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My Story (condensed):
I remember: my mom silently passing me a tissue box... that waiting room... the nurse who was too callous while informing a 12-year old... weekly trains to New Jersey... physical therapy’s pleasures, pains, and consistent exercises... getting the news that therapy worsened the issue.... not understanding how life could be so confusing... the rush into surgery... giving a large amount of blood... crying hysterically…
I remember - I wanted time.
I remember heart-racing panic like I'd never felt it before.
I remember the tear-stained oxygen mask fogging up and my mother’s sad, silent face turning into a blur…
I remember waking up exhausted. Exhausted, but peaceful. I remember hearing “you lost a lot of blood”. I remember the calm quiet in a surrounding of white walls - and that one tv... I remember: a panicked nurse running into my room to reposition my oxygen mask... being transferred to share a room with a girl who'd had the same surgery... a kind nurse and the first day she helped me sit up - how hard it was. I remember: my brother visiting... learning to walk anew... Mother’s day... this arts & crafts room in the hospital... being released sooner than I felt ready for... money talk... the painfully bumpy taxi ride home... trying to clean, weird showers... heavy pain medicine... ointments for the scar... being homeschooled... sporting a rolling backpack… checkups...
I remember the joyous relief of finding out the fusion was settling in properly.
This is a part of my story. May I never forget.