Well after the last post I decided to commandeer this blog to something a little more near and dear to my heart. I've always wanted to "tell my story." I mean who doesn't? The easiest thing to do is to talk about yourself. Buuuut... has anybody noticed that sometimes it isn't that easy?
I used to talk about "things" a lot more than I do now but I used to get made fun of so I don't bring it up often anymore. Please ... don't feel bad for me. Kids are mean yes but ... as my pops says "it builds character." Plus I facebooked the guy who was suuper mean to me growing up... he hasn't aged well so I feel like that was some nice karma. ;)
I also used to think that one day I would have this major book about my life that I would publish but then I realized... I'm really not a writer. I think this blog is a perfect way to just write things out how I want to. I don't have to worry about proper grammar and for those who know me... hopefully you can hear my tone coming through in these words. So... here we go. I don't think I'll write chronologically. I think I'll just write and hope for the best.
If this were an executive briefing or an elevator speech I would say, "I went through a lot growing up. I've had three back surgeries, 1 heart surgery, and almost died from Purpera." Funny thing about that sentence... I either spelled Purpera wrong or it really is so rare that even the
world wide web can't figure out what the heck I'm talking about. I'm not going to get into it all tonight. So if I lose interest in writing about all this... feel free to ask me about this stuff. I don't mind talking about it... I just don't bring it up for fear of boring the audience.
My body has always told me what's happening and I wish my younger self had been a little more aggressive with these doctors but when you're 13 and younger... you don't actually expect to know more than a doctor. I guess that's where I will start tonight... the two times that I knew something was REAL bad. For kicks and giggles I will go chronologically.
So that Purpera thing... I was pretty young. 5 maybe? I think this is how we figured out I had a hole in my heart. But that's besides the point. I woke up one day and my legs were SO stiff. Not abnormal if you're an adult and working out. SUPER abnormal if you're 5 and do nothing but play Barbies. I remember sitting on the couch with my brother in the den/patio. We lived in Oklahoma. It's confusing. We had an indoor patio? Idk.. anyway. We were playing WWF. That's where my nickname "Big Mama" came from. Get it? It's a joke. I'm 4'9 now so I was probably like... 3 foot nothin back then. I did a few body slams or whatever but was not into playing because my legs hurt so badly! My mom comes out and says we're going to get my dad's luggage at the airport. I'm pretty sure I had a hissy fit (still not uncommon. LHDC) and said my legs hurt and I didn't want to go.
If this were a movie cut to the red aerostar (I think thats the brand??) van. We're all a happy family in the van. But not really super happy because I'm itty bitty and my legs are KILLING me. This is where my memory gets fuzzy. I remember laying on another couch at home later that night crying my eyes out and then ultimately going to the hospital. I remember the doc moving my leg around and don't remember much past that. My parents have since filled in the gaps that that particular doctor told me that I sprained my ankle. Uhhhh negative ghost rider. There's something serious going on.
Here's the peculiar thing about the rest of the story. I don't remember it anymore. Now, I have a really good memory but I think my brain has protected me and suppressed those memories. Essentially... I was allergic to the flu and my body was shutting down. The sprained ankle turned into the blood vessels in my legs bursting and organs starting to shut down. Clearly I'm ok and I made it through. The one memory I had was I spent my 5th bday in the hospital because of this and got my favorite game, Cootie. Oh and because I'm bad at following a theme... I told this story because I knew I didn't have a sprained ankle... my body was speaking loud and clear.
If you're still there... I'm going to move on to my second story. This one I remember vividly. And it sort of freaks me out how crazy the human body can be. I've told it to a few people... which are probably the few people that actually read my blog but I don't care. I shall tell it again!
So around the age of 12, I had my 3rd back surgery for Scoliosis. They were going in to put bars in my back. Titanium rods to be precise. The answer is no. I do not set off metal detectors. Anyway. This surgery was big but not because I'm a high risk patient (details in another blog) but big because I am officially old enough to really understand what's happening. When you're signing a piece of paper that says you understand death is a possibility you get a lil bit freaked out. Nothing like growing up quickly. Thank goodness the rest of my life was fabulous and sheltered haha.
Fast forward through a whole bunch of stuff that will most likely be later blog posts and cut to post-op. First memory: this room is dark. Where am I? There are my parents. "I need to move." There was an exchange. I'm pretty sure I must have whined because next memory is a nurse in the room telling me I can't roll on to my side from my back for a few more hours. My parents would be able to verify this more but it was either verbally or in my head but I was convinced I had to move and I had to move now. Being doped up on anesthesia I fell back asleep pretty quickly. All of a sudden I'm being woken up. "Ashley it's time to move." "Nah I'm good." < probably didn't say exactly that but it was implied. Next memory.... "we're just gonna change the sheet!" In my mind I'm like well that's odd. Why are we changing the sheets at 3 am. Or whatever ungodly hour it was. Naturally I ask why this is happening. The excuses were lame but I think I responded like a drunk person "thasss fiiiine. i jusss wanna sleep. imma jus sleep." So much movement and things happening. Pass out.
*months and months later ... possibly years?*
My parents finally told me... (if you get queasy easily STOP READING)...... I was bleeding out my back. Yes. That's correct. Just about a month ago I sort of got out of my parents to what extreme the situation was. To this day I still only get "it was bad." I know that my body was telling me there was a problem and that I needed to move earlier in the night but we were following doctors orders to not move for x amount of hours. By the time I was supposed to move I had lost so much blood that I couldn't be bothered.
Know what I wonder about most to this day... do they just throw those sheets out or do they actually try to wash those things? Blech. But for real... what happens?!?!
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