[From Bella: Previously here at Living Single, I posted the first part of Psyngle's story of her traumatic accident and inspiring recovery. Part 2 is posted here at All Things Single (and More). Here's the third and final post in the series.]
From Psyngle (Part 3 of 3):
My sister and her husband came from Florida on the day I got home. (Could you ask for worse timing? They didn't know that was going to be my release date when they bought their tickets.) I sat in my living-room chair, absolutely bewildered, as six family members converged on my space and I contemplated how it could be that I was not the host of this gathering in my home. Add to this the fact that my own double bed was too low for me to get in and out of on my own, so I had to sleep in the single day bed in my own guest room. Yes, I'd been released from the hospital, but I was still a long way from being home.
In the subsequent weeks, I got stronger and able to do more. I got to take each parent to a major Humane Society event where they got to see what a large and respected part of the organization I am. That was great. It wasn't so great that I wasn't allowed to fold laundry or empty the dishwasher-the two chores that were most beneficial to my recovery with all that gentle bending and stretching. And I wasn't allowed to feed my own cat! It was difficult for me to do, but we needed that primal bonding ritual for me to earn back his trust.
My mom went home for a while and my dad took over, and my niece spent a week in the middle so they could be together. She helped me reclaim my space. No more tables in front of the closets, and we set the cabinets back in order and replaced my dish drainer. She hauled a lot of stuff away for donation and disposal. My dad was much more willing to let me do what I wanted and only help when asked. I even cooked him dinner a few times. His erratic driving led me to panic attacks and a refusal to use the freeway for any reason (he would slow to 40 mph and drift all over the place), but in general it was an easier time. We bonded over old movies and new books, and had great talks. My dad didn't need as much from me, I think, as my mom did. My mom needed me to need her; she needed me to give her the chance to protect me that she hadn't had back on that August afternoon.
I think my mom kind of resents my decision to live "alone" because it means she still has to worry about me. That is the function of coupling for her, I think-adults being responsible for each other, and adult children are obligated to couple up. She came back after my dad's shift, even though I was ready to be on my own, but I had new rules this time. I was to care for the cat and do any chores I was able to, and my using the bathroom in the night was not an occasion to light up the house like a former East German guard tower. I finally persuaded Mom to go home when my dad got sick and it was clear he needed her to care for him much more than I did.
I'm still in therapy 3 times a week and struggling to regain my "powers," but I'm living on my own again and doing just about everything for myself. My neighbor was taking my trash out for me and I just recently managed to lift the dumpster lid with my bum arm and fling the bag in with my bum hand. I can even drive myself again! (Though even at this time of year, I'd normally be getting around on my bike and the car feels like a gas-powered wheelchair.) Now that I have my independence back, I can reflect on my down time with less inner stress and understand better why I was flung back into my role as the youngest child and the single one-not a real grown-up. That was about what my family needed from me. They did some amazingly wonderful things, like buying me the pimpy new vacuum cleaner, but the toaster oven was presumptuous and the dish drainer was just weird in that way that all families are uniquely psycho. My sister says that after days in the hospital, feeling completely impotent, they descended on my home with all that pent-up energy and everything they did, they meant to be helpful. They were desperate to be helpful, to do something. They never saw the line they crossed over into overdoing; seeing me on a respirator made that line invisible.
I gained a greater understanding of why my cat, adopted as an adult, often hisses at times I think aren't appropriate. There were times when I wanted to articulate my feelings in one good deeply-breathed hiss. It didn't mean I wanted to bite the hand that was feeding me, it just meant "this is all just too much right now and I need you to back off." A lot of stresses came together, a lot of needs conflicted, and I felt buried under it all. Those feelings in no way negate my gratitude for the time and money they've spent on me. I had originally set out to tell the tale of a Pollyanna time of being tucked into clean white sheets by twittering bluebirds (this was at the height of my opiate level), but both my parents and I got pulled to the edge of the Worst Thing That Can Happen, and we are human beings and it was hard. And I am better now and back in control, and I am grateful for every day, however physically painful it still is. I'll be blogging from hostels on my next bike trip by July!
[Thanks so much, Psyngle, for sharing your story here and for your inspiration! I wish you the best and look forward to our continuing conversations here and at All Things Single.]
