The Promise: A Tragic Accident, a Paralyzed Bride, and the Power of Love, Loyalty, and Friendship (16 page)

CHAPTER 34

The Big Shift

It took two and a half years, but the day finally arrived:
My friend and I talked about anything but the accident. In a group setting there were so many laughs, and in private we had them, too. But there was a long stretch of time during the media blitz when not one phone call or online chat or get-together transpired without her saying she was sorry that this had happened. Think about that: I saw or spoke to her hundreds of times, and every single time she was sorry, and every time I swore to her it was okay. And then, suddenly, we turned this amazing corner, and we were just girlfriends again. Even after the shift, of course I knew the accident would always be there, but I finally felt like she looked at me and didn’t just see the accident, but
me
again. We had finally recovered something that we used to have.

Someone once asked me if I’d rather bear her burden or mine. I gave that a lot of thought over the years. I think she suffered far more than I ever did in the beginning. The accident, fooling around by the pool—it changed her as a person. She eventually gained her footing and came back down to earth, but before that it was something that was constantly in her head. She could never escape her guilt. For someone in my situation, there were support groups, resources, and sports. I had so many people to turn to for help to guide me through my life. There wasn’t exactly an “I accidentally hurt my friend” support group. So when I thought of that question, I knew it was a lonely feeling for her, realizing that there might be no one out there who could relate to how she felt. I guess the only difference was that it was also easier for her to hide from her situation and demons than it was for me. When she was able to shut herself off from anything that reminded her of the accident, she operated fine.

Physically, she was still able to do things, whereas physical limitations were always going to be a part of my life. She probably didn’t pass a day without thinking about the accident. But I hoped it didn’t bleed into every aspect of her life like it did mine. At least it would be possible for her to have normal days, and I would never have another “normal” day, not my old normal anyway. I never resented her for that, even though I knew it was hard for her to be around me, even though I had to be her support group and we both knew I was the only one who could help ease her pain. Unfortunately, it was a double-edged sword, because she had to see me and remember why I was in my wheelchair. Every day was like reopening a wound. That’s why when our friendship turned a corner, I was ecstatic. It was no longer all about that night. The impact evened out, but we suffered differently, and we accepted that finally.

I think about how the roles could have been reversed and wonder how I’d handle her situation, because honestly, it could have been any one of us pushed in the pool that night. It was so innocent and playful and random. But when I imagine suffering through my pain or her pain, I honestly think that in the end, I would choose my own situation—maybe because I know only what these shoes feel like.

It’s not new or scary for her or me anymore. I think that makes it easier for her. One time I was sitting on the bed, and she could see I was hurting a bit and uncomfortable. I tried never to let her see this side of things. But this time I was dizzy, so there was no hiding it. I could hardly move. I could see the look on her face, and I said, “I know this looks bad, but it’s really not.”

We erupted into laughter. It actually
was
bad—I was feeling awful and struggling. But by just saying it, I guess it finally became okay to laugh about it with her. Humor had been one of the main things that had helped us endure this ordeal. Then we returned to talking about girl stuff. And the elephant in the room just disappeared.

Neither of us thinks it will ever be gone from our lives completely; that’s naive. But just to have days when we’re together and it’s not part of the equation, or stuck in the back of either of our heads, is a huge step forward. Even actually being able to talk about that night at all, without it being scary or sad, is a relief. Things are just more logical now.

I don’t want to suggest that her healing didn’t come from inside, because it did. It had to. You can’t get past this kind of horrific event without your own strength, but I feel proud that I played a part in saving her and protecting her. I know what revealing her identity would do to her, and I want to protect her forever. Her secret is forever. She shouldn’t even have to hide it as a secret. She did nothing wrong. But people can be cruel, so we have all decided that no one else needs to know. This unbreakable friendship, it’s a real thing between us all.

There’s no doubt that we all survived because we worked as a team, worked together to stay strong and hold each other up. We all had moments of weakness, sure. But we had to weave our way through the jungle—the night, the hospital, the media,
Oprah,
the cruel comments. Beating those experiences was a team effort.

