To Cheapen One's Experiences.

A friend of mine from college was recently delivered some bad news. On Friday her husband was riding his bicycle and was hit by a car. He broke his leg below the knee and took a good knock to the head and shoulder.

I couldn't help but be reminded of my own experience in this field and given the timing - his occurring just before Thanksgiving and mine occurring just after - it did serve to strengthen that reminder. What I found peculiar though was this. He ended up in the same hospital, but was released the next day after they got him into surgery and fixed his leg. By comparison I was in the hospital for nearly a week. This caused me to question the severity of my own experience. Never having been in a car accident before or knowing anyone directly who had, I had no reference point for what was considered "severe". Sure, people can tell you, "you were in a severe accident", but without a frame of reference those are just words. It's not until you encounter someone who was hit by a car while riding on a two wheeled vehicle that you can begin to fill in the blanks. I'm realizing my accident was fairly severe and that things could have very, very easily gone south fast.

I don't think I mention my accident in social settings too much, but I feel like sometimes people have heard about it enough and really don't want to anymore. I can understand that feeling. It seems like I'm fishing for pity and perhaps in some regard I am. What I feel like I'm doing though is trying to illustrate to people how eventful this was for me. A lot of people who survive accidents will say things like, "I saw God" or "life is so much more beautiful now". That never really happened for me. The air was not sweeter, colours were not brighter. Things just "were", and that's all there was to it. I think in more recent months as I've come to learn the lasting effects having your leg shattered leave you with it's dawned upon me that I'm built of pretty solid stuff. Not physically, but emotionally. My leg hurts to varying degrees on a daily basis. Sometimes it's no more than a dull ache, but can ramp up to a full blown limp given the weather. If I live to be 80, that means for the next 56 years my leg will progressively get worse as I age. It's a life I didn't have before me until the accident. Do I want pity? No, but recognition would be appreciated.

When I was younger I used to think to myself, "How would I handle tragedy? Would I rise to the occasion like a Hollywood action hero, or be consumed by it." I honestly thought these things, and when life handed me not one but two tragedies in a row how did I respond? Initially I was defeated by them, utterly crushed by an auto immune disorder that I thought would govern the rest of my life. As I found coping mechanisms and strength (denial?) I tried to move on with my life. Not a month and a half into my new apartment I was confronted with another tragedy. How did I fare? Again, I was thrown to the ground by a set of circumstances that made me feel as though life and the Universe were out to get me. For months I withdrew from the world and I was filled with so much anger and sadness. I was forced to grow up rapidly or be consumed by my grief. As my body was aged by illness and incident my heart and mind became weathered as well. I joke with Dan, a friend from school that while I may be twenty four I feel as though I'm forty some days.

So does making reference to these events in my life while they are still fresh in my mind, and evident on my body, cheapen them? Have I become "that person" who I've repeatedly commented I never wish to be? The toxic friend, the one wallowing in self pity? I hope not, and I'd hope my friends would be forward enough to let me know if I'm drifting out to sea in a boat composed of my own misery. I try to stay positive, and for the most part I can. It's easier these days with the distraction of work and school, that's for sure. I just hope that when my PRP disappears and I find myself willing and able to re-enter the dating scene I won't chase away prospective partners by depressing them with my tales.

I wrote a short piece the other day that really sums up the past few years.

When you get hurt
and
you will get hurt
whether it's against the car bumper
or
at the end of a lovers sentence,
you lose a piece of your immortality.
That immortality we forge in our youth
and temper in our teen years.
Bruise by bruise we become
worn
flawed
mortal.