Hospital stay

Due to the doctors concern with my heart condition and the increase risk of infection, they kept me for a week in the ICU, monitoring vitals closely. There were staples starting from the bottom of my open heart surgery scar and continued clear down the length of my abdomen, wrapped around my belly button and ended just after. The first time I sat up I made sure the staples didn't go flying out, leaving my torso wide open for all those organs to spill out. Yes, even at 13 years-old my imagination ran wild at times.
I do remember my bishop (ecclesiastical leader) and his counselors coming to visit and bringing with them a Blizzard. What a kind gesture.
Unfortunately, most of the time I was so horribly nauseated that I didn't want yummy things such as ice cream with giant candy bar chunks or the ginormous cookie basket wrapped with yellow ribbon. However, my siblings were definitely the recipients of all tasty things and enjoyed themselves quite thoroughly.
I specifically remember one night that I could not sleep. In all my time in the hospital it had to be the most difficult night. The nurse came somewhat promptly after the giant 'help me immediately' button was pushed. She listened intently as I cried about how sick and horrible I felt, that I just needed my mom. In minutes my mom flew through the hospital doors. Relief. After that the memories are quite foggy, but she calmed me instantly. Sometimes all you need is your mommy!

When the time came to leave, the time also came to remove those staples. From my belly. So all my organs could spill out. I. Was. FREAKING. Out!
Aunt Sandy was in there, with my mom, and they both were prepared to rip the metal from the skin with crazy-looking scissors (staple removing scissors as the nurse said in a very professional, calming voice). Only few staples were stubborn, but for the most part, those two ladies became experts in a matter of seconds. Left along each side of the scar were little dots were the ends came out. And my organs even stayed in!

Once home, I got settled into my parents room on the bed with a movie. And then within just a few hours things started to turn a bit sour. My mom ran a bath for me to soak my legs saying, "A nice warm bath fixes almost everything!" Well...it usually does. Unless you end up with Clostridium Difficile or as it will be lovingly referred to as A Horribly Foul Infection of the Intestines - C-diff.
Read here:
C. difficile infection can range from mild to life-threatening. Symptoms of mild cases include watery diarrhea, three or more times a day for several days, with abdominal pain or tenderness.

Now that we have gotten really comfortable with one another, let's just say that I got C-diff really, really bad. As in life-threatening. Things progressively worsened over the next few hours, which meant that my mom forced me back to the hospital to find out what was going on.

Once diagnosed the doctor admitted me promptly back to another room, in the ICU, where the stay lasted another week.
Much to my disappointment.
If you have ever stayed in the hospital, the nifty shape-shifting beds, funny bed-pans, and interesting food is only exciting for about three hours tops, and then home seems like a distant memory, so far away, yet only two miles down the road. A place where people giggle and join hands singing about that twinkling little star up so high in the sky. Where families eat all of your goodies because you can't, and enjoy a peaceful night rest in complete darkness and silence.
Home.
I want to go to there.

The second stay was much harder than the first, only because at that point I missed my family more than I imagined possible. I missed their noises, their comings and goings, and especially the feeling of being in that place of comfort.

The time finally came to return back to my home, finally having recovered from C-Diff (A Horribly Foul Infection of the Intestines). I was about fifteen pounds lighter but all-in-all so incredibly blessed and grateful to be living and breathing. To have experienced a miracle of God that spared every life in that accident. Where ten out of eleven people were ejected and several received scrapes and bruises and no one died has absolutely nothing to do with luck, because there is NO such thing as luck. There are only blessings of God and miracles of God. And this accident was both. A divine blessing. And a miracle. And I feel fortunate and grateful to this day that I was given the opportunity to experience something so powerful and life-changing, as scary as it was at the time, looking back these eyes see just how prominent God's hand is in each and every one of our lives.

Some interesting facts:

Here is a list of the injuries of those involved in the accident:
crushed foot
broken collar bone
2 broken legs
2 broken backs
broken elbow
compression fracture of the back
massive cuts from glass and bruises
lost tooth (never found)
cracked pelvic bone
hairline fracture in neck
coma(head injury) with no feeling or movement in legs (this returned after accident)
lots of bruises and scratches
ruptured spleen

Three were thrown out the windshield. Seven thrown out the back window.

