Back to the City.

Here I was back on the street again and with no money, and because of the 1989 quake, the vbanking system was not working well, which affected me severely. I thought after I had to leave the detox program that this was not a huge problem, until I found out my Social Security check was not in my account. I found out about this the hard way, going to an ATM machine expecting money, but because of the confusion that existed after the quake nothing was working well. No SSN checks or money transfers available. This sucked! I had managed to hook up with my friend at the hotel on Columbus and Broadway and he helped me get back into his room. I then called some agencies to try to and get my check. I was told that I should go to my Senators office, where I might get some help. I went to Barbra Boxer’s office, where I told my story. I talked with a sympathetic worker in her office who told me she would do everything she could to correct the situation. Two days later my check was in my account, saving my ass for the time being. (thank you again Barbra Boxer!) Here I was back at the scene of the crime with some money, which did not last very long with the drugs and alcohol that we were buying every day. Luckily, for me I was able to turn a few drug deals involving cocaine to supplement my income allowing me to party a little with a couple of young working girls I knew. This took some of the edge off. I made up my mind to get back to the VA drug rehab and called to find out when I could get in. As a former graduate of the program, I had preference over any first time applicants, but I had to wait two weeks before I could gain entry as long as I was sober and not high on drugs. So I hung out for a couple of weeks in North Beach, then the night before I was to be admitted back to the program I got high with a girlfriend, did some heroin and got on a train late at night headed to Menlo VA. You see I was not even close to being a good person in those days and I didn't want to think or relate to my situation and I only wanted to be distracted from my own reality. Where my head was in those days was not good. I had a confused way of thinking. Not having to feel pain, any kind of psychological or nerve pain was not what I wanted, and I would do anything I could to avoid "feeling pain" in any way. After arriving in Menlo Park, I walked over to a friend’s house and asked for temporary sanctuary for the night and a ride to the VA in the morning, which my friend provided. I was back in a long-term recovery program. Only it did not last for long.

Things did not work out so well.

I made it to the detox in Menlo Park only to run into an absolute jerk of a women who was overseeing the program. I want to use a stronger word that, but I’m trying to be understanding, but it is just not working. This crazy ex biker chick who was so proud of her recovery and thought everyone should be just like her was one of these righteous people who thought she had all the answers, but she was a joke. I had been accepted back into the long term program I needed desperately, which had helped me so much when I was in it previously, but I had to go through the detox program before I could transfer into the long term program that I needed so badly. Like, what I alluded to in a previous posting; I only had six months of good life before that good life was over. I had been enjoying my new sober life before my burn injuries. This women, was so cold and was without any understanding for anyone else’s emotions or problems. She was so involved with her personal perceived success, which she had made, and then she only thought her way was the only way. Her ideas ended up leading me to the highway. It is too bad that she was thinking everyone else should be just like her. Unfortunatley because I showed little interest in playing her role games and reenactments, she regarded me as a negative reaffirmation for gaining sobriety. This program was supposed to have provided me a positive road to recovery, but her methods I did not agree with, so she kicked me out. I’d like to be understanding, but this women put me, a Nam vet on the street, because of her run away ego. You tell me if a veteran should have been treated in this manner, ever, despite the circumstances. I wasn’t violent or disruptive, just confused and hurt and trying like hell to think clearly again.

Mental health

I have heard some peoples psyche can be damaged for life when confined, although I do not think I would have reacted in that manner, but who really knows. I am very glad I did not have to test of my survival skills at the time. I spent a couple of days in the hospital, and then called my parents and the VA hospital to try to get in a program. I was told I could go to a detox program in Menlo Park VA, which would help me get into a long-term recovery program in two weeks. I had spent 14 months in this long term program three years earlier and It had really helped me with a problem I had involving drugs and alcohol. After graduating from the program in September of 1986, I was feeling and doing great. I had six months of life that had vastly improved, with a great woman friend. I had experienced improvement from what it had been like for me prior to my spending time in this program, and after experiencing this success, I had my life, as I knew it, taken away from me. This was the peak of irony for me, I really do not know what to compare with the turn around I experienced, and although I am sure there are many such experiences by others even more insane. So tell me about yours.

Not a good feeling.

