One Arm, Zero Patience: The Struggle of Taking It Easy

But sitting here, almost 13 years later, I’m still dealing with the side effects of the choice I made that night. Thank God nobody was killed. I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I had killed the other driver. Even though I wouldn’t have remembered it, that kind of weight? I don’t know how you carry it. I’m just thankful that isn’t what happened.

People have said I probably don’t remember it because I was so drunk—but that’s not it. If it were just the alcohol, I wouldn’t remember things from after I started drinking, not nearly 12 hours before it too. I actually went back and retraced my steps and was able to pinpoint exactly when the drinking started. But the stuff before that? That’s gone too. And that’s not a blackout—that’s something else entirely.

The doctors told me that kind of memory loss is normal after a traumatic event. Said it was my body’s way of protecting me, trying to shield me from the worst of it. I’ve always thought of that as both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I don’t have to relive the events of that night. But a curse because even though I walked away with a broken femur and humerus, paralyzed vocal cords, and a traumatic brain injury—I don’t remember any of it. So in my head, it’s like it never happened.

And then came the punishment. I went to court, was sentenced to pay fines, spend three months in jail, and serve probation. I was being held accountable for something I know I did, but have zero memory of. That kind of disconnect is hard to sit with. And when people close to me told me it seemed like I didn’t care or hadn’t learned anything—especially because I eventually started drinking again—it was even harder to explain.

Hell, sometimes I wish I had remembered it. Maybe if I did, I’d be sitting here with nearly 13 years sober instead of just over 3. And maybe the amount of stress, worry, and anxiety I put on my family—especially my mom—would’ve stopped a long time ago too.

But I made it through the jail time, probation, community service, and everything else the court threw at me. And if the trade-off for still being alive is dealing with issues in my arm/shoulder, leg, brain, and airway, then that’s fine and I’ll take it. I just have to put in the work every now and then to stay on top of it, and I’m 100% okay with that.

Because I. Am. Alive.

That’s something the doctors didn’t think would happen. They told my mom that if I made it through the night, I’d either be a vegetable or severely retarded. So yeah, I can deal with flare-ups every now and then, it’s become normal for me.

Honestly, I forget how severe some of this stuff is until I’m either talking about it with someone, or I end up in the ER and get an attending who hasn’t seen me before—just my chart. One of them actually tried to rush me to the recess room to intubate me because of how compromised my airway is. I had to call my ENT on the way there so he could call ahead and stop them. Thankfully, he was the ENT attending on-call that night and met us down there. The ER attending looked at all of us like we were insane when my ENT backed me up and said he would admit me overnight with IV steroids overnight and then send me home with a Medrol Dosepak in the morning.

But anyway—back to what this post was actually supposed to be about… my damn right shoulder.

I don’t know how I re-injured it, but I was in physical therapy for it last summer and that seemed to help. I also ended up in PT for my right hip. Yep—already having hip issues. That’s thanks to my right leg being just a bit shorter than my left now, all because of the accident and how bad the break was.

And here I am, just trying to get back into shape and work out regularly—because I’m getting older and it’s way easier to build good habits now than it is later—and I’m pretty sure that’s what messed it up again. The irony, right? I either overused it or had bad form while doing something. Not sure which, but I do know it started aching a bit before class yesterday.

So, I took it easy. In my Pure Barre class on Thursday, I used 5 lb weights for my “medium” set and only 10s for my “heavy”—normally, I’d go for 8s or 10s for medium and 12s or 15s for heavy. My shoulder held up okay during class… for the most part. I used the 5 lb weight for almost everything, but had to drop it once we started holding them overhead. I ended up doing modified pushups using the bar as well.

But as the day went on, my shoulder started feeling worse. Any time I moved my arm too quickly in any direction, it flared up. So, I overnighted a compression sleeve to help keep it somewhat immobilized—especially since I had to work at The Post the next morning. And that sucked too. I’m right-hand dominant, so I instinctively reach for everything with my right arm. I went to push a door open, and the pressure from that alone was too much for my shoulder to handle.

Then at work, I had to constantly remind myself to pour bottles and pull taps with my left hand. The sleeve doesn’t even let me lift my arm that high—and even if it did, reaching that high hurts like hell. So now, I’m just sitting here at home with my compression sleeve on, trying not to do too much and make it worse. If it still feels this bad by Monday, I’ll be calling my sports medicine doctor to have her check it out and get whatever scans are needed—to figure out if it’s just some irritation that rest or PT can fix, or if it’s something more serious.

I believe it’s the former. After everything I’ve gone through medically since the accident, I’ve become a pretty good judge of what the next steps should be when an injury starts acting up. But on the off chance I’m wrong, I don’t want something more serious to slip through the cracks.

So yeah, that’s where I’m at right now. Sitting at home with this damn compression sleeve on, trying not to do too much and piss my shoulder off more than I already have. If it feels worse by Monday, I’ll be calling my Sports Med doc and having her check it out just to be safe. I really don’t think it’s anything major—I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing when something’s off—but with my luck, I’d rather not risk it and have something serious slip through the cracks.

I’ll probably post an update after my appointment (if I even end up needing one). Until then, I’ll just be over here doing the bare minimum, avoiding using my right arm and making sure I don’t piss off my shoulder any more than I already have. And, naturally, I’ll be fighting the urge to do a million things because—who am I kidding?—I can’t sit still without feeling like a lazy. But hey, my body is basically telling me to chill, so I guess I’ll listen... for now.