When I was lying in the hospital bed after my accident, I had just been told the severity of my injury and that I would probably never walk again. As a fifteen-year-old teenager, I had no idea how to process something like that. Part of me didn’t want to believe it and the other part knew it could be true because I couldn’t move anything. I had no movement below my neck. If I had an itch on my face, I couldn’t scratch it and would have to ask someone else to do it for me. I realized how serious this was and all the things in my life I took for granted.
My spinal cord injury took away the most important thing from me, my independence. My mind instantly went to everything I lost and what I could no longer do, which was a lot. I could no longer shower, dress, or feed myself. If I was thirsty and wanted a drink of water, I had to ask someone. When my fingernails and toenails got long, I could no longer cut them myself. I couldn’t even blow my nose because my muscles were too weak and I no longer had the strength to cough. My mind was fixated on the negative because it’s easier to quit and harder to try. Life as I knew it was over.
I had no hope or direction. I remember my dad coming into my hospital room and having a conversation with me. He told me how heartbroken he was that this happened to me and that he wished he could take my place. I instantly started crying, but couldn’t wipe away the tears from my face. This was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. My dad told me no matter the circumstances, my family would always be there for me and that he loved me.