Farmer recently removed barbed wire fence and plowed up the fence line.

Per the woman watching in the oncoming car, 2 bodies were thrown in front of the rolling suburban. One of the boys watched as it came rolling towards them. It came to its side and immediately stopped before crushing both of the boys.

Yellow Submarine: The Hospital Arrival

It is interesting what the mind chooses to remember and what it wills itself to forget.

At one moment the hard dirt clods dug into my back and in the next there were two people, male I think, hooking me up to an I.V., I don't even remember the sting of the needle. They asked questions about how to contact parents and without hesitation the numbers of my home flew out of my mouth. Then my grandmother's number. Then some of my friends. I wanted to make sure they had plenty of people to contact.

The most memorable part of the trip was the EMT's refusing me to close my heavy eyes - because it's really all that I wanted.
"Please. Just for a little bit. I'm so tired."
One placed his hand on my arm, "We can't let you fall asleep."
I closed my eyes, "Just a little bit."

Exhaustion wrapped around my body creating a sense of great frustration as these men, horrible they were, to not allow me to just sleep for the tiniest, smallest sliver of time. The entire trip to the hospital was a battle between the EMT's and I: to sleep or not to sleep?! They won. Only because they stalked my attentiveness like vultures, immediately tapping, rubbing, or lightly shaking me awake.

The others in the ambulance were answering the questions of the EMT's with great ease, their voices much brighter and alive.

When we arrived at the hospital the ambulance doors flew open, several staff waiting on the tips of their toes to assist in any way possible. This is what they had been trained for and they wasted no time transporting the victims of the crash through the hospital doors. It was loud, obnoxiously so, and all that noise hurt my head. Beeping of machines, chattering of staff back and forth from one doctor to the next, feet pounding the floor dashing across the hallways to the next room, the cling-clang of medical instruments. It was most irritating and my normal level of irritability shot up about one-thousand points.

They had several staff by my side and then with the count of three lifted me from the ambulance bed to the stiff board that would become my place of misery for the next several hours. Or so it seemed. For the most part, optimism had come to me quite naturally, always finding the humor in each situation, however, the state of my failing body made me nearly mad.

In walked my parents, though I heard their voices before I saw their faces.
"When will they help me?" I nearly begged.
"Soon, honey." If memory serves well, my mom said something close to this.
All that went through my mind was the pain, immense and intensifying with every second that passed. The base of my skull pounded fiercely, twigs sticking in the mess of hair felt as though they shifted until finding the best position to dig into the cranial flesh. I felt my body tensing and begin to writhe. Much like a toddler might squirm on the floor in the middle of the supermarket after being told they can't have any candy, I reacted the same. Body tensed up and then I began to buck on the table, kicking my legs. "Someone help me." I remember screaming, kicking, flailing around as my parents tried to soothe me with words. "No one is helping me. Why aren't they helping me?" I would say it's safe to bet that I had foam seeping from the corner of my mouth at this point.
Then and there I was given another priesthood blessing, by my dad, and then everything calmed inside me.

Some time later they took me back to imaging, still on that blasted board. They put barium in a cup, asked me to drink as much as possible. The chalky substance slid down my throat hitting the stomach like a sack of rocks. The nausea was coming in the middle of the scan. "I feel really sick."
"Just a little longer. We're almost done."
"I can't." The tears welled up. "I'm going to throw-up."
"Okay. Hold on. Just hold on."
The vomit made it partially into the trash can, the rest hit the floor near or on the nurses feet. With a frown I apologized to the girl, "I'm sorry I threw up on you."
"Don't worry."

Immediately post scan they wheeled me back to the ER. The spleen had ruptured on impact. More than half my blood had emptied into the abdominal cavity. On the way from the crash site I had already begun to fail. My body was in bad shape.
It was a scary outcome at this point.

Yellow Submarine III

It has been 16 years since I have listened to Yellow Submarine.

If there is no seat belt, I refuse to ride in a car, even if the destination is less than a mile away.

The night before flying to Italy for a 3 week folk dance tour, I almost backed out due to anxiety of flying.

For several years post accident, before a road trip I would write a journal entry about all the things I loved, regretted and wanted to say to my family (like a 'last testament' just in case I died in a car crash)

The idea of a cruise sounds amazing, but fear of 'Titanic crashing' in the ocean only to become shark bait or ending up in a 'perfect storm' is enough to deter me from ever going.