I spent about a week continuing this destructive life style until I just became to sick to do it anymore. I got on a bus headed to SF General Hospital looking for help. I just knew I had taken this craziness to far again. Since all my doctors stopped giving me pain medication it had become a constant struggle for me to try and live a normal life, and I was losing the fight. Using alcohol to try to overcome pain and depression does not work, except in the short term. I was killing myself slowly and not caring much about that. I was such a mess when I got to the hospital, the doctor inserted and IV and gave me a slow Valium drip to calm me down. I was shaking uncontrollably. When I stabilized somewhat, they got me a bed, but I was jittery and I had the need to walk around. This did not go over well with the nurse for the ward where they sent me to. I tried like hell to explain that I just need to walk this off and he would not hear of it. He ended up tying my down to my bed. I had never been restrained in my life for any reason and I was freaking out about this. I managed to undo the restraints and was able to move around, and when he when off his shift, things improved, because otherwise I am not sure how this experience would have turned out.

Let the good times roll!

Despite the drug use and the insanity that comes with it, I have to admit this was an enjoyable time in my life. After everything I had been through, to have women want to be with me, despite the obvious reasons they had, still felt good. I partied for days at a time, spending money in large amounts and not caring, just enjoying myself. This life style was destined to eventually fail, but what the hell, it was fun! This lasted for a year and as it always did in the past it also did this time too. There never is a sustained profit in this business if you party all the time and then the money runs out. I eventually found myself in a hotel room with a friend that was above the Condor at the corner of Columbus and Broadway, so depressed and drunk that I didn't feel the 1989 earthquake. I woke up and asked my friend why the ballgame (World Series between the Giants and the A's) was not on the TV. He explained what had happened, which I didn't believe, but that's what happens when you over indulge when depressed. Such is life at those times.

Dealing drugs to overcome pain

I set up a system for contacting my street sellers, using beepers and pay phones to keep in contact after I moved back to the City. I rented a place on Russian Hill, because I had decided that I needed to be living in San Francisco if I was going to make my drug selling operation work. Cupertino was just too far away to control it the way I wanted. During my trips to the City, I had been renting a room for a $100.00 a day at a motel on Broadway. After a couple of months of paying around $2000.00 a month to be in the City, It had become evident that I should relocate to the City. During my back and forth trips to San Francisco I met a lot of people who were heroin addicts and cocaine users. I enlisted some of them to help me sell cocaine at the bars in the area. This operation worked out fairly well for sometime. I met a couple dealers who handled large amounts of cocaine and who provided me with the quantities of the drug that I wanted, which opened up some other avenues to wander down.

Back to drugs.

At this time, the doctors I was seeing decided to take me off pain medication. This was not what I wanted at this time. To make matters more interesting, I was able to close out a pension fund with my union, providing me with a fair amount of cash. What timing! Pain medication was no longer available from my doctors, but I had lots of money to look into other directions for relief. I started hanging out in my old haunts in North Beach in the city, looking for sex and drugs. I was successful in both quests. Sex was easy, enough money made that happen and it did not take long to find dealers with the quantities of cocaine I wanted. In a short time, I was a player again in the drug trade. For the first time in two years, I was enjoying myself again. I believed I owed myself a good time after all the pain and discomfort I had experienced in the previous two years. The time was now towards the end of 1988, a little less then two years from my accident.
I made an honest attempt to go back to school at DeAnza junior college for a while, but having lost my pain medication and the subsequent pain and discomfort I was feeling, really helped me back into a life I was very familiar with from my younger days. It seemed such an easy solution to all my perceived problems at the time.

A new beginning

Here I was in Cupertino, in a great city and living in a condo complex, which I thought would be a vast improvement in my life. This is the story of my re-introduction into new ways of doing cocaine, O' boy. While I was going through this very unpleasant detox from metadone, which was a prescription by my doctors to help with pain during rehab, and by the way, detoxing from metadone is one of the most unpleasant things in life you can experience. I was literally climbing the walls and calling people, anyone I could talk to, which included a lot of crying. This was unbelievable. My doctor's told me there was nothing they could give me to help with the withdraw and I was supposed to bite the bullet, what fun. Well, I decided to try some cocaine to take the edge off. I was very familiar with this drug from prior use, and now I am going to relate my experiences for the next year and a half. Some things I'm going to relate may not seem real, but everything I write about is true. More tomorrow.

Moving into a better situation??"

