To the doctor who said I should’ve died

CHAPTER 1

To the doctor who said I should’ve died…

I’m sorry, that makes you sound like the villain at the end of a superhero movie. I know you didn’t say that in the sense that you wish I had died, but more in the sense that you couldn’t believe I had survived. 2 and a half hours before I walked into your hospital I fell 25 feet. I know you’ve heard this all before but just in case you don’t remember, here’s a reminder. I was skiing at Belleayre Mountain with my freestyle team and it was the last day of the 2012 season. We were taking pictures going off jumps in the terrain park. I went to go off a jump, went way too high. I remember everything. I started going down the ramp thinking I was going way too fast. As soon as I launch off and my skis lost contact with the snow I thought ‘what’s the worst that can happen’, then I looked down and thought ‘holy shit, I’m flying!’ from there on everything literally went downhill, and I hit the ground. I landed way harder than I had ever before and my legs were as hard as rocks, contracting every possible muscle, until all of a sudden, they turned to Jell-O. As I lay on the ground, I couldn’t hear or feel anything, I was shaking and remember thinking ‘why the fuck am I shaking, I’m not even cold, I’m kind of burning up’. One of the guys on my team came up to me and said “dude that was so cool, you got so much air! Wait are you ok?”. He picked me up and I walked over with him to my coaches. I told them that I was pretty sure I had a concussion and wanted to go to first aid. The head coach asked me to stay for the group picture, he said it would only take a couple minutes… I waited over 15 minutes. I don’t remember taking the picture but when I asked again if they would bring me to first aid, he asked if I could drive myself on the snow mobile. What?! I know, that’s fucking insane, he was out of his mind! First of all, I was 13, second, I had just fallen 25 feet and third, which I don’t feel I need a third, but I had never driven one before. I don’t remember how I got to first aid but once I got there I stayed for 2 hours, my mother was at home with my 2 younger sisters and my father was skiing. Ski Patrol had posted signs at every lift for my Dad to come to first aid but because my youngest sister seemed to think first aid was a coffee shop, he didn’t think it was a serious emergency. While I lay in first aid, the nurse was very sweet always checking in on me and constantly keeping in contact with ski patrollers out looking for my father. What’s funny, is that the whole time I was with the nurse I could’ve sworn she only had one eye, in the middle of her face. One of my friends’ dad came and waited with me, I have no idea how he found out that I was there and I’m not sure why he waited because we weren’t all that close, but I’m so glad he did. I remember him arguing with the nurse pleading for her to send me to the hospital and that he would explain it to my parents. The nurse refused to send me without a legal guardian. I was in so much pain, incredibly nauseous but could not vomit, I was so dizzy. I wasn’t allowed to close my eyes because that’s standard procedure after a blow to the head. It was weird because while being in so much pain, it felt like I was floating but stuck in a bubble. Like in those movies when everything goes silent, everything slows down and all you hear are echoes and whispering people. When the “doctors” are running into the OR with a patient, they film it from the patient’s point of view from the gurney and you see the florescent hospital lights go by, one by one. I’m sure you hate those shows because those aren’t real doctors and they make your job seem romantic and effortless. Anyway, 2 and a half hours later my father made it to first aid, he walked in all while taking off his goggles and slowly taking off his gloves, all covered in snow. I watched as his smile turned to a confused look. He must’ve felt the energy in the room, he must’ve seen the look in my eyes. The nurse quickly explained what happened and instructed him to get in the car and drive me to the hospital. After arguing with a family friend, he finally agreed to take me. He asked if he could call my mother and have her bring me, since she’s a medical professional. He ran out, got the car and the three of them, the nurse, my dad and my friend’s dad, put me in the front seat of our car, with a puke bag. Your hospital is only about 15 minutes away; however, in my father’s panicked state we missed the entrance, argued, and it took about 25 mins. He didn’t take the time to park, we pulled up to the emergency entrance of your little, middle of nowhere hospital. Your one nurse took care of me, put me on a bed and assured me you, the doctor, would come check on me. The nurse gave my father papers to sign and he signed all of the patient documents in his name. He came in to my room and the nurse followed him to give him another set of papers. Before checking on me, you checked on him, because, I’m pretty sure you could tell that he was more scared than I was. Then after reading the statement I had given the nurse upon admittance, you look at me, kind of chuckled and said “wow, you should’ve died!” I could tell that you instantly regretted having said that out loud and without letting a second go by you said “I’m so sorry, that was terrible bedside manner.” I don’t think I outwardly laughed but I thought that was hilarious. I tend to cope by making jokes and you making light of my situation was funny to me. I remember going to the bathroom and realizing that I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. Then coming out and arguing again with my father about the fact that he wanted me to eat. While I was getting a CT scan, he had gone back to the car and brought back his lunch. While he was gone, you had told me not to eat anything and that I should keep my eyes open. My father argued with me over and over because he wanted me to eat those damn carrots, even though I kept saying that you had told me not to. You later came in and assured him that I wasn’t lying and that I really should not eat. I asked when I could leave because I was really bored and I don’t think I understood at the time the magnitude of pain I was in. I didn’t know the severity of what I was about to go through for at least the next 8 years of my life. My father mentioned that my mother was a medical professional, a Canadian trained Osteopath, and you agreed to discharge me into her care. I’m sorry I don’t remember your name, but I want to thank you for taking care of me and for being the first doctor on a long list to come.

Your patient,

The one who should’ve died ;)