Dawn Patrol
My new furniture arrived the other day. Who knew a commode could come “ergonomically shaped for comfort.” I nearly accosted the driver when he said was a skydiver and had similar injuries at one point in time. We immediately began romancing free-falling and other adrenaline producing activities. My friend Sarah was quick to point out the complete lack of logic in even having this discussion. ”Im going to have to separate you two,” she interjected. I hung my head low and sulked momentarily. She’s right. Still, it was kind of cool to exchange hardware stories.
The next day a few other things arrived that any girl can’t wait to get her hands on… like an aluminum medical bath chair and water tight leg cast covers, which are “so completely and totally waterproof that you can even dive off a diving board or ride the ocean waves and have your cast stay completely dry.” Not for nothing, but throw your kid in the pool with a couple broken legs and some cast covers? There’s some marketing genius.
I have a visual of someone wheeling me down to the Sound with my new black rubber cast covered legs. I could just do a wheel chair transfer… into the sand? It’ll be a soft landing at any rate. I looked up surfer terms… there’s one for me: “Crippler Chic.” Their intention was “Pretty Girl”… Might was well take it to the next level.
As I’m waiting for medical equipment to arrive (or anything for that matter, a friend, nurse, visitor, local Amway spokesperson), Im getting that Im not a patient person. Prior to May 22nd, I didn’t wait. I got up early, got the kids ready for school, spent 3 hours commuting to and from an intellectually stimulating job that kept me “out of trouble.” I barely had time to help my nine year old with her homework. Now I’m looking forward to the arrival of plastic toilets and rubber leg warmers.
There is a blessing in all of this. My cats are thrilled beyond belief at my newfound stationary status. I’ve never seen them so affectionate, at ease, or… stationary. They look at me like, “Pet me bitch. You’re not going anywhere.” My girls, who live with their dad and step mom half the time, lounged with me for their entire visit last night. I’ve only seen them for 90 minutes in the last three weeks. All we want, is to be near each other. Im left with a deep sadness when they leave. The house seems so empty.
In the meantime, my intention is to refrain from pulling a kali (surfer term #576 for doing something stupid or dorky) so I can recover as safely as possible. If that means keeping this cast covered Crippler Chic out of the water so she’s not hell munched by a wave, so be it. I’ll be on dawn patrol posting tomorrow morning, embracing my new found patience.
Sixty to Less Than Zero
Im sitting on my bed which happens to be in my living room. The doors are open. It’s June 13th and the birds are chirping outside. A full pot of coffee is awaiting me, across the room, on the island in the kitchen. The thought of getting up to get a cup used to be appealing, now frankly, it’s just a risk.
I broke my ankles 3 weeks ago, in a skydiving accident near New Paltz, NY. Im in a wheelchair and will not be walking for a while. It was my fourth jump (my first Instructor Assisted Free Fall) where they let go of you after you deploy your canopy. I had a thrilling, controlled free fall, a stunning canopy ride down. Im still not sure what happened, except that when I found my area of the dropzone to land, I hit the ground at full speed. I never flared to slow down.
The first thing i heard on my radio: “Raise your hand if you’re OK!!” I looked down at my feet. The left one looked ok, the right one… not-so-much. I raised my right hand and tried to stand, repeating, “YOU’RE OK, YOU’RE OK, walk off the field Aimee, JUST GET UP.” That’s when I collapsed.
Someone was trying to pry the toggles out of my hands so the canopy wouldn’t pull me further into the dropzone. I didn’t want to let go.
My next thought was, “OK, so you broke your legs, at least you didn’t injure your back. At least you can still hug your girls.”
The rest consists of multiple ambulance rides and hospital stays before landing in the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan, eight days later on May 30th.
Both legs needed operations… the left was fractured and the right, completely shattered. June sixth was the first 7 hour surgery and i woke up from anesthesia with more pain than I had ever experienced in my life. With the exception of the nurse, I was alone in the recovery room. My friends and mom live in CT and my sister in Salt Lake. I was overwhelmed with fear and loneliness. The nurse was very compassionate and held my hand for an hour while I just cried.
A couple hours later I called my sister in Utah. Until this point in time, we’ve had a strained relationship. We were extremely close for most of our lives and then a few years ago, we grew apart. It might have been spurred on by the death of our dad, I don’t know. The point is, she was the only one I wanted to talk to in my most painful, vulnerable, fearful moments. She heard my voice and texted me later that she would be in Manhattan in less than 24 hours.
When she arrived the next day, she started crying when she saw me on the bed. I was on blood transfusion two or three, i don’t remember. I looked like hell. She sat by me late into the night and came back early each morning. We share the same sense of humor. She would add things to my get well cards like: “Dear Aimee, the same thing happened to my cousin. He broke his legs, then he died.” Kind of like an Evil Jack Handy. It reduces us to tears.
Something happened during her visit. Something healed between us. It chokes me up to think about what i’ve been missing in my friendship with her after all this time. She is my closest friend and we get each other. She just moved to Salt Lake, but i feel like we’re closer now than when she lived in Boston, just a few months ago.
Its now 22 days after the accident. I have so much gratitude in my life. I’ll walk again. I’ll run again (despite what doctors tell me), I’ll snowboard again… I’m done skydiving though. What I am most grateful for however is to have her back. It was worth jumping out of a plane, breaking my ankles and the anticipated recovery time to have her in my life in this renewed capacity.
As for the coffee, its too much of a risk to transfer into my wheelchair and get it right now. But my sister… she’s just a text away.