Now I had moved into a new apartment where I could relax or thought I could. Before this, I had met this roommate in the place with the dogs, unfortunately he thought keeping a clean house was not a high priority. You just never know. I was sincerely hoping for some relative calm in my life. Dishes were left in the kitchen sink, which drives me crazy and have always been a big irritant to me. Without going into much detail, this guy was a slob. Not something, I knew about him or his personality before we got a place together. I have always wanted to live in an environment that was clean and organized. This became a difficult situation for me. I complained to him with no avail. Finally, one day he got very pissed off about my reminders regarding leaving messes around the house, and especially the kitchen. He got very angry and threw newspapers around the room, yelling about how I was such an asshole regarding my desire to have a clean and organized house. To my credit I just stared at him while this was going on, no flinching on my part. After all, what I had been through, this seemed a mild iirritant in comparison. Well, he left and then I got a great opportunity to move into a condominium in Cupertino.

Moving away from vicious dogs.

A guy who had two very vicious pit bull dogs managed the house I moved into in San Jose and he delighted in intimation, and the dogs were used this way to make others feel uncomfortable around them. I wasn't introduced to the dogs until after I moved in. I suspect on purpose. He turned out to be a very unfriendly and sick person. The dogs were chained up in the back yard, definitely not the way I would treat any animal, and I think this was on purpose by him to make them meaner. Every time I walked into the house they would charge the glass sliding door barking and snarling, what a way to come home. You need to know, that at this time I was not moving very well and felt very vulnerable regarding defending myself against anything or anyone. I stayed there for about a month, and then the other roommate and I started discussing finding our own place, because he was not happy about the situation either. We were fortunate to find a two-bedroom apartment only three blocks from Valley Medical Center, making it easier for me to get to my rehab appointments. This was in the middle of summer with many days in the 90's and above. I was still wearing my pressure garment, which was bad enough with the heat, but I had lost around 65% of my sweat glands due to the third degree burns. Some people regenerate sweat glands; about 50% of burn patients do so, but not me. Therefore, heat was a real enemy for me. I found out if I was in a very warm situation, I could get very sick due to internal heat not being able to dissipate normally through sweats glands I no longer had. This has been an ongoing problem to this day.

A courageous man

Hi everyone, I have to deviate from my usual chronicle of relating about my injuries and recovery. Michael James Keenan is surely was a courageous man. I don't know if I could have done what he did, rushing into a burning house to save a dog. For his efforts, he received 80% burns. He died today, because his body couldn't handle the damage that happened to him, because of his heroic efforts. He was a San Francisco artist and from what I've read, he had an incredible love of life, and it's was taken away today, because he wanted to save a friend's pet. It's a damn shame that he couldn't recover from his injuries. I only know how hard it was for me to recover from my 85% burns and how much it hurts me to hear he didn't make it. I only wish I had understood how serious his injuries were. There was a law passed that forbid people who were not to trained in some sort of psychiatry from talking to recovering patients, because I would have wanted to talk to him. This is my own fault and I wish I didn't have to think about why I didn't go see this man. This realization hurts me and in the future, I won't hesitate again. I just think the law they passed, that insisted you had to be a trained professional to be able talk to somebody in recovery, it is a cruel law, because that is the only reason I hesitated going to see this courageous man and I'll not allow this to happen again. Who better can understand what a burn patient is going though if not another burn survivor? I am very sorry to hear of his passing and I'm having a very hard time finding the words to properly express myself, I am very sorry about that too.

Back to society

After my fairly uneventful stay in the VA hospital, I was told I could leave. Now I had to find a place to live, which I did in San Jose I found a home that catered to disabled people. This was a place where your meals were cooked and any help you needed was available. While at the VA I started smoking again (a very bad habit), but I* was looking to do something to elevate the boredom. With my arms frozen at the elbows this became a challenge. I found a telescopic cigarette holder that expanded to about two feet, which enabled me to smoke again. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a good a problem solver. So here I was in a new home having furnished my room with a hospital bed, new TV and VCR and bored to death. I could not walk easily, which limited my moving around. I became so depressed about my situation that I forced myself to walk three blocks to a store (not an easy thing to do). I then bought myself a bottle of rum to ease my boredom. Not the smartest decision I ever made. I was incredibly depressed and lonely. I lost my girlfriend and I was trapped in an impossible situation and feeling very lonely. I had to get out of this situation, but I had not figured out what to do. At least while I was there I learned how to use the kitchen and was able to cook for myself, which motivated me to move into a room in a house that I could try and regain some self-support on my own again. This turned out to be a crazy situation, which I’ll talk about tomorrow.