In the early days after the accident, I could feel her pain without her saying a word. I began to notice a shift in her aura finally. She just looked happier, and I noticed it without her telling me. She’d shed a skin almost. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive herself completely, and if she could go back, she’d change it all in a heartbeat. At least she learned and finally believed she didn’t do anything wrong; it was an accident, and we’re able to laugh again. The laughter has replaced the angst.

Something else happened, too—something really significant with her, and it had to do with the press. People were saying that I had shared my financial struggles with the public to gain sympathy and get donations. Of course, that was ridiculous. For starters, it was part of my story. It was part of the discussion. Being in need of different medical attentions meant I was very familiar with the shortcomings of healthcare, and those shortcomings are usually about money. I was grateful for all that people had done—remodeling my house, giving me the equipment and training I needed to drive again—but accepting these wonderful things didn’t make me a bad person. Neither did enjoying a dream wedding and honeymoon; I was happy with the ceremony I had originally planned and would have had it in my backyard if need be. Plus, I had no idea any of this would happen. How could I? It happened quickly, and I didn’t seek out the attention at all. People were just kindhearted and helped. I would have done the same if the tables were turned and I was able.

But all of that aside, I’m not the only person suffering or living with this financial problem. I shared my shortcomings in relation to healthcare and insurance to shine a spotlight on a critical issue. I was fighting the fight and hoped my efforts and the attention I received helped others, too. My accident and recovery made me no more special than anyone else with a disability.

Shortly before the three-year anniversary of my accident, I was doing a catch-up session with the online discussion site Reddit in a section called “Ask Me Anything.” I received more than a thousand questions.
Today
did a follow-up online in response, titling the post “Bride Stays Positive in Spite of Financial Struggles.” People of course piled on and judged me based on that. There were so many mean comments. I called my friend who had once been haunted by these kinds of words. I couldn’t hide how upset I was, and I told her what had happened.

“You’ve done so many positive things from this injury. Ignore the haters!” she said. She was giving me the same advice I’d given her so many times before. I had slipped. I was allowing myself to be emotionally affected by the ignorance of these people, all for my honesty. It made me so angry. It didn’t make me feel bad about myself, but I felt bad for society. People were judging me for no reason. She stood up for me. She supported me. The tables had turned. I had felt comfortable enough to share, and she had become strong enough to help. It was a powerful moment.

CHAPTER 35

Being Heard

I still had one thing to conquer that I hadn’t since the
accident: I wanted to sing again in front of people. In my efforts to remain really busy and meet new people whenever I could, and to not let this wheelchair ever get in the way, I worked hard to find new things to do. I loved my wheelchair rugby team, and I had always wanted to try something crazy, like skydiving, but sometimes I checked out the website Meetup.com to find activities in the area that might be fun for just a night.

Since I loved singing so much—it was always my passion; I loved entertaining people—I was immediately struck when I saw a karaoke night for twenty- to thirty-year-olds listed on the Meetup website. I was excited, but I was also really scared. I used to belt it out all the time before the accident, and Carly and I had done lots of singing in rehab—but I hadn’t really tried to sing much after that. Especially not in front of other people. I’d met some cool people through this site, so I decided I would sing and try something bold.

I was just going to wing it. Tom was there and Chris and Mike, too (another friend, not cousin Mike). I was wearing a burgundy mini-dress and brown leather boots. The event was at a pretty cool place in downtown Raleigh, right by NC State, a rival of ECU, and I think the drama school was there; they were belting out amazing tunes that night.

I had to coax myself a little in my head. I kept thinking,
You’ve been singing all of your life. You feel pretty right now, which is important. You’re dressed nicely. You can do it. You can do it.
I kept saying this in my head as I watched other people get up to sing.

When I was little, I was always performing. My friends and I would make up skits and shows, and we’d sing for our families all the time. I loved it. When I was in high school, every year I did the talent show. I always chose a Shania Twain song. One of them was “Honey, I’m Home.” I thought back to high school and remembered that people really got into that country music. I decided as I flipped through the book to channel high school and stick with a crowd-pleaser. So I did.

Chris helped me get up there and get set up. I wasn’t even nervous because I really never got nervous on stage. I was more worried because I knew I lost my breath so easily now, and I could actually get dizzy from exerting myself. So that was one concern for sure. But I had practiced at home to make sure these new issues wouldn’t slow me down. I had speakers in the walls at home and a karaoke system, and I practiced often.

