August 18, 1991 - 20th Anniversary Observance - When Blind Dates Go Horribly Wrong

I'm going to try and not make this too long. There's so much to be said about this day. Not to mention, I've told this story a million times, and I would rather focus more on the way this event changed me, rather than focus on the negative aspects of it. Here we go....

I was 19 years old and living with my sister at my grandfather's house at the time. Sis was seeing someone and they were both trying to talk me into going on a blind date with his cousin, Mike. "He's got long hair and he's into metal." Sold!! Never had I been on a blind date before, perish the thought, but the promise of long hair and a fellow metalhead made it seem promising. It wasn't, he looked like something out of the Addam's Family. He was a scarily looking fucker.

He took me to a keg party at a friend's house, where it so happened, I was the only female in attendance. I can't say that I minded that much. I get along better with guys and always have. I actually ended up having my eye on another guy there, Bill, and chatted with him and a couple of others most of the night. At 4am, after a few beers and too many shots of Night Train, the owner of the house wanted us to go. Four of us, Bill and Cousin It included and another guy named Eric, decided to find another spot to finish the keg.

Something in my very core was telling me to go home - it was late, I was in Naugatuck and still had to drive a half hour home. But I was having too much fun and diggin' this other cat, Bill, so I ignored it. That was a really bad idea, and a good lesson for me that came later. So, they knew a spot that the cops wouldn't bother us and we could hang for a while longer. They took me to a spot behind the Naugatuck Glass Company/Polish-American club. No lights, and you were lucky if you could see a foot in front of you. Bill walked off to find a spot to relieve himself when we heard a splash. Bill had fallen off a 20 foot-plus train trestle that none of us could barely see, and he wasn't responding to our calls. I immediately got in my car and drove off to find the nearest door to knock on (no cell phone then) for someone to call an ambulance. That task done, I came back to let Bill know that help was on the way. I parked, but instead of keeping my headlights on to see, I turned them off. I don't know why; it was probably one of the dumbest things I ever did. But, I was panicking and worried about Bill. So I started jogging over to the trestle to yell down to him, and Mike and Eric who were down there with him.

You ever see the old Road Runner cartoons, where Wile E. Coyote is so wrapped up in chasing Road Runner that he runs right off a cliff, stays in the air for a few seconds, then plummets to his mock death? Yeah that was me. The only thought I can remember going through my head after realizing the ground was no longer underneath my feet, was "Oh shit."

After we were fished out of the trestle, we were brought to St. Mary's Hospital in Waterbury. Some things are blurry because of the narcotics they had me on, but I'll describe my injuries. When I fell, not only did I crush a vertebrae in my spine (L3 to be exact), but it paralyzed my right leg. To add insult to injury, I landed perfectly on top of a large railroad spike, which pierced my body, just below my tailbone and right above my rectum. When I first landed, I thought I had sprained my back and broke my leg (my leg hurt worse if you can fathom that). So when an EMT mentioned over the radio in the ambulance that my leg was not broken, I knew I was in trouble.

Over the next two weeks, I lay flat on my back, and in moments in between doses of painkillers, other grim realizations came to light. I had completely lost my bathroom functions as well, both of them, and you can well imagine what I had to endure for relief of that. In the interim, and as my mother told me later, every day was a grim report from the doctors: not sure if I'd ever walk again, not sure if my bathroom functions would ever return, not sure I'd ever be able to have children....and so on and so on. After an incubation period to make sure I would get no infection from the puncture wound from the railroad spike, off I went to the operating room. One surgeon had the painstaking task of picking bone fragments out of my spinal column (they were pinching my sciatic nerve to my leg, thus the paralysis), and the second half was with another surgeon, who took bone from my hip, fused my spine (L2, L3, L4) and inserted two, 7 inch steel rods on either side of my spine. Seven hours later, they were done.



Later, after two weeks, I was transferred to a rehabilitation hospital in New Britain where I underwent physical therapy to learn to walk again. I was there for six weeks. In the meantime, I still could not go to the bathroom on my own, but as if my body was mocking me, my period came right on the dot, every month. Anyhow, I was being told that I may never regain the ability to go on my own. Truth be told, it was that knowledge more than learning to walk again that haunted me. We take those little things for granted, give no thought to it, but when it's taken away, it becomes a living nightmare. Finally I was released and went home to my parents' house.

Over the next 6 months, I learned to catheterize myself, endured laxatives that made me cramp so bad that I often cried, couldn't take a shower because I had to keep a back brace on at all times, and the neuroma that developed from the spike puncture wound causing me bursts of raging pain that felt like I had a knife up my ass, literally. My bathroom functions finally returned after those 6 months, but never again to normal. To this day, I have to push just to relieve my bladder. I suffer occasional bouts of infection because I cannot empty my bladder all the way. As for the other end, well, lots and lots of fiber, lest I fall prey to chronic constipation. At some point during that year, I saw a pain management specialist for the neuroma. The pain was to the point where I literally could not be intimate with anyone because I would double over in pain from it. So, I had a series of shots, painful on their own, especially in THAT area, which took care of it for the most part. I only get pain in that area on occasion now. My rods were removed one year later.

Though I am reminded, literally every time I go to the bathroom, of that night 20 years ago, I have long ago left behind the misery of it all, and always remember the lessons that were taught me in a single evening. The first and most important, to me, was to always trust my instincts. Had I listened to myself that night, it never would have happened. Every day since that night, I don't hesitate to remove myself from situations that don't feel right. I always say now, "If it doesn't feel right, it probably isn't." Another important lesson I learned was my own inner strength. You never know how strong you are until tragedy smacks you upside the head with it. My inner fighter came out and battled to regain some semblance of my former self. Again, you never know your own strength until it's been tested. And finally, to regard life, my own included, with a higher regard. I was told later that most falls over 16 feet are fatal, resulting in death or much more serious injuries than my own. I was very, very lucky that night to come away with my life, and the use of my legs, and not a day goes by that I don't remember that fact. I was also very lucky to see that whole situation as a lesson, rather than brood about it for the rest of my life. Yes, I will always feel the physical effects from it, and I'm at risk for disc degeneration as I get older. I don't let that stop me though from enjoying my life - a life that could easily have been snuffed out. Oh, and I NEVER went on a blind date again.

Bad things happen to everyone, and I feel that you have a choice when these things rear their ugly little heads: either you can bear those crosses with dignity and strength, or drown in the misery of it all. I am truly grateful and if I had to change that whole experience, I wouldn't. I'm not going to lie and say it was easy, and it certainly took a while for my physical health and my mental health to recuperate. But I really wouldn't change a thing, because it made me who I am today. And at this point of my life, 20 years later and pushing 40, it seems like such small stuff compared to the beauty of life. And despite what those doctors told my parents, I can walk, I can function physically, I had a beautiful son who was my best gift in this life, and I am proud of who I am today.