Not sure when it was, the week of July 21, 2008, sometime after being home. Mom took me to my initial doctors appointments. I got a new primary care doctor, a referral to a neurologist, who ended up giving me a referral to a psychiatrist. My rehab doctor, Dr. Hayek, prescribed unlimited physical therapies, speech therapies, and occupational therapies. I contacted the transportation department to get rides to my therapies. Transport said the days best to take me were Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. So, we drove to the professional building at Alliance Community Hospital, where I got to see faces I thought I recognized. We scheduled my first months worth of therapies, all three lined up in a row. I requested that Trisha be my physical therapist. She seemed tough, but very good with what she did. I remember my mom telling me that she'd take me the first couple of weeks. But, by the time transport would step in, I'd have to be able to fully walk without my walker. That was just about the scariest thing I'd heard since I'd been home! To walk WITHOUT my walker!?! WHAT!?!?! Would that even be possible???Regardless, it was to happen, scared or not. I'd walked after the fall, but not without my walker. I still used my wheelchair when I got exhausted of walking. It gave me time to rest from the walking. But, I still had major headaches from the fall. Most of the time, I'd sleep. Not from being tired overall, but, to me, just because.My physician at the hospital had warned me about becoming addicted to even Darvocet, which had been prescribed for those horrible headaches. So, I taught myself one of my first tests of memory; to take only tylenol unless my headaches were horendous. I knew the obvious; the headaches came from my broken skull and the broken cheekbone I'd gotten just a month or so previously. I didn't remember how the cheekbone was broken, just that it was broken, and it hurt. BAD.A week or so at home, I called my boyfriend to see how he was doing. I would hide from my family to talk with him. For whatever reason, I worried that they would hear. My mom would show so much anger towards him and I wasnt sure why. She'd try to tell me how horrible and abusive he was to me, but I didnt remember any of that. All I remembered was how much we drank together.On one specific phone call, I became slightly sceptical of how my cheekbone had gotten broken. That was my first doubt from him. He had told me it was from a female sherriff at the Stark County Jail. But...if a sherriff hit me so hard to the point of breaking my cheekbone, why wasnt a lawsuit against her filed? I thought to myself, something is not right with this. But, I didnt say anything to him. After that call, I asked my mom about what happened...why was my cheekbone really broken? I told her I had talked to him and what he'd said. She chuckled, and told me what I had forgotten. In fact, it was HIM that had broken my cheekbone. My son, 7 years old at the time, never talked to me about what he knew. But, he talked to my mom. The weeks I was "away", the pain I constantly felt. He had even seen me get beat by my boyfriend. He even witnessed the makeup I'd wear to cover up bruises. I tried hard to remember what my mom had told me what my son had told her. Maybe it was because of how drunk I constantly was. Possibly, I had fried my brain. Or, a combination of both, the drinking and the fall. Whatever the reason, I couldn't remember. All I knew was that I could trust my mom to be my memory, until I could slowly learn how to do it myself.Therapy started the following Monday. I, using my walker of course, walked to the receptionist's window, where I met Tracy and Reta. But, they had said I'd already met them, from numerous other times I'd had therapy. I remembered therapy after I had a shoulder surgery years before that. Tracy told me I had therapy for my broken hand only months ago, but, I didn't remember that. My first therapy was physical therapy. I walked in with the walker, and I specifically remember Trisha looking at me with this VERY disappointed look on her face. Right away, she asked me shockingly, "what are you doing with that walker?" I told her that it helped me walk, because I really couldn't do it on my own. "Put that walker aside," she said with determination in her voice. I said "but..." Again she said "put that aside, I know you can walk." So, I folded up the walker, and set it against the sink in the therapy area. Carefully, without the walker, I got myself balanced. My legs were a bit shaky and spread out beyond shoulder width. I probably looked as if ready to straddle a horse, or a bull, where I'd positioned my legs. My mom stood close beside me, ready to catch me, sure that I'd fall over. Very, very slowly, I took my first step WITHOUT my walker. I focused my eyes to my feet, to very carefully make sure they were walking the right way. Then I took my next step, barely balancing myself on the other foot. My mom reached out to catch me, but Trisha waved her away. Her first goal was to get me away from that walker. I was able to catch myself without falling on the floor. I stood there, one leg awkwardly in front of the other. The third step came a little more controlled, as I figured out how to keep my balance (somewhat) in position. I began to get excited, so somehow I stepped quicker in Trisha's direction, where she caught me, because I didn't quite figure out how to stop.
