Re: 17th Feb 2017, an evening that shocked me to the core of my being
Friday night at latrobe I sustained a significant injury. In the motion of taking a charge on defence (or something like that), I landed on my butt and with force and pace slid back into the baseline wall. This would not have been such a problem had my back only hit the padding as it's suppose to. The padding however, sits about 10-20cm shy of the floor and is lined with a chunk of protruding steel - I hit the sharp edge of this.
Initially I thought ’that was a tough hit but I'm ok' - so I paused and then stood up. Upon standing, I noticed a sharp pain flickering along the left side of my spine. A sensation I had never experienced in all my years of knocks/injuries and falls. I proceeded to walk a little to see if it would disappear and realised it was getting worse on each step. So I bent over to let the ref know I needed a sub. Worst mistake. Upon standing back up straight it felt like a lightening bolt shot up my spine and I screamed with pain I'd rather forget. Not knowing how to get out of this immediate sharp pain, I panicked. I actually feel a little flushed even writing about it.
As I was carefully carried/guided off into the changeroom, I remember thinking, do they need to just shoot me now? Much like you would a horse or cow in distress on a paddock.
I sat lopsided in the change room (a position found through much pain and mental resolve whereby my right arm and hip virtually held all my weight with left hip off the floor pulled in close).
As I sat in a state of fear and utter despair, I thought
How am I going to be a mum like this?
As I braced there in fear.. fear of moving, fear of the future, fear of a prognosis, fear that I would stop breathing from panic and pass out. Ryan (Physic) said two words: "just breathe" I've preached this my entire adult life yet now I needed that gentle reminder from someone else in my moment of despair. These two words in a sense would carry me through this next week.
So I settled enough to let some tears slide down my cheek as my team mates who had now returned from the game looked on in sadness and confusion (how had their super fit, 'bounce back from anything' veteran ended up like this?) at that point I just wanted to be alone, sensory overload.
When Ade entered the room I expected I would feel instantly better. The look on his and the boys faces though, made me feel nervous. I quickly reassured them that I'm ok and that I'll be fine.. it felt at the time like I may have been lying through my teeth, but what was the difference? It doesn't feel like that now, by the way. I know I may have a way to go before I regain full function with no pain but I WILL. Knowing that, is a mental saviour.
As we sat there waiting for the ambulance, my body started to cool down and my thoughts began to scatter. I recognised it as a bit of panic or anxiety at first but then I began to reach a next level, something I never had before. I was now shivering and clammy and my brain felt like it was beginning to fade.. was I about to pass out? Where the f&%$ would I fall??
I turned to Ryan and said "I think I'm going into shock, what do I do for shock?"
"Usually lie down" he said
"I can't" I said, feeling even dizzier
"Just breathe" he repeated, holding my hand.
I asked penny to check my car for my handbag which I thought had traumeel in it. Thank goodness it did along with viburcol. Viburcol (a brilliant homeopathic we use to settle the boys in times of distress, fever, pain and restlessness, in place of medication) instantly helped to calm me down and faithfully I knew the traumeel would be working it's recovery magic despite not recognising any instant effect.. having said that, when I think about it, it's pretty incredible how much the lightening bolts had settled down even on transferring to the stretcher.
with my pain rating and observation, they (the ambos) suggest they will give me some morphine (WT actual F???). "Woah" I said, "I never even take Panadol, can we start with something a little lighter?"
So they gave me this weird sucky thing that makes you feel and act a little drunk.. I didn't suck too hard though for the most part, just enough to feel tipsy. This did the trick.
Upon inspection/introduction etc I was asked my pain level from 1-10. I said "well right now, while I'm leaning to the side probably a 3 but if I move more like a 6. Later, while we were "ramped" a term used by ambos when there is a wait at a hospital for a bed, thus no handover possible for hours... I got to know my ambos and the fact that suicide is common in their profession. Bloody terrible, though not overly surprising. They see patient upon patient in the pit of despair and would rarely have follow up to see the good outcome!? I feel like I want to ring them and have a chat - "hey, you guys did such a great job, I'm feeling heaps better yadda yadda".
"you know, you said you were a 6 back there, but you looked like a 10" coming from a paramedic, I knew I must have looked bad…
other reflection: Thank goodness we were able to rule out two things at the hospital, NO SPINE FRACTURES and NO INTERNAL ORGAN DAMAGE! Knowing what I do about muscle tearing and ligament damage and how debilitating these can be, my next fear to be ruled out is that something is not torn from the bone.
In the midst of the initial tipsy feeling I experienced back in that change room, I began to get a slight giggle about the likeness of one of the paramedics to a favourite comedian (no disrespect - I was tipsy). Knowing that Ade was the only one in the room who understood my humour, I reserved my slight giggle for his glance. Ade gave me a small grin back and then I knew that he knew I was ok.
Later this year, whilst reflective journalling for professional development I wrote this about the incident: