Still Me

*I wrote most of this on 7/7/11*
Not sure why I picked today to start the book I'm starting, but I did. I wanted a book to read this weekend, so I went to the library and asked for a recommendation on a good biography. I wanted a lighter paperback, because being stupid I thought it would be fine to walk to the library pushing baby Archie in his stroller. My husband had taken the good stroller with him when he went to work (it was in the back of the car) so I just took the $20 cheap stroller that didn't have much room to store anything so I had to carry everything with me the 10 blocks. And it was probably 90 degrees outside. Baby Archie cried the whole way home, and his cry is rare but not quiet.

The girl suggested Christopher Reeve's autobiography. Great. That sounds uplifting! Us people with horse injuries need to stick together. So I got on my flight and started up reading "Still Me." For some reason I never put two and two together: today its been 6 years exactly since my accident. I just never thought that maybe it would stir up some strange emotions. For some reason I really get some kick out of making myself sad. I think I just like to feel. I love to scare myself too. Maybe subconsciously I thought it would be a good read. I'm sure any day of the year it would make me feel...strange. I don't even know how to feel.

I realize our injuries are COMPLETELY different. His neck and spine were hurt. My head. But there are comparisons, serious horse injuries. He goes into when he was trying to figure out what happened and whose fault it was, but then he realized it doesn't matter. If you're never going to be in that situation again, you don't need to learn from your mistakes. He never once said it was the horse's fault. Why would it be? Should we really give animals that much credit? I know Spirit (the horse who kicked me was named Spirit) didn't intentionally hurt me. But I knew he wasn't going to be careful with me either. I knew he was a scared, flighty horse who was just looking out for #1. I knew that from all the time I spent working with the horse. I knew that from all the time I've spent with horses in general. Maybe I'm a horse whisperer. A horse whisperer who thought I could avoid what the horse was saying. He was saying something to the affect of "if I'm nervous you're going down." I thought he was kidding.

Mr. Reeves writes so beautifully. He goes into detail of what he was thinking and feeling when he figured out he was hurt. He was aware enough to have to make a decision to live or die and to know what other people were around and doing. So, naturally, I started thinking about what I was feeling, and to be honest I wasn't thinking much. I'll say it now and I'll say it again: Being in a coma was the biggest blessing. I never thought anything. I just slept. I never hurt. He had horrible pain. I wasn't comfortable, waking up and puking every time I moved my head. But there was no pain. I think I didn't have strong feelings when I realized what happened because I figured it was some sort of joke until the initial shock wore off. I didn't really think about what things would be like with 1/2 a cerebellum short of a whole brain. When I woke up and couldn't walk or talk I knew I would be fine. I don't think I ever gave myself the option to have my life changed, and with my injury it was sort of an option. My life was always perfect and no horse's foot would change that. It would take more. I'm living a privileged life and I wasn't going to think about letting it go. Am I fooling myself into saying its perfect? Tell me I am. I want to feel like I'm amazing and have the best attitude.