And it starts at home

In truth, my memories become so vague at this point. Not like a day to day memory. I remember my brother keeping my son another night, so I could relax, become adjusted to being home. But, how could I relax? Nothing at all looked the same.
I want to think that my dad took my bags to the living room, my new makeshift bedroom. I couldn't take my wheelchair in the living room though because of the lip in between, and that it was carpeted. So, that is where I learned to perfect my "furniture walking."  I made it slowly to the couch, my new makeshift bed. Thankfully, there was a chair and the coffee table to help me walk. I remember sitting down on the couch, exhausted. I can say this: my memory is blank. I don't remember seeing my son the next day. I don't remember, really anything. Everything was like, darkness around me; everything so misunderstood and meaningless. For a moment, I wonder looking back, wondering if I even have any beliefs right now. There I was,  hair chopped off, face half drooped. I had pain in every part of my head. I had an extremely slumped arm and leg.

Enough of the past....

What kept me from posting about the past is that it is still too hard for me. I still have problems walking, I still can't run, I still can't do cartwheels, I can't remember alot of things in my life. My short term memory is still a mess. Well, with exception of everything I went through.

I am epileptic. That started before my fall. When I was 19, I had my first one, siezure that is.Then I went 10 years before having my second.  In that time, I'd had my son, gotten divorced, started getting on with my life. I was in college, pursuing my dream of becoming an RN. My second one happened in April 2008, two months before my fall.

The brain injury made the siezures horrible. My first one happened when I was alone. I didnt remember it happening. I remember getting sick and then calling my mom at work, telling her I was tired and going to lay down, instead of going to therapy. When my mom and my son got home, they pointed out alot more things that I hadnt noticed. I had major bruises on my legs. My head and arm hurt horribly. I even had bruises on my face.

My mom knew what happened. She called my neurologist and told him she thought I'd had a siezure and to do something about it. So, he scheduled an MRI and an EEG for me. At first, I thought my mom was being a major worrier.

After the tests, I actually got a copy of the MRI and the report. Looking at the MRI itself, I learned that a small part of the frontal lobe, or under my forehead, had been removed. Must have been where the bleeding was.

So the siezures continued, until this very day. I've been on a total of 3 different meds, trying to find which ones work the best. I was having them every 6 weeks. Which, thats good compared to some people, who have them several times a day! But, I've learned, that's why I sleep for hours, almost the rest of the day, after I have a siezure.

Now, I'm at 2 months without a siezure. My son still freaks everytime a noise is made in my general area. He prays nightly that I wont have one in the morning. He constantly worries about me. Which I know a good child should, but Robert seems to get obsessive about it at times.

Dave, my boyfriend, is equally worried. Those two take care of me everyday. Dave shows alot of compassion when it comes to my health. I stay at home, but he is aware, with the medicines I take in the mornings, I'm likely to be asleep by 11 or 12. I'll sleep a few hours and then I'm fine. He understands the balance issues that I still have. He understands the thoughts I can't produce words for. He understands the forgetfulness I have alot of times.

I make jokes about my balance, or lack of. I name walls, things that I have to hold onto. I laugh things off, things that I simply can't control.

Another thing I lost from that fall was half my hearing. When I broke my skull, I broke the side of my head down, through the ear drum and through the joint of my jaw, all on the right side, opposite to where I'd hit my head on the concrete.

So, almost 3 years later, I've learned a little sign language. I still haven't adjusted to not hearing on that side. I'm not sure if I ever fully will. I mean, I had hearing on that side my whole life. Now...I don't.

First day home

Mom came to get me from the hospital on June 21, 2008. I said my goodbyes to the nurses, the nurse aides, my therapists, and Dr Hayek, my rehab doctor.  I packed everything, including a walker my therapist Kirsten had gotten for me. I packed what it seemed like a hundred cards from everyone who supported me through all of the healing.  I packed a star, with a powerful saying on it, it read "Don't Quit", one that I keep to this day. I packed pictures of my son, of my niece Jade, pictures of my brother, of my parents...all memories I would cherish forever.I dont remember much of the trip home. It is still very vague to me. I do remember getting home, mom getting my wheelchair and walker out for me, and beginning the process of going up the deck stairs. Through my physical therapy, I learned how to get up and down steps, safely with my walker to my side. But, I only did that with Kirsten by my side, with a gait belt around my waist. Now, here I stood at the bottom of the steps, questioning my own ability to do this safely.
It seemed like baby steps, but slowly, I made it up those stairs. Mom behind me, my dad in front with my bags, I took a step at a time, and made it to the top. First of a billion things I'm going to have to conquer, I thought to myself.
They set the wheelchair in front of the sliding door for me to sit down on. I remember almost feeling lost. Nothing looked the same, even though nothing new had been done.....

