A couple of weeks ago, my wife, a friend and I found ourselves off I-78 in an upturned Subaru. They made it out with light injuries, but I found myself saddled with what the doctors would later call a “Degloved Forehead”, six broken vertebrae and a broken orbital floor. I waited in the rain somewhere in the median, waited for an ambulance as people took off their shirts and handed them to me to help staunch the blood flow. Once at the hospital, my clothes were scissored off my body and I was rushed into the operating room, surrounded by people, at least five of whom did absolutely nothing but stand around me. I was told later that they were there just in case I coded. Luckily I didn’t.
I suppose these things happen.
In the two weeks that have followed the wreck, I’ve gone through bouts of trying to be upbeat about the whole ordeal to bouts of lamenting the loss of my good looks and general structure. I have a scar now that runs across my brow from ear to ear, I’ve got a still-swollen left eye and a dull pain between my shoulder blades. But I’ve also got a community of people who love me and aren’t afraid to show it. You take the good with the bad.
Recovering from this definitely feels like a rollercoaster, and I’m assured by trusted sources that the ride is far from over. But I’ve been called a machine, and while there has been a lot of downtime after the wreck, there’s also been a lot of creativity. Although there’s been a lot of fear, there’s also been a lot of hope.
I’ve always been the hopeful kind of person, the type of person who believes that good things are just around the corner. I don’t think you can be a creator and not have a little bit of that running through you at all times. As much as I want to wallow, as much as I want to sink into a cave, my brighter self won’t let me do it.
Expect to see more from me, scars and all. Until then, set your chin a little higher, hope a little longer, build a little stronger castle in the air, and walk a little faster.