I continued to believe I was in Istanbul. I could see Istanbul out of the hospital window next to my bed in the post trauma ward at Paddington, London. It had now been three weeks since my near-death accident. My imagination and reality continued a raging debate.
Byzantine Memories Of Byzantium
My father gave me my phone, probably ten days too early. I went through my innumerable messages and decided I should start responding to my friends and family. An old friend from Amsterdam was in London for a few days, and as he usually did, messaged to see if I was free for dinner. I told him about my accident. But when he said he wanted to visit me in hospital, I said I was in Istanbul and he could visit me in a few days when I returned to London. My imagination was winning the debate.
When he finally did come to see me at my hospital in London, he asked my family how I had ended up in Istanbul with all my injuries. My father had to explain my foray into the unconscious mind to him.
After about a month, the mental fog lifted as I was being transferred to a rehab hospital from the trauma ward. Despite being on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, the names of familiar streets and the views of the tops of buildings in my favourite city started bringing me back to reality. I finally “left” Istanbul. The road journey lasted only ten minutes, and not a few days as I had expected. I had asked to be transferred by air, but no one listened to me!
Hitting Reset, On My Life
Now the going got even tougher. The recovery process started. Once again, I was in the front seat of my emotional roller-coaster, as I started to come to grips with what had happened to me. But I had to set that aside and focus on pushing myself physically if I could ever hope to return to a shred of my previous activity level. I missed the expertise and empathy of NHS staff.
My whole life, I had been very physically fit. I was a 400 metre and a 110 metre hurdle champ. I loved basketball, badminton, cross-country running, scuba diving and horse riding. Importantly, I had always appreciated how difficult it is to regain a high level of fitness once one slacks off, so I had never slacked off. Now, in an odd, unsolicited twist of fate, I now have to rebuild my physical ability after major physical damage. Rebuilding is even tougher than I had thought.
‘Friend’ Therapy
I still could not fully comprehend the extent of my injuries. I found fatigue – both physical and mental – overpowering. This was especially difficult for someone who had the energy of a Duracell bunny before the accident. I started receiving a steady stream of visitors. It would feel like some semblance of my life before the accident as I had always been very social. However, when my friends or family would leave, I would be left exhausted; a far cry from my old self who was energised by their good company.
A few sets of friends tried to replicate our social interactions from before the accident. Two friends and I would catch up at our favourite restaurant in London every few weeks. These two started a ritual of bringing in food that I was craving and having our little “get togethers” in my hospital room every so often. We chatted at length as we used. It felt wonderful after the ordeal I had been through.
Another close friend set up an advent calendar in my room. Opening up special (and much needed!) skin care every day in the run up to Christmas kept me very enthralled.
Other friends were thoughtful enough to regularly ask and bring in favourite food for me and my family (who were suffering their own trauma). Doctors and therapists kept pushing me to eat more; my appetite had come back with a vengeance. My body was doing its best to rebuild.
My colleagues started visiting. I wasn’t sure how I would handle my emotions, so I was nervous at first. Beautifully, two friends briefed colleagues who wanted to visit me. They knew I needed only positivity, inspiration and light hearted conversation. Thanks to these friends I could continue to surround myself with the energy that I required.
My mentor for several years inspired me by giving me an award for notable courage in the face of adversity. It was a light hearted gesture. But one I found motivating at a time when doing simple everyday things was a mission. It also made me feel like I was still a part of the team despite not being able to work for a few months at that point.
Rx: A Healthy Dose Of Laughter, As Needed
Laughter got me through many bleak days: mostly thanks to my father’s uplifting energy and general outlook, but also thanks to one of my school friends who regularly sent me specially selected jokes. It was heartwarming to find that despite meeting each other only a couple of times over the past twenty years, our shared sense of humour had evolved in the same way. It made the sense of hope and excitement I had as a teenager palpable again.
Along with all the thoughtfulness I was being showered with, in an attempt to be encouraging or funny -- or simply because they were at a loss of anything else to say -- some people would say things that would actually be frustrating. For example, before I went in for (yet!) another surgery, a friend jokingly mentioned that I must be a “surgery pro”. I was annoyed by that comment, as it was not something that I, or indeed anyone else, had ever aspired to be. Worse, it painfully reminded me of all the injuries that I was still horrified by.
