Three years later. Some time around 4-6am on May 30th (it happened to be Memorial Day that Monday – funny, because I’ll never forget), life struck. And I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage to share what I experienced in the months after the accident. Those who know me, know I make jokes about everything, literally everything. Life is just more fun that way. I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m letting my thoughts flow through my fingertips at this point, and so early in my post.
On May 30th, 2014, I celebrated the third annual “Survivor Day” (because we all need our own holidays). It was a little different this time around. Life is a lot different this time around.
It’s a subtle reminder that time keeps ticking even if you had to slow yourself down for one, two or three years.
Survivor Day took place on a Friday, the busiest day of the week. I did the usual two-hour Los Angeles morning commute and the usual digital work load. I knew what the day meant to me but it was still a Friday, the busiest day of the week.
My lower back began hurting around two in the afternoon. Did I mention it was the busiest day of the week? I kept working though, anxious to leave even a few minutes early to somehow burn those minutes in traffic to get home a few seconds early. Pains began zapping around my lower midsection. Familiar. Not exactly sure what Zeus was punishing me for but the bolts eventually accumulated above my hip bones splitting in two on each side of my lumbar spine.
A little over a year ago, my bones grew strong enough to hold me up without the need of metal assistance. I could have kept the screws, bolts (it all looked like car parts) in but two nails actually stuck out of my back creating visible bumps. Not only were they visible, they would get stuck when I sat in chairs with holes. No hyperbole. If the chair was light enough, it would lift when I stood. Super-straight-face-in-all-seriousness rise from the ground like a mini forklift.
The pain was coming from where the three-inch screws used to be. Exactly in the two spots where the metal attempted to break through.
I later realized all my pains that day lined up with the different stages my body went through in the recovery process. I’ll pass on the details, but if my body could talk. It reminded me that it remembers. Everything.
Three years later and I felt my first set of ghost pains. At least I didn’t celebrate alone.