But this came up on a whim and was my actual debut, and as I looked out at the crowd I had this crazy adrenaline kick. I just started singing my heart out. I don’t even remember if I thought about it. It just came so naturally and was so much fun. The crowd was totally into it; they sang along and cheered a lot at the end.

I felt really proud that people liked my performance. When I looked back at the video, which we put on YouTube, it actually looked like I was nervous. I had to hold my arm across my stomach and push on it to keep the blood pressure up—it kept me from getting dizzy. So to someone who didn’t know better, it looked like I was holding in my butterflies. But I wasn’t. It was a really meaningful night for me for sure. It had been on my list of things to do since the accident, and I felt happy to have accomplished it.

CHAPTER 36

The Positive

I think what both surprised and inspired me the most since
my accident was the attention my story received. I had no idea when I was released from the hospital that it would reach anyone. Then, suddenly, I was in the news. What I appreciated most as I watched was that my determination, my character, and my personality somehow got through to people, and that really gave me confidence; it made me feel good. I felt like I did beat this injury, turned something negative into something positive by reaching out and impacting people. It was like a light switch went on, and I was forced on a new mission in life determined by circumstance, not fate.

The realization followed my first appearance on
Today.
People donated a lot of money, which was amazing, but they also sent letter after letter to my Facebook inbox and my e-mail. I read and responded to every single one, or at least I tried to. I did it because it made me feel great and I knew people wanted to hear back from me. People wanted to relate to me and wrote things like, “My son had this happen to him,” or “I am married to a quadriplegic.” They were trying to connect, and I quickly learned I had the strength to help them. I had spent a lot of time dwelling on the hurtful comments, but eventually I found purpose from my accident in the positive comments and the people seeking help.

I realized I could connect with people and let them know they shouldn’t just
think
about changing their lives when they read my story, but that they really needed to
live
that change. I knew that, in many instances, my story would air and then I’d be out of sight, out of mind in a sense. But when I heard stories about real changes people had made, that’s when I knew I’d made a difference and done something amazing in the years following the accident. It was easy for me to say, of course; I had a constant reminder. I lived in this chair.

So I set out to do what so many had done for me: help a recently injured patient. One in particular was fifty-three when he had a motorcycle accident. (The driver of a van had failed to yield.) I visited him in the hospital often and began giving him and his wife advice. It was so hard to look in their eyes and see the sheer fear and shock when it was all so fresh. But I told them that I was there for them day and night.

I was given a new job following the accident: Fight for the cause I lived, work hard for a cure, raise awareness, and be strong for others. As I sat by this man’s bedside for the first time, I knew I had a mission for life.

One night, as the third anniversary of the accident approached, the girls and I had a conversation. We were all sitting on the couch at Samantha’s house in our sweatpants. I remember we were playing the board game Apples to Apples, where someone draws a card with an adjective on it while everyone else puts down a card with a noun that they think best represents that adjective. Most people don’t play the game realistically but instead put down cards they think will be humorous. It was a silly, mindless game, but fun, and we liked that. I had recently visited my high school to give a speech, so I guess the accident was on my mind.

We had the frankest discussion that night about how they had all changed. Someone said, “It was the worst night of my life.” I think I was surprised by how horrified and terrified they all still were when we put it on the table. It will never be forgotten. They all admitted that they think about the accident regularly.

It is a cliché, but we were all made newly aware of life in a very different way. We were so happy-go-lucky before. We never woke up thinking,
Tonight something terrible is going to happen to one of my best friends.
But when it did, everything changed. However, we realized it wasn’t all negative; the one good thing that came out of it was gaining a greater appreciation for each other and our lives. Maybe if our friendship overcame my accident, it could overcome anything.

I had two sides to my life. I didn’t have the perfect life without problems before the accident. I had ups and downs like anyone. But I did have everything going for me; all of us girls did. We certainly didn’t think something like this would get in the way of our lives, and we realized we’re not immune to tragedy. Even though something like this happened to me, it doesn’t mean it can’t happen again to someone in our group in a different way. Realizing that wasn’t negative, either. We became healthy and grateful but not immune to reality anymore.

We’re mostly grateful for each other.