Headed Home

My days were counting down...my therapies were getting better...I was walking with a walker, I was doing most tasks on my own. I'd still use my wheelchair away from physical therapy. Mostly, I'd be worn out. Kristen worked me hard, lol.
Laurie Ann, my speech therapist, worked on my memory. She had alot of trouble with that, as my short term memory was near non-existant. My mom still came everyday, with me to my therapies.
Closer to one of the Wednesdays, when my rehab DR would meet with all of the therapists, he got the idea that I may have problems once I got home. Mainly, the problems with drinking would return and that I might go back to my boyfriend.
My mom shared the same fears, and expressed those fears to the DR. They agreed that maybe a rehabilitation nursing home would be good for me. So, while on the phone with my boyfriend, a lady walked in from some nursing home, I don't remember her name.
I got off the phone, and watched her as she approached me. She explained where she was from, and that she'd love it if I would come down and view the facility. She also told me it'd be a great place for me to continue my therapies, in a safe and enjoyable atmosphere. I can't explain how mad I was at even the thought of me going to a nursing home! I yelled at her, telling her there was no way I was staying at a place that I knew had old people staying there! I just wanted to go home! To stay with my family! To me, I'd learned the mistakes that caused all of this....mostly, I WANTED TO GO HOME!
For a moment, I had a suspition as to who set this up. My mother. So, I called her, angry at the idea of wanting me to go to a nursing home! In my own madness, I explained to her that I learned what stupid things I'd done, that it was over, I wasnt going back to those ways! Ok, so I was furious at the thought.
For a few minutes, we argued over the idea of me going to this "home". To the point, she worried about me coming home. She, in some words, tried to explain her fears of me going back to my boyfriend, of drinking, of screwing my life up again. When I continually tried to get my point across, that my drinking days were done, that I just wanted to come home, she cried some more and hung up on me. For the first time that I can remember, my mom hung up on me.
I guess, no visits tonight from her. How could I show my mom that I was done with the alcohol? It nearly ruined my life. Hell, it nearly killed me! The weeks I spent getting my legs to work again.  The weeks I spent learning to brush my teeth, to work on seeing right again, being fed with a feeding tube, dealing with the shaved head, the pain and headaches from my surgeries...and she worried I'd go back to alcohol!!! There was only one thing I had to say: WHAT THE HELL!?!I did have one visitor that evening. Pastor Tom, a pastor at our local church. The pastor that continually prayed over me throughout  all of my surgeries, through the rehab, through it all. He gave my mom the money for gas, to come and see me. Looking into his face, there were no smiles, no reassuring looks. He only had the look of being upset."Elicia," he started talking. I sat on my bed, turned the television off. I sat there, waiting for him to say the next words. I didnt know what they'd be, but it seemed it wasnt going to be nice. "I've witnessed you going through so much these past few weeks. Seems you want to go home soon, to your mom's home." I sat there waiting for more. "But you're mom is panicking, she doesnt know where to go from at this point. She is struggling on what to believe from you, even with what you've dealt with so far.""Can I speak Tom?" I asked, with somewhat of an attitude. "Sure" he said."I've learned, these last few weeks. I cant explain all that I've learned, but I know there's a reason I'm here still. I know that God has a plan for me. I don't know what that plan is, but I want to learn more. The drinking is done, I can't explain how done it is." I start crying at that point. "I just want to go home. I mean, how do I show my mom that I have changed? How??" I was sobbing by that pont. Pastor Tom didnt move, his facial expression didnt change. "Elicia, you need to do some major changes. You need to find a way to absolutely show her that you mean what you're saying to me. You only have one shot, one chance."Pastor Tom gave me a hug, then said prayers over my head. I spent the rest of the evening thinking about what he said. My mom never called back to apologize for hanging up on me. I understand why she didnt. I, in my own way, knew why she was so scared. I remembered who I was before the fall. Cruel, drunk constantly, abused and never doing anything about it. Feeling that somehow I deserved the abuse, but never knowing why. I hurt over all of this, but I could never imagine how hurt my mom felt all these years.
I got my evening meds and fell asleep, all the while dreaming about what I was going to do.

Unkwown title....my ventings

Back at the hospital, I laid on my bed and decided to watch some TV. My phone rang; it was him.

I find it very hard to write about this time. Now, 3 years later, I know how cruel he is. I know how abusive he is, how much of an alcoholic he is. Looking back is just a struggle now...knowing too much reality about him.

I wish I could fast forward through this time, wipe it out of my memory. I wish I could wipe out the entire three years, like this never happened to me. I will never know the reason of why...I will never know how God allowed all of this to happen to me. There was a time that I was okay with it, thankful for how it transformed my life. And, in a way, I still am thankful. I wouldnt be a good mom, had this not happened. I wouldnt have learned from the mistakes I made. Hmmm, I would've probably died from those mistakes.

But, from time to time, I still find myself in a way, arguing with God. Why? Why did this happen? Had I been so wrong in life? Just...why?

And the siezures I have to this day...even though I'd had them before the fall, they are now stronger, more frequent...the deafness, the partial facial paralysis. I know I'll write more about this, I promise. I guess this blog is one of my ventings, I guess that's why the blog was named "Elicia Venting."

