammit.
i should have worn a heavier coat.
i started to shake.
then a man.
a funny little man with a trench coat and moustache.

man: ARE YOU OKAY? CAN YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS? HOW MANY FINGERS?

the woman brought a blanket.
it had been knitted and used.
i often wonder if that ever got back to her or if it was left to ruin with the truck.
i tried not to get any blood on it.

a police officer came.
help is on the way.
oxygen.

bill's face.
i could see him on the phone.
with his mom.
he knew they wouldn't be far behind us.
they weren't.
within minutes, they were there.
i thought dayton was going to throw up.
i think i smiled at him. i don't know. he probably couldn't see it. i had the oxygen mask on.
theresa was in the back of the blazer.

theresa: amy, it's theresa. you okay? you okay?
me: yes, fine.
the officer: ma'am, i'm going to have to ask you to get out of the way.

me: call my mom.
bill: nodding. panicked. white. clinging to the camera bag (i had made him take it out of the car.)

how are you?
how are you?
how are you?

i kept hearing it.
i nodded.
i'm cold.
i'm fine.
just cold.
my leg.
i need to open the door.
it hurts.

i shook.
and shook.
and shook.
i couldn't get warm.
i couldn't stop shaking.

are they coming? where are they?
10 minutes out. 7 minutes out.
i just want to open the goddamn door.
wow.
it really hurts now.
something is pushing it.
squeezing it.

when the paramedics arrived, they tried to give me morphine.
i told them i didn't want it - not until we knew that it was okay for me to have it being 34 weeks pregnant.
more oxygen.
everything's going to be fine.
we're going to get you out.
i don't remember the firemen arriving.
but they did.
they surrounded the vehicle like bees to a hive and assessed the damage.
how are you?
how are you?
they tried to open the door.
pain.
the jaws of life came out.
i've never seen them up close.
they are big - huge needlenose pliers.
nothing.

what we all soon came to discover was that it wasn't the door that was preventing me from getting out of the vehicle.
it was the large steel beam that had come through the engine block, through my leg and out the bottom of the passenger side door.
it was torqued in such a way that the would not be able to push it through.
it was steel and massive and cutting might be an option...

fireman: what's your name?
me: amy.
fireman: how far along are you, amy?
me: 34 weeks.
fireman: congratulations! is it a boy or a girl?
me: girl (oxygen).
fireman: amy, we're going to get you out. we have to pull the beam out. i want you to let me know if it hurts because we don't know how it is sitting on you. can you do that?
me: nodding. i felt so small. like a child getting a splinter removed.

scraping metal.
whimper.
"you okay?"
nodding.

more scraping.
me: STOP.
fireman: STOP - SHE SAYS STOP!
fireman: what hurts?
me: the leg.
fireman: what can we do?
me: get the door open.
fireman: you ready to go again?
me: nodding.

scraping.
scraping.
cringing.
yelling.
almost there.

done.
me: FUCK.
fireman: what do you need, amy?
me: put the door back on!

they milled about me.
they fussed over my leg.
i still couldn't see...i think i had a piece of the dash laying in my lap.
or maybe it was just because all i could see was charlie's silhouette within me.
i remember sitting in the passenger side, breathing through a mask and looking down as the fireman looked up to the emt and mouthed, 'oh yeah, it's broken.'

that was the end of the brown dress pants.

there was little manipulation of my leg on the scene. i think at that point they wanted to keep it as in tact as they could until we arrived at the hospital.
a call came in.
i could have the morphine.
yes, give me the morphine.
the blood was coming out quickly now and my world spun.

a man was behind me.
emt: amy, how far along are you?
me: 34 weeks.
emt: boy or girl?
me: girl.
emt: we're gonna get you and your baby out of here. i need you to relax and just let me do the work.

i was pulled out of the vehicle through the back of blazer. they had me on a board and i remember feeling guilty that i was so heavy. i could see the gray sky.

where is my husband? where is bill? panic. where is bill?

he was there, in a flash. looking down at me and smiling.
i remember asking him questions:
did you call my mom?
did you get the camera?
did you call everyone in minnesota and tell them?
did you tell them i'm sorry i ruined their plans?
are you coming with me?
where are we going?

he patiently nodded.