These all make me sound a bit coo-coo-bats, if you will, however, they are  real fears or anxiety factors. Not sure if they would have been there regardless of being involved in the accident but they are, and they have to be worked through.

Upon waking from the dream-like state, the sky above filled with clouds; sunset approaching not too far off which meant there would be little light for the scene of the accident.  There were people that must have stopped immediately when the accident happened and then quickly exited their vehicles to check the status of the survivors (if there were any - no one knew at that point) and call for ambulances. Only 4 ambulances were in the county, and each one responded.

The beginning of March in Idaho meant that the ground still had the frozen effects from the long, hard winter, it wasn't uncommon for blizzards to come in April. For stretches of miles, most of the terrain had deep barrow pits, fence lines made of barbed wire, clustering of trees and all other uninviting obstacles for a suburban to collide with. The beautiful miracle of the wreck's location was the freshly plowed potato field, and the very recent removal of a long, deep rooted barbed wire fence across the shallow barrow pit. If there was ever an ideal moment for a suburban to flip and eject 10 out of 11 people, this was it.

Nine out of eleven of us were cast members, most with important main-character roles. The second vehicle passed was about four miles out from Oakley. Someone hollered about an oncoming car a bit of a distance off. The wheel was taken by two people, the vehicle over-correcting and the tail-end shifting around so the suburban traveled sideways down the highway towards the left shoulder of the road.  There was no stopping the vehicle as it began to roll, flipping towards the barrow pit.

Those looking on, in cars of their own, couldn't believe the amount of bodies that flew out the front and back windows with each toss and turn. Hillary and I, having been sitting right next to each other, landed several yards away from one another. Though the accident site should have been complete chaos and panic, the scene circling the field was encompassed by serene peace, a heavenly glow among all the victims scattered.

Dirt.
Sky.
Cold.
Aching body.
Wet. Blood.
Screaming.

Eyes shifted up and head tilted back, I tried to see as much as possible without moving around too much. The vehicle was so far away. My abdomen hurt badly. And back. The pain was overwhelming yet at times dulled by the pumping of adrenaline.
Next to me someone moaned, their voice heavy and wounded as greatly as their body. One of the guys stood up, cursed, and tumbled to the ground. "My leg is broken."
Another friend of mine was frantically sifting the dirt, begging the rest of us to help her find her lost front tooth that had been knocked out. "I'm a toothless whore!" She squealed while her fingers combed the earth.

In my mind the words kept coming, thoughts of my own, 'I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Please don't die. I don't want to die. Am I okay? I'm alive. I'm going to die.' Then they came out of my mouth in sobbed whispers, "Don't die. Don't die. I'm not ready to die. Please, God. Don't let me die. Oh, God, don't let me die!"

Something incredible came over me. A blanket of warmth that soothed the pain and aches. It washed away those worries with simple words that were not my own, 'You will live. You will be okay.'

They were strong, confident, unwavering declarations of an angel in the midst of frail human bodies. Other spiritual instances happened following this, however, they are for my heart to keep close and sacred, not to be shared out in the open.

I stood up, wobbled a bit, then slowly walked a few steps with a hand on my belly screaming for Hillary. Someone came to me, told me to go lie back down and wait for help, but I was frantic and refused to stop searching. "My friend was right by me. I don't know where she is. Is she okay?"
"What does she look like?"
I described her in detail, begged they find her, praying in great faith that she lived. I didn't know if anyone beyond those right next to me were alive at this point in time. The person, I think a man, insisted he lead me back to the area from where I landed. So gently he helped me to the ground while someone put a pillow beneath my head and draped a blanket over my body as it began to shake violently from not the cold, but the sudden onset of shock. The blood from a gash on my forehead seeped into the pillow.

Hands were lain on top of my head, and the first of many priesthood blessings were offered.
With all my might, I fought to stay awake, fearful of slipping into a never-ending sleep.

Yellow Submarine Part II

I still remember tryouts. Singing Castle on a Cloud accompanied by so many nerves that the only thing holding completely still was the stage beneath my feet. Up in the stands sat that cute 8th grade school crush of mine, his wide-rimmed circular glasses often slid down the bridge of his nose. You notice silly things like that. And that laugh of his. Yeah, that was quite adorable too.