A very good feeling

A very good feeling.
I am going back a little to Valley medical Center towards the end of my stay there. There was a nurse who I was attracted to, but in reality my attraction was a misnomer, in fact she was a really nice lady, and my attraction was because of my loneliness. The attraction was misguided. One night when I was not feeling very good, because my girlfriend and told me things were not going to be the way they were before my accident. I was not very happy about this and the nurse could tell I was not feeling very good. She took me into washroom where the big tub was. I was due a dressing change and she went out of her away to make me comfortable and let me feel wanted and cared for. She let me soak in the tub for a long time, while she gently removed my dressings. In fact, she lit candles and made the room very special. This was by all accounts the best dressing change I had during the whole time I was there. This wasn't a sexual experience, but it was the best experience I had while in the hospital in San Jose.

The wonder of it all

Hi there, I’m going to make a rare Sunday post. I’ve settled into a comfortable rehab at the VA. I get a nice shot of Demerol every morning before my stretching and rehab routine. This make me comfortable for a while. That’s all the history I’m going to talk about today. I’m appealing to9 anyone reading my dissertations to respond., Weather it’s negative or positive doesn’t matter. I would love to hear any comments from whoever has been following my efforts. Let me know what you think about what I’m putting forth. This is a very serious endeavor for me. It’s not that easy to talk about such a painful experience I lived through. So, if your out there, let me know how you feel, thanks, Rick Another poem.

The Realization
How am I supposed to feel?
Is this real?
My body has changed,
I have no more range.
Unable to move and it's strange.
I move in my mind, but there is no change.
The pain is very real.
I didn't pursue this deal.
My memory is filled with flames.
When I rather think about dames.
Do you remember names?
Is the one I love still the same?
She says we can't play the old games.
In my heart I cry.
Please, somebody tell me why.
People surround me with sympathy
Do they really have any empathy?
Can I accept this change?
When this feeling is so strange.
I don't know why

It just makes me cry.

My daily routine

When I got the VA hospital, I fell into a daily routine that didn't change for some time. After getting up in the morning, I had breakfast, and then relaxed for a while, after that a nurse would come and give me this nice shot a Demerol that was to get me ready for my rehab. Then I walked down the hall to the rehab department where they put me through stretching exorcises and other procedures to stretch my scar tissue and rehabilitate my muscles. This wasn't as painful as it could have been, because the Demerol worked very well. One thing that was nice about being at the VA, I was allowed a lot more freedom. I could go to the cafeteria and order a cheeseburger or a breakfast if that's what I wanted, which was really nice because the VA food wasn't very special. I really don't want to complain about the food at the VA, but it was nice to have an alternative. What was also nice about being in the VA hospital, was I could go out to town. It had been four months since I was able to see well. After the first week in Valley Medical Center I told the nurses that I was wearing contact lenses and they immediately remove them and since then I couldn't see anything very well, because any glasses I had were destroyed in the fire and then I was unable to see very well for the next four months. My mom took me to an optometrist and I was able to get new glasses, which really helped. That was a major improvement and it was nice to be able to see things clearly again.

A poem

As I lay here sleeping,
then wake up thinking I’m dreaming.
fire, fire, fire,
all around me is fire,
making me feel rather dire.
My hand touches the flame,
then pulls back in pain.
I'm feeling scared and strange.
I do not like this change.
Here I am searching for a way out.
I hear myself shout.
I open the window with force,
I'm lit up like a torch.
Falling towards the ground,
not making a sound,
I hit the ground hard.
I'm wrapped in a shroud,
by helpful people down below.
This has become a big show.
Finally I'm rescued by a team,
that transports me with a scream.

Transfer to the VA

I’m still at Valley Medical Center in San Jose, but not for much longer. It’s been three months. I talked about the insurance company deciding I was cured and they determined the time was right for my discharge. My Dad who had experienced a traumatic injury in his life questioned this decision by the insurance company and the doctors who were afraid they would not get any more money for my care. (My opinion) This health insurance situation in this country is very scary and I was about to become another statistic in the system. This was 1987 and things have not improved much since then, overall it has all gone to hell. My Dad went to the social worker and complained that I was not ready for discharge, very true, and he did something about it. With the help of the social worker and the fact that I was a veteran, which helped me, as they contacted the VA hospital about taking me in for a rehabilitation program. The VA luckily agreed. To the treatment. I am a Vