You have no idea how strong you are part 2: Finding a new normal

In my last blog I talked about the greatest loss of my life and the second worst thing that has ever happened to me and I mentioned that these were pacified by, first- the childhood belief that my parents would make everything ok, and later- pretending to be better until it actually was. But how does one go on when the solution isn’t that simple? This brings us to the single worst thing that has ever happened to me, the moment that everything in my life changed.

15 years ago, my left thumb got caught in the hinge of a faulty door in my elementary school. Due to that awesome trauma-blocking mechanism I mentioned the actual time I spent stuck in the door is blurry and what I do remember plays out like (and often as) a horrific dream so I’m not going into it but a quick rundown of some of the circumstances and subsequent psychological effects that remained from them.

*There was an enormous amount of my blood everywhere- The sight of blood now can set me off on an irrational panic
*Very large needles were used to numb me- where as blood can cause irrational panic, needles WILL cause a panic. At the age of 24 (almost) I cannot get an inoculation without having my mother present. When blood is drawn I need to be held down and kept calm.
*I was walking through the hall alone at the time of the incident- I am highly uncomfortable (and at time downright nervous) being alone. It’s not a fear of being attacked and unable to save myself because the feeling do not flair up while I am babysitting anybody two or older (I’ve thought hard about this because a tot can hardly be considered more company than an infant but they are old enough to get a phone and possibly dial 911, which is the only explanation I can come up with.)

So yes there are a few things that have lingered, but those things aren’t too major. When I say that it was the moment that everything in my life changed I’m not talking a few neuroses. I mean that was the moment I became an adult in the way I thought. My finger was hanging on by a tiny piece of skin, basically detached and doctors were not sure they could save it (luckily they did) and if they could, how useful it would be. I might not have known a lot about life at nearly 9, but I knew that this was not something that my parents could make “all better.” For the first time I was dealing with something that might not be fixable. Even after the stitching and extensive repairs, I had lost a bone and no doctors could predict what ability I would have (by the way I am left handed.)
I was bandaged to some degree for most of the summer and when the bandages were being changed, my nail-less, blood stained, stitched up hand looked like something out of Frankenstein and I remember clearly thinking that I was a freak who was deformed. Furthering this thought, was the helpless feeling that accompanied being unable to do simple tasks like using cutlery simply because my entire life, I had been using my left hand. Imagine, every time you go to do something having to use the wrong hand or have someone else do it for you. As time went on, I adapted and healed and slowly but surely I regained abilities that the doctors worried I wouldn’t. After extensive physical therapy, I was left with only a few physical issues.
*I cannot write (handwrite) for long periods of time without pain. Solution: tape recorders, copying notes, typing
* During the winter, when everyone else’s hands get cold and tingly, my scars get so cold they burn. Solution: I wear two pairs of gloves, try to keep hands warm, often blow on my thumb or put it in my mouth to warm it.
*I can only bowl 1 game without pain. Solution: for the amount of time I go bowling, this is not really an issue.

Then there is the scar. I will never have a normal looking thumb and I would look at it every day and think about that. I was really pissed and I reacted in a way that little girls aren’t supposed to. I blamed God; I mean what 9 year old does that? I refused to go to church because I didn’t understand how the God I’d learned about would allow this to happen to me. In retrospect, this is probably the closest a child has ever come to converting to Atheism. Then I got some of the greatest advice anyone has ever gotten: You cannot hide from God.

A family friend, who was a priest, heard about my anti-church situation and asked me about it and I flat out told him the same thing I just told you. Here I was this little girl telling a priest how his boss sucked. I mean that kid had guts, lol. He then told me I was right but that I shouldn’t stop going to church or stop praying. Rather I needed to tell God off, he failed when I needed him and I wouldn’t take that without a fight. I never forgot that talk and have kept it with me.

So now the mandatory point to all of this, people are stronger than they think they are. I don’t know when I stop seeing my scars and started to just see me again but it happened. So if that scared little girl can become a slightly neurotic but otherwise reasonably normal woman 15 years and several minor adjustments later, I believe anyone can do anything.