Crush or no crush, there were many fun times spent riding to play practice, carpooling out with my best friend who was an understudy for one of those Fiddle sisters. This happened to be the very first play I had ever been in and already I was hooked to theater. Musicals, mainly.

Finally, after several weeks of practicing, family night arrived. We were to have a final run through, and all eleven of us that hopped into the suburban felt a surge of excitement to show off our crazy theatrical skills that evening. Hillary and I ran in to the small convenience store while the other cast mates arrived at the carpool meeting grounds. The delicious Little Debbie snack caught my eyes and I set it atop the counter, paid the cashier and ran out to the car. There had been a lot of people arrive during the time of the little errand, so where I once sat - on the back bench - another body had filled the vacancy. Hillary and I climbed in the luggage area of the navy suburban and got settled across from one another. It was a chilly night, the gray hooded jacket locking in a small amount of warmth next to my body. 

We all chatted in our own conversations for a few miles, then those famous mop-top (as EVERYONE knows them) boys came through the speakers loud and clear. It was too irresistible not to warm up our voices, everyone singing without any care for the small enclosed space. I munched on my Little Debbie snack, adding my vocal skills when it seemed fitting. The air was chilly outside, just by looking out the windows it made me shiver. What I didn't understand though, was why everything moved so slowly.

What I can liken this to is that scene from The Vow as the truck barrels out of nowhere and then...WHAM! As Rachel McAdams character jerks forward the slow motion takes over and we see a horrific snapshot of this accident.

I would say that I experienced much the same feeling - that out of body observation.
First, my eyes widening as they peered out the windshield, my body lifting off the back floor.
Then the tiny flicker of an instant as the wheel shifted the car with a harsh jerk, sending my body crashing, more like crushing, into the side window. That third pause of time came much like the others, except in this moment my eyes blinked a few times, almost as if they could transform the horrible scene into a silly creation of the imagination. No such luck. It was in fact real. The blow of my head hitting the window sent the world into a blackened dream.

As eyes fluttered open with no knowledge or concept of time, the cloudy sky stared back. And then the screaming began.

Yellow Submarine

This next little bit is a pretty incredible, miraculous event, one that many who were involved will remember for years if not the rest of their life as I will for the rest of mine.

It is 'what comes next' and it can not be summed up in just one post, which means it will be a two or three part. Throughout the time that has come and gone, there are several different experiences from this event that have touched me spiritually and emotionally. There are physical scars that have been added to the other scars across my body that highlight my beloved war-wounds of life.

There are a lot of things running through my mind these last several weeks, and days, and when it comes to what I really want to write, well - most of those thoughts are not appropriate for the eyes of fellow BLOG readers, or really for anyone. A lot of what has been going on in my mind, what I really want to write about must be done so with great care and consideration, with maturity, respect and a perspective that leads to light instead of darkness. But those topics I think of often are for another day, not today or tomorrow or a week from now. They will come to me, and the words will be fitting for the message that must be shared, and they will be thoughtfully prayed over as to who may need to read the experiences that have been dealt to my hands and similarly to theirs.

For now, we will continue forward in the memoir with the terrible-awful, yet absolutely amazing Suburban rollover accident most people (who grew up in that small town of Burley) know as The Fiddler Accident.

This name didn't come from a famous fiddler, it came from the play Fiddler on the Roof and it happened faster than anyone could blink an eye.

And so begins the recounting:

There were eleven of us stuffed into the suburban, all singing about that infamous Yellow Submarine in our best theatrical voices. Outside, snow fell so sparsely that my eyes strained to get a glimpse of the flakes; I shivered at the sight of rolling clouds.
Encased in plastic, a Little Debbie's perfection sat in my lap, begging to be devoured. I opened the oatmeal pie and listened to the merriment of the twenty-mile drive.
Sitting to the left, my best-friend clapped to the beat, blue eyes dancing. Spunky girl that Hillary, possessing enough charisma in the corners of her smile to befriend Mr. Hyde. My fingers brought another bite to my lips. cream touching my tongue in the same instant the vehicle jacked left, throwing my body right. My hips, shoulders, and head greeted the window.