It's been over a month since I've participated in my regular routine of reading and commenting on my beloved Fat Acceptance blogs. This was not done by choice, but by necessity. I've decided to tell the story in a series of blog posts because I have quite the tale to tell....one that is still ongoing. I also want to relay the fat aspect of my story in regards to treatment within various medical establishments and by medical personnel because my near 400lb. size is an integral and significant part of my journey. I hope I can shed a realistic light on the treatment of mobile fatties by those in the healthcare profession, and inspire others to accept themselves where they are RIGHT NOW.
See that picture up there of the knee? That should give you some clue as to the kind of injury I endured on February 19th, 2011. We were at a hotel in Oregon. It was my inlaws 50th wedding anniversary, and I had planned the majority of the festivities for the celebration. A beautiful luncheon, personalized invitations with their 50 yr old wedding photo on it, a framed and matted collage of their wedding photos for guests to sign as they arrived, decorations, flowers, and party favors. I love my inlaws and enjoyed making a big deal out of their anniversary for them. I was looking forward to seeing the smile on their faces and watching them reminisce with friends and family. Sadly, neither myself, nor their son got to join them for the party.
It was 8:30 in the morning, the day of the party. My husband had taken my youngest down to the beach by the hotel. My oldest daughter and her husband were doing the same. Since I was alone, I figured it was the best time to get in the shower and prepare for the day's activities. As I stepped into the shower, I realized I had left my shampoo on the sink outside the shower room. I stepped out of the shower to retrieve it at the exact time my oldest and her husband opened the door to return to the hotel room from their stroll. Startled, I jumped back into the shower and my left foot missed the rubber mat and slipped on the smooth and very wet surface of the tub. This is where my memory gets a little fuzzy. I remember my bent left knee coming up, my hands flailing for a handhold, and falling backward in the tub. Somewhere in the middle of all this, my left knee SLAMMED hard against the wall of the shower and down I went---water still spraying from the shower head.
My daughter, who happens to be a nurse, came rushing in to help me. I was sideways in the tub with my knees bent over the side. The pain I felt in my left knee was the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire 44 years of life. I knew immediately that I had done some major damage to my knee, but didn't know exactly what. I could see that my kneecap was not in the right place. It had moved up into my thigh as if nothing was holding it in place. My daughter, who is also 5 months pregnant, tried to help me out of the tub. I was screaming for her to help me straighten my left leg instead, so she picked up my leg and pivoted me around in the tub after turning off the water. Lifting my leg was impossible for me to do at this point...and that scared the shit out of me.
I got some minor relief when my leg was straight and my foot was pressed against the end of the tub, but the level of pain is indescribable. My daughter yells for her husband to get my husband, and he ran out of the room for the beach. I found out later that he told my husband "Mom's hurt real bad! Come quick!" My husband came into the room breathless. Before he came in, my daughter tried to help me up out of the tub to no avail. I looked her straight in the eyes and said "You need to dial 9-1-1 so they can send people to help me out. I'm hurt really bad." It took her a minute or two to accept that, so instead, she got my nightgown for me to put back on as I lay in the tub.
When my husband arrived, I told him the same thing. His disbelief prompted him to try and hoist me up himself. Even with me trying to use my other leg, this proved to be both painful and impossible. I told him again...."Call 9-1-1 Honey. I've hurt myself really badly". Seeing the seriousness in my eyes and hearing the cries of agony coming out uncontrollably, he finally made the call.
Within minutes, I heard the sirens of the volunteer fire department screaming toward the hotel. Soon after that, there were 4 or 5 men and women crowded in the bathroom trying to figure out how to get the fat lady out of the tub. They were assessing the situation and tight quarters to maneuver around me.....and asking me what I think I can do to help get my fat ass out of that tub and onto a chair-like gurney.