"i'll be right up front."
and we were off.

it was the last time we saw our blazer.

chapter 1.

introduction.
chapter 1.

i had no desire to travel to minnesota for my first baby shower.
i very much appreciated the thought and gesture
but the idea of having to be gone on easter sunday upset me.
however, when you marry into a large catholic family
holidays are about the only time you can get (almost) everyone together at the same time.
and, in all honesty, it was pure selfishness on my part that would have kept us home.
no prior commitments.
no big plans.
no easter egg hunts.
it was just the last day of my spring break
and i just didn't want to go.

we had spent the last week staging the house and prepping it for show
my sciatic nerve was paying the price
and i walked with a limp, throwing my leg out when i walked
trying to shift charlie within me and experience some level of comfort.
she was already demonstrating her daddy's irish stubbornness
and her mother's inability to change
and stayed squarely planted on that large nerve that lies directly above your right ass cheek.
i could almost envision her, arms folded saying, 'nope. you wanted to paint the damn bedroom at 33 weeks gestation. i'm staying right here to make sure you don't do it again.'

so it was in a great deal of pain and discomfort that i rose easter morning and prepared for the journey north.

i remember what i wore.
brown dress (maternity) pants, a yellow floral printed (maternity) top my mother had just bought me, my beloved jean jacket (the only 'coat' i could still wear) and my trusty brown sketchers.
when i heaved myself into the green blazer, bill smiled at me and said, 'you look nice.'

and i felt 'nice'. i hadn't felt 'nice' a good majority of my pregnancy, but the walking i'd been doing made me feel better about myself and i was finally at a point in the pregnancy where i actually enjoyed being pregnant. charlie was in constant motion and always reminding me she was there. life was hectic, but a new day was on our horizon and we were excited for what the future had to hold: a new house, a new baby. we were thrilled and giddy with what lay ahead.

the weather man hadn't mentioned snow.
it was just a skiffling - a thin layer of white blanketed I380 north.
it was easter and no one else was traveling at 7:30 in the morning.
traffic was thin, the sun was on the rise and we were out of windshield wiper fluid.
the semis were kicking up moisture, and so we decided to pull over at a podunk gas station to top of the blue liquid.
it was at this point in our journey that fate first stepped in.
as we pulled out of the gas station, fluids replenished (including my one and only starbucks of the day), a state trooper pulled in.

bill buckled his seat belt.

20 minutes or so down the road, we were nearing our first exit.
it had only been a few years before we had traveled the same route on our way to brainerd, mn for another family gathering. it had been on that trip we had decided on a name for a girl, should that time ever come.
charlie.
there were no other options after that.

now, cruising along at 85 mph
("honey, do you know how fast you're going?"
"oh...sorry." decelerate. 78. 74.)
i was frowning at my pda, trying to figure out how to access mapquest via text messaging.
("i knew we should have just printed them.")

i think i heard bill before i saw or felt anything.
i have never heard my husband's voice like that before
and typing it does it now justice.
it is something i will never forget.

"ooohhh....shit..."

i looked up.
i felt the rear of the vehicle swing to the left.
subconsciously i think i thought the tires would catch.
they didn't.
bill twisting the wheel.
the back end veering right.
the front end in the ditch.

the grass will slow us down.
it didn't.

bill: OHHHH...FFFUUUUUCCCCKKKK...

starbucks in the air.
save the coffee.
it's my only one today.

the wall.
we went through it
as if it weren't even there.
i saw the windshield shatter.
but it wasn't until we were through the wall that heard the glass breaking.
the vehicle turned itself
and we slid down an embankment.
down
down
down
i could see the wall above.
coffee still in the air.
smoke.

bill: "honey...honey...are you okay...amy, oh god, are you okay? stay there."
me: "i'm fine...i think...i'm okay..."
he was already out of the car.
at my window.
bill: "i'm going to get you out. hold on." pulling. yanking. straining.
pain.
my leg.
huh.
that hurts.
me: "wait. that hurts. i think my leg is stuck."
bill (crying): "i can't get open...i can't get it open..." pulling. yanking.
me: "no, stop...wait. that hurts."
bill: "sit back." raising his hand.
me: "NO...wait. stop. wait for someone else."

head in his hands.
lost.
he didn't know what to do.

me: "bill...there's a lot of blood." i could see it beginning to pool on the floor. where is it coming from?
charlie kicking.
kicking.
bill: "blood? from where? oh god. the baby. is it the baby? sit back..."
me: "no, she's fine. she's moving. it's not the baby..." what's bleeding? why am i bleeding?

i'm thirsty.
where's my coffee?
wires.
glass.
metal.

it never occurred to us to call 911...

introduction.

the accident and the events surrounding it are beginning to fade.
in many ways, this is a very good thing.
it doesn't consume me as it did in the past.
i'm able to get through my day without it sitting in the back of my head.
i'm able to walk.
i'm able to run.
i'm able to carry my child and roll on the floor with her.
i'm able to love my husband.
i'm able.
i don't want to forget though.
because those events
this scar...
it is all a part of me now.
a very very large part.
i am who i am
i am where i am
i am how i am
because it snowed on easter sunday 2008.
if you've followed along with me
you know what happened.
most of it.
now begins all of it.
chapter by chapter.
some of it rerun.
some of it new.
read on if you wish or stop now.
either way, this is for me.
not the reader.

chapter 1.