I know that God never allows us to go through more than He knows we can bear. But, sometimes, I find myself wanting to quit. To cry out, to even scream. Yes, I'm human...but I have days of wanting to break down, of telling God that He was wrong. But again, who am I to say that God is wrong? After all, wasn't He who pulled me out of this hell? Wasn't it Him who gave me a second chance to make things right again? Maybe my life is like a catch-22. Be thankful for what I have still, but take deep breaths over the hard days...

I know this much...I am thankful for this change in heart, hard as it is to say. I'm in a way, happier, more thankful for each day, thankful for my friends, thankful for my family, thankful just in general.

I see things in a different view now. I try my hardest not to hate or be negative, like I used to be. I now know that life is a gift, and I don't want to waste it like I'd done before. I know I hold onto each day, I thank God for that day, over and over again. I thank God for the people He's put in my life.

Second visit home

For whatever reason, I was given a second home pass. By this time, my head wound was nearly healed, but there were still bandages for who knows why. When I left the hospital, I ripped off the bandage. Let the wound have air, I thought to myself. Let it heal on its own, quit giving it unneeded medicines.

I was a tad more direct than last time I visited home. I had my mom buy me cigarettes, threw out the patch the hospital had me on, and attempted to hang out with my brother. Sad, almost funny part was, I had no muscle control on the right side of my face. So, with each inhale, I couldn't really hold the smoke in my mouth. So, it just came out when it wanted. And, I chain smoked. Again, without having a reason, I smoked nonstop.

Again, I got to see everyone. The guy they said was my oldest brother, Leslie, he called. Who was this guy? I asked myself.

Jade was there, playing outside with Robert. People came to visit, some stayed, some came and went. Rob and Brandy shared the latest from her doctor visit, she was about 6 weeks pregnant. 6 weeks pregnant? I thought they'd tried for years with no success? And now, she's pregnant?

When I had a moment alone, I called him again. This time, I gave him my hospital phone number, so that we could keep in touch while I was still there. This time, my mom (I don't think) didn't know.

My first doctor visit

Pastor Tom and my Mom came and took me to my doctor's appointment Monday morning. I had to take my wheelchair, which was fine for some reason, I don't remember now. But, anyway, we loaded up in Tom's car and road down to Aultman. He unloaded us at one of the patient entrance doors, and we waited for him to walk in with us.
I went into imaging and signed in for my CT Scan. After a few short minutes, I went to another room undressed and got a hospital gown on, and went into a closed off room where the CT Scan awaited me. No memories, I thought to myself. Oh well.
CT Scan done, I got dressed again, and went out to meet my mom and Tom so that we could head up to the doctor's office. After signing in, we took a seat in the waiting room. Within a few minutes, we were called back by some nurse to a room waiting there for us. She did the routine tests, blood pressure, pulse, the oxygen level, and my temperature.
"The doctor will be with you in just a few minutes," she said as she closed the door.
I was able to get on the patient's table with little help. My mom commented on how my arms were getting stronger. She said "must be all of the therapy you're doing," and gave me a wink. Mom's idea of Occupational Therapy was far different from what the hospital considered OT.
No one said anything for a few minutes in that room. Dr. Weiner stepped in a few minutes later, shook hands with us, then looked at me.
"You damn near killed yourself, you know that Elicia," he started by saying. "In fact, the only thing that saved you was your level of intoxication." He showed me the BAC in my chart, but I don't remember the right number.
"I'm not going to preach to you about what alcohol can do to you, I PRAY you know that by now. What I DO want to hear is how after you get out of the hospital, that you FULLY intend on getting help with your past drinking. AND, that you keep your past, in the PAST."
Despite his "not wanting to preach to me" he was. And I guess rightfully so. I mean, come on, from what I knew, I fell off a 25ft balcony, head on. To top that off, I was VERY drunk. Way to go, Elicia. Way to instill the knowledge into your mom's brain and heart that her only daughter was/is a drunk.
"As far as your CT Scan goes, everything is healing fine." He went on. "The incisions that I made are healing good, the plates and screws are intact. Unless you have any questions, I'll go ahead and release you from my own care." He gave a quick glance, to which I shrugged. No questions here. I looked at my mom and at Tom. No questions there...Ok, lets go back.
"Oh, one other question for you." Dr. Weiner asked me. "Any plans of drinking again?" To which I quickly shook my head, NOOOOO....there was no way in God's earthly name was I going to touch another drop.
"Ok, well, just to keep you up to date on this," he continued "I had to remove a small portion of your brain out to stop the bleeding. I hope you have no intentions, because the area I took out, its the area that controls the distribution of where the alcohol goes. Since there's no place for it to go, you could die from it. So, that's ultimately your call, but just a fair warning. Have a nice day! And, good luck to you!" With that, Dr, Weiner walked out of the room.
Afterwards, Tom offered to take us to eat. I chose the Waffle House, because that's simply what I wanted. I missed their food, for some goofy reason. And, I missed their coffee, haha. For whatever reason, I had my mom sit on my left side. I couldnt hear her. Why couldnt I hear my mom? Oh, it really started to frustrate me!