Keep On Rolling and Never Give Up

What do you do when a battery dies or runs out of juice? Replace it with a new one. Ok, how about a light bulb? You put a new light bulb in order to see, correct? Now, take something tragic that has happened to you in your life. Do you replace that feeling and or memory? Naturally, that is what some of us do. You try to replace the negative memory with a positive one. That’s exactly what I try to do for what I call my “re-birthday.” Jan. 15, 2020, my life changed forever. That was the day I lost my mobility and became a paraplegic.

Last year I turned my tragic day into a celebration. Balloons, family, photo op, the whole nine. I was in great spirits, especially after all my accomplishments in the 1^st two years of my injury. This year, year 3 was the total opposite. I planned the day: church, Jack Stacks, movies, balloons/pictures. As soon as I placed my feet on the floor that morning to transfer into my wheelchair, it happened. My heart and mind started racing, my chest tightened up, my airway closed, and the tears started pouring out as I had just turned on the shower. An anxiety attack had hit me harder than a hammer hitting a nail. I couldn’t move at all; it was like the lower half of my body was encased in cement. Moving anywhere was not an option.

How did I get here? Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently to diffuse the situation? These are all questions that go through my mind almost daily. But that day, those thoughts were like a tornado in my head. Spinning out of control and wrecking everything in its path. For two days, my fear kept me frozen and unable to control my own reality. One thing I take pride in is being a mother. My kids are my whole world. They’re my reasoning and my peace. But I was in such a dark space that I couldn’t even be a parent. All I could do was cry for 2 days. Not knowing if I was coming or going, what was up and what was down.