HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2019-06-06, Page 10PAGE 10. THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, JUNE 6, 2019.
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electrical wires. If you cut them, no
power gets through. I have paralysis
from the chest down and will need a
wheelchair for the rest of my life.
The hospital was 1½ hours away
from home and my children (who
were with their other grandparents)
would not see me for almost a week.
My husband, parents and siblings
slept in the lounge waiting for news
and time to comfort me. It was the
beginning of what would be three
months in hospital. A long time
away from everyone and everything
that gave me comfort.
It wasn’t until much later that I
realized how lucky I was to still have
my hand function. As soon as I was
able to, I started to write. Here is one
of the first posts from my blog.
“UNKNOWN” AUG 16, 2015
Here I am, standing on the edge. I
am not sure what I am on the edge
of, but I can tell that the only
direction I can go is forward. I look
behind and can see faces, places and
things that I know, but there is no
way to go back to them. Like some
kind of video game with no reverse
button, you can only go ahead, not
knowing what zombies or creepers
are around the corner. There is no
choice but to look ahead, even
though all there is is blackness -- no
shapes, no figures, no light.
So, what is one to do? There really
is no choice but to go forward. So, I
try, but it's hard. I cry because I miss
what is behind me that I no longer
can reach. I imagine what it would
feel like to go ahead into the
darkness and slowly I do, eyes
closed to concentrate as hard as I
can, fighting to make my way. And
somehow, I do it, I move forward.
Likely because of sheer grit and
wanting to prove my strength and
stubbornness, even if it is just to
myself. [No, I do NOT need that
chest tube back in my body, my O2
“sats” are 100%, thank you very
much.]
I open my eyes to that blackness.
Knowing that they are quite capable
of playing tricks on me [hello crazy
hospital drugs] I don’t really believe
what I am seeing. My guess is that
they are fireflies. You know how you
see them at night in early summer
across the field? You think you see
one, and then it's gone? Then you
see another, and it disappears too?
But then, when you let your eyes
relax and stop looking so hard, you
see that the field and the sky are
actually full of them?
That is what I see now, the
darkness with a few sprinklings of
light. Then there are more, and more.
I don't will there to be more, but they
just keep coming. Somehow, they are
there, and they make that darkness
less scary, less unknown and more
manageable.
I now know their source. The
lights come from everyone
surrounding me, both physically and
virtually. And I don't even know all
their names. It's crazy, because the
lights just keep lighting. They are the
cards, e-mails, texts, tweets, the
Facebook messages, posts and
reposts. They are the 4J campaign,
the hugs, the food, the coffee, the
time you spend with my kids and the
kind words you say to my husband.
They are the words that say “Share
the Road” everywhere. They are the
turtle. They are my family.
These lights all make me cry. Not
from sadness and loss, although
sometimes that does creep in; I cry
from the sheer overpowering
emotion of being loved. And in this
powerful emotion, it makes the
unknown go away.
REHAB SUCKS – BUT IT DOES
GET BETTER
All included (recovery and
rehabilitation), I spent more than
three months in hospital. That was a
very long time to be away from my
family, friends and home. It was also
a very long time to have NO
personal space whatsoever. I was in
a ward room with three other
women, all with various levels and
severity of spinal cord injuries. As
the days turned to weeks and weeks
turned to months, I became the most
“senior” in the room. I learned a lot
in that time; one can’t help but hear
what conversations are happening on
the other side of the curtains.
The three months at Parkwood
Institute (a rehabilitation hospital
with a spinal cord injury treatment
unit) was where I had Lisa as my
charge nurse. She was known to say,
“I don’t get paid to do it for you, I
get paid to watch you do it” -- a true
rehab nurse. I learned how to empty
my bladder with a catheter, manage
my bowels, check my skin (because
I can’t feel if something is wrong),
get dressed and transfer from bed to
wheelchair. I had no idea what
paralysis really meant. Not walking
is just the tip of the iceberg. I was
taught how important it was for me
to learn to be independent, so I
didn’t have to rely on someone else
for the rest of my life. I also learned
how heavy legs are, how long the
nights are when you are missing
your family and what hard work
really feels like.
My physio team called me “110”
because even when they wanted me
to try a movement with just a little
bit of effort (like 60%), in order to
focus on one group of muscles, I
would use everything I had -- even
my face -- to try and get those
muscles to work. Physio was a place
that I could, on one hand, work hard
to get things back to normal. On the
other hand, at physio, I was
constantly reminded that I could not
even sit up without help or support. I
had to make lots of small, realistic
goals, like getting dressed and doing
my hair. I also wanted to be able to
sit cross-legged on the floor to play
with my kids. I eventually met that
goal, and many others that I made
along the way.
Three and a half years later, I can
do push-ups and planks from my
knees, I can stand at a walker with
only my knees supported and I can
almost do a sit-up. Everyone said
recovery would take time. Time. Oh,
how I hated hearing that word. Even
though they were all correct, I
wanted it to happen right then and
there. Three years later it’s still
happening. I am still recovering.
WAITING, BUT NOT WAITING
Three years ago, I started saying
“within 10 years, medical research
will be able to repair paralysis” and I
do believe it will happen. That is
why I am working hard to keep my
body fit. I want to be a candidate -- I
will be in line and when they see me,
they will say “you’re next”. When
you have a spinal cord injury, the
more fit you are, the easier it is to
transfer, balance, cook, dress, put on
shoes, blow dry hair and pick
something off the floor. The stronger
you are, the easier life is, and the less
energy life consumes. Although I am
waiting to get in line for that “make
my legs move again” surgery, I’m
not waiting sitting still.
FLIP IT
I don’t really remember any one
doctor or nurse telling me that I was
paralyzed. I think that ever since I
was lying in that ditch, I knew. When
Theo saw me at the hospital in
Goderich the first thing I said to him
was, “Oh my God, I am so sorry”.
What I said next was that I could not
feel my legs. You don’t have to be a
biology teacher to know that means
paralysis.
I do, however, distinctly remember
the two different doctors who gave it
to me straight. I know where I was,
what room, what bed, how they were
standing and what they said. One,
after three weeks in hospital said, “If
you don’t have it [feeling or
movement] back by now, you won’t
get it back”. I stopped
Sawchuk took to her blog to tell her story
A milestone
Blyth’s Julie Sawchuk reached an important milestone in her recovery when she was able to
do many of the things she enjoyed doing before she was hit by a car while cycling. She was
able to return to the road with the use of a hand-operating bike and she was able to return to
the water in a kayak, building up the tremendous upper-body strength needed to paddle
through the water, despite being paralyzed from the chest down. (File photo)
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