Thank you all for your texts, calls, visits, and Facebook messages over the last week and a half! They all really lifted my spirits while I was throwing myself a nice little pity party. My extended family members have checked on me daily. My parents have stayed up all night with me and have done everything to help me out without me even having to ask. My sister has run tons of errands for me. And my brother was there for me the whole time he was home, even before my wreck, and (as always) kept me laughing through the shitty stuff. My memory may be shady at times, but I never have to question how lucky I am when it comes to my family. :)
Actually, I'm more than just bitter. I'm pissed off, irritated, and even sad I guess.
Writing it out and letting it go.
It's 3:44pm on Monday, January 6th. According to my original plan, I should be in Starkville at work. Playing in one of the centers with my kids or sitting in a chair watching them play while one of them sits on my lap and cuddles with me. One of them is my sweet little shadow. He follows me everywhere, and is scared that if I'm out of his sight for 2 seconds, I'm not going to come back. It's why I make so sure to be there every single day.
But I'm not there. Instead, I'm in bed for the 7th day in a row. In my bed in Ocean Springs, with one ice pack on my head, one on my neck and shoulders, and one on the incredibly impressive bruise I have on my side. Sometimes I switch it up and lay on the couch instead, but only if I'm feeling adventurous. All because one person ran a stupid red light.
Writing it out and letting it go.
Isn't it insane how much power we have? One person went through a light, long after it had turned red. And now my car is ruined. Every part of me hurts when I move. I have a hematoma on my head that makes me feel like I smashed a window with it. (Oh wait.. I did.) I have a massive, ugly bruise on my side that hurts worse than smashing your head through a window, if you can believe that. (And two siblings who are dying to poke it. Two siblings who are 18 and 24, might I add, and no, I'm not joking.) I have an awesome concussion that makes me too dizzy to walk on my own sometimes, and I have "April 15th" written on my hand because sometimes I can't remember things I've known my whole life, like my birthday. My mom's name. My middle name. How to spell my last name. Believe it or not, Cacibauda is the worst last name to have when you are having memory problems and can't remember how to spell your own last name.
And ya know what? I'm bitter. I'm mad. Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I had been texting and driving, or if it had been my own stupid action that caused the accident. But it wasn't. I do not text and drive. I do not run red lights. All I did was press the gas pedal a few seconds after my light turned green, and I'm the only one who got hurt. The best part? The other driver didn't even get a ticket. Nothing. I have gotten pulled over for accidentally forgetting to put my blinker on, even though there weren't any other cars around and I didn't hurt anyone. But when someone runs a red light, sends another car spinning down the highway, and sends a person to the hospital? Nothing. IT'S SO FRUSTRATING.
Writing it out and letting it go.
She is, however, going to have to pay for my car, my ambulance ride, my two emergency room visits, my neurology appointment, and vestibular rehab.
That should make me feel better. I should be all about forgiveness. People make mistakes. I make TONS of mistakes daily. But to me, running a red light long after it has already turned red is a choice. You know what you are doing and risking when a light turns red when you have plenty of time to stop, and instead you press the gas pedal harder to speed up.
I'm bitter, because it's now Thursday, and I'm still in bed. I still haven't gone back to Starkville. I have gotten out of the house a few times, but I can't stay out long because I tire easily. I mostly just sit in bed, watch Grey's Anatomy, and knit. I figured that knitting was a good choice, because it requires little movement and would at least make my brain feel like it's doing more than just staring numbly at the TV.
I'm supposed to take it slow, I get that. But I thought "slow" meant a week. This is day 10. My muscles aren't as sore, but they still tense up a little when I'm near a stoplight. My bruises are slowly fading, so that's good. The size of my hematoma is going down, but the problems it has caused are still around and will probably be around for a while. I dread nighttime, because every time I close my eyes and drift off, I usually see the bright lights of a truck speeding towards me and that's not super fun. It's just like those scenes in movies.
And I know I should just be counting my lucky stars or thanking God that this is all that's wrong with me, because I've watched enough Grey's Anatomy to know that it could be a lot worse. I was screaming on the stretcher in the ambulance, but my EMTs were amazed that I didn't have more injuries. If I had pressed the gas pedal right when my light turned green instead of waiting like you are supposed to, the truck would've hit me right in the middle of my door instead of by my mirror. And the way the doctors looked at me when they told me that was their way of telling me that I probably would have died.
Maybe 40-year-old Alexa will laugh at 20-year-old Alexa for feeling like this is the worst of the worst. But right now, failing my neurologist's balance tests and not doing well on brain exercises 5 days before my new classes start feels like the worst of the worst. It's hard because your brain isn't something that is easily fixable like a broken arm or a few bruises. I almost feel guilty, because the first thing everyone says to me is, "I'm so thankful it wasn't worse" and the first thing I think every day is, "I'm so mad she ran a red light and did this to me."
So I'm writing it out and letting it go.
Because I know that if I wake up mad about something I can't change every single day until I'm 100% better, the only person who's losing is me. And the doctors told me some of these symptoms could be around forever, so if I'm waiting until I'm 100% better, I could be waiting a long time.
So I don't actually know if writing all of this out is really going to help me let it go, but it sure has made me feel a little better.
And really, I think I'll be okay if I only make it to 95% instead of 100%, but I'll keep trying to get there by (impatiently) taking it one day at a time.
Maybe I'll start by not focusing on the fact that right at first I won't be able to run around with my kids as much as I usually do. Instead, I'll focus on the fact that I will get to hug them over and over again on Monday and every day after that.
And, as I'm sure you can imagine by now, I can't freakin' wait.