Getting up from the Floor

It's been almost a year since I slipped on the wet kitchen floor and fractured my skull. Just two days before Christmas, 2009, I was preparing to do some last minute Christmas shopping when my new leather-soled shoes turned into ice skates and the freshly-cleaned ceramic kitchen floor became an ice rink. I never could ice skate.

As I began to walk toward my husband at the other end of the kitchen, I felt my feet slip, and the last thing I remember was trying not to fall. David watched, helpless across the kitchen island, as both my legs lifted high into the air and I landed flat on my back and head. David couldn't see my head hit the floor, but he heard a loud crack. It was not the ceramic tile that cracked, but my skull.

When David reached me, I was motionless and as white as the floor. He put his hand behind my head, expecting to find blood pouring out, but - thankfully - there was none. He talked to me and tried to bring me around. Somehow, he had the composure to call for the cleaning ladies - who were just about to leave - to bring him the phone. Thinking I was dead, he called 911.

Events were very confused for him and I don't think that he really even knows fully how much time passed or how events unfolded; but while he was on the phone with 911, I suddenly started making a choking, gurgling sound, followed by convulsions of my arms, legs and body. Not able to talk to the operator and help me at the same time, he told the operator he would call them back.

As for me, he says that when the frightening sounds and movement stopped, I suddenly tried to sit up and told him to help me up. I don't remember this. He managed to get me to the sofa, and got back on the phone with 911. At some point, I told him to call my mother, who was on the way over with my niece, to tell them that I couldn't go shopping with them. I vaguely remember this, as it was around the time that I realized I couldn't see properly. Everything was in triplicate and there were huge black and gray spots obscuring everything. I felt like I was spinning around inside myself, and the pain in my head and neck were agonizing.

These moments of clarity were few and far between. I don't remember much of what was happening, what I was saying or doing, or what had happened after I lost my footing. I do remember my mother and niece arriving and my mother telling me that I had to go to the hospital and that an ambulance was coming. Then I heard the sirens and suddenly there were so many people all around me, touching me, asking me questions, and strapping me into various devices.

I remember hearing one of the paramedics or firefighters, I don't know which, talking into his radio, saying something like "35-year-old female... slipped on kitchen floor... head trauma." I thought to myself, "I'm only 35. This isn't supposed to happen." Then I remembered Natasha Richardson and her death following a head injury while skiing, and I suddenly got really scared. I think that was the only time the fear overwhelmed the pain. But, as you can see, I'm still here today.

This is incredibly painful to write, so I will continue the story of what followed in other posts. Instead, I will explain why I created this journal of my injury and recovery.

To be honest, I really have fought against the idea of doing this. In some ways, I don't want to be doing it right now. But I have a wonderful team of doctors and therapists, not to mention family and close friends, who have encouraged me to use my writing skills in this manner to help myself and, hopefully, others.

Undoubtedly, it will be therapeutic for me. It's certainly not comfortable or enjoyable at the moment, but I hope that it will help me get past a lot of the emotional issues resulting from the accident. I've spent the better part of a year working on getting myself back into a somewhat "normal" state in body, mind and spirit. Much of that has been superficial - the result of hardheadedness (literally and figuratively) and determination not to let myself be a victim of a stupid accident. The way people see me publicly almost always belies the amount of physical, emotional and mental pain I am dealing with.

On the other hand, I have made huge strides in my recovery thanks to great medical advice and treatment, and I find strength and comfort in all the victories, large and small. I may still be on a long road to full recovery - if there even is such a thing - but I know that in the past year I have improved even beyond the expectations of my doctors, and for that I am extremely grateful. So, now I take their advice in yet another way by publicly writing about my experiences.

In closing, I will pen something that I have spoken to myself and others. I refuse to die by slipping on my kitchen floor; and I certainly won't let my spirit lie there helpless while my body and mind continue to have an ounce of strength in them. I refuse to let the accident, my injuries or fear get in the way of living a full and happy life. It is my hope that writing about my experiences will help me diminish their power over my life, for now and the future.