Now, you may think that at this point I am mortified. Embarassed and shamed beyond belief. Not at all. Yes, I said not at all. A few years ago, before my plunge into Fat Acceptance (and moreso Self Acceptance) I would have probably injured myself worse trying to get out of that tub to save myself the horrific embarassment of others seeing this fat woman lying there half naked and wet. But, since I have truly embraced the concept of loving and accepting myself at the weight I am today, and not buying into all the self hatred and loathing that the world heaps onto fat people daily, I have learned that I deserve to be loved and treated humanely and with respect (both self respect and expecting respect from others). This may seem like an unnatural concept to you out there who continue to buy into the fat shaming and blaming for every bad thing that happens on the planet, but I refuse to participate in that game any longer.
The volunteer firemen and women realize how much pain I'm in, and decide to call the paramedic, who can administer IV pain meds on the scene. While waiting for her, they carefully place a cardboard splint on my leg and secure it with an ace bandage. This does very little to immobilize my knee, but I do feel a little better knowing there's a half inch of cardboard surrounding my lower leg.
The paramedic arrives to juice me up with a morphine drip and has no problem getting that started. I welcomed the slow dulling of the excruciating pain as the medicine enters my blood stream within a few seconds. I still feel pain, but I seem to care less about it as I did before the morphine. I'd like to take a moment here to say "Thank you Jesus!" for the people who developed these medicines! Without that medicine to take enough of the edge off the pain, I might still be laying in that tub! :)
At this point, I'm very keenly aware of how calm I am as I try to figure out the best possible way I can get out of the tub. I have kept my wits about me and have not succumbed to a full blown panic attack regarding the seriousness of this predicament. I've also managed to keep myself from going into shock even though I am laying in a cold, wet porcelain tub. I remember vividly telling myself quietly to not let that happen...keep it together!
The paramedics decide to tie a sheet around me for leverage as I explain to them my plan for getting out of the tub. Since the toilet was right next to the end of the tub, I figured the best I could do was try and stand up enough with my good leg and the hefty shoulders of the paramedics so that I can seat myself on the toilet. Through gritted teeth and lots of muscle, I managed that feat within a few seconds and a mountain of fresh pain. I saw stars, people! The most difficult thing about that maneuver was trying to keep my knee from bending inside the loose fitting cardboard brace, but I had a helper for that.
So there I am on the toilet with my leg hoisted in the air by one of the paramedics. We try to put my leg down so that I can stand up and pivot around to be seated into the chair-gurney, but the pain is so great I am yelling "Bring it up! Bring it up! Bring it up!" with the most agonized voice I have within me. She then hops into the tub as I pivot around, leg in the air about 3 feet off the ground....a completely awkward motion, to be sure. Finally, I plop into the chair-gurney with a thud, which sends even more waves of pain through my body and nausea building in my stomach.
Strapped in, they begin the next step of the process, which is to get the gurney out of the hotel room, down 4 steps and up 6 more to the parking lot. At this time, I make eye contact with my leg holder and beg her...yes beg her to please keep my leg up as high as you can. She looks at me a little bewildered, as do the rest of the paramedics. The lead paramedic then tells me that he has never, ever brought anyone out in a gurney with their leg needing to be held up that high. Chuckling, I tell him that this will then be a new experience for him and he can put it on his resume! Thankfully, that got a chuckle from him and he relinquished the idea of trying to force my leg down for the trip to the hospital.
As we navigate the stairs at the hotel...feeling every single bump, jolt and jiggle every step of the way, I am wailing in pain. A crowd has gathered that includes my inlaws who had a room above us on the next floor. I catch a glimpse of my mother in law as they wheel me past her and she touches my arm and tells me everything is going to be all right. Thank heavens for her! Since my mother has passed, it was nice to hear the next best mother figure's comforting words. She later told me that the paramedics had scolded her about gawking at me while they wheeled me out, but she set them straight when she told them "That's my daughter-in-law! Don't you shoo me away!" She's the absolute best!
At last, I am finally situated in the ambulance. My husband is holding my leg up in the air, I'm wearing a nightgown, and I'm cold as hell. We make the 20 minute drive to the nearest hospital without sirens, since my heart was pumping and I was breathing. My blood pressure is higher than normal, but I am bearing this situation as best I can.