People I don’t know that well wanted to offer their piece of advice (or in their minds, ‘wisdom’); the floor seemed to be open to all. Some said, “the recovery might be tough” or “the going might be slow”, and in my mind I thought, “yes, I know! I am going through this excruciating experience every day.” Even though their intents were not misplaced, it made me realise that in situations like these, intentions should pave the way for truly listening and understanding.
Fearing The New, Fearing Permanence
I refused to learn to self-propel in a wheelchair as I was not ready to resign myself to being in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. The first time I experienced the outside world in something other than an ambulance, I was uncharacteristically scared. I did not relish going out in a wheelchair, and felt unsafe as traffic moved along on the road. The emotional trauma of the accident was weighing on me. I felt very unsafe.
Edith Eger wisely said in her book The Gift, “If you’ve lived through a trauma and come out the other side, you know that surviving is only the first battle.” I was beginning to understand, first hand, what this meant.
I found it difficult to unpause my life. I just wanted to get over this episode and live my life.
Is that even possible?
Will life ever be the same as it was before the accident?
Will I be able to enjoy the activities I could before the accident?
Do I have anything left in common with some of my friends?
Will I be able to dance again?
Heck, will the person, who enjoyed 15-kilometre walks without a second thought, be able to walk without pain again?
Comparison: The Thief Of Joy
As I reminisced and lamented about my level of physical activity pre-accident, I was given good advice by my physiotherapist. She very wisely told me to stop comparing my current self to my pre-accident self. Comparison is a thief of joy. This is a new life and a new me that has to be built. I found this very unsettling for a few days. I had successfully (largely) learnt to stop comparing myself to others. But now I had to stop comparing myself to myself? So, the moments of my past which brought an inadvertent smile on my lips, especially in times of distress, had to be locked away forever? What an irony!
Acceptance, Hope… And Grief
The process of grieving started, and will take its time to conclude. I find it is important to grieve and honour what was, so that it can rest in peace. Grieving is the essence of my down days. The only way to move forward is to fully respect the past.
Now I have to accept my new life and try to shape it, one day at a time. The ups and downs continue. Don’t they for everyone?
I started prioritising who and what I wanted in my sphere. I was forced to focus on myself, but I chose to also focus on key people who had already -- and I knew would continue -- to help me through it all. The people who fully understand me -- and more importantly -- take the time to actually listen rather than presume. These are the people to accompany me through this rekindled and renewed self-journey.
The overhanging uncertainty is perhaps the most difficult aspect to deal with. Before the accident I used to naively think I knew where my life was broadly heading. Until I literally got hit out of the blue, I realised that I (but does anyone?) never really knew where my life was headed. I have been forced to take life a day at a time and not worry too much about the future or be too attached to the past. It’s far from easy to do, but it is the only way to live life now.
Grasping Inspiration With Both Hands
A number of close friends and loved ones had sent me heartfelt messages when they heard about my accident. In a way this felt like what they would have expressed had I not made it. While that sounds dire, I followed some good advice from my father and decided to take the best from these messages and use it to help me every day going forward. I made a collage of all these messages of love and inspiration, and framed it so that I can see it every day and bask in the warmth of the love and care that surrounds me.
The way I’m moving forward is through inspirational stories from those around me or out in the public. That involves watching (for the millionth time) the dedication with which my childhood hero -– Nadia Comăneci -– worked as a child to become the Olympian she is. It also includes reading books about how other people have dealt with trauma.
I particularly connected with Edith Eger’s and her patients’ experiences through trauma, and Paul Kalanithi’s story in “When Breath Becomes Air”. The spirit and will of these people continue to inspire me to keep rebuilding my life, and building new paths and bridges.
—If you wish to share your story on coping with trauma, loss, grief, anxiety and depression, do write to us at mindmatters@nw18.com
(Edited by : C H Unnikrishnan)
First Published: Jun 13, 2023 8:04 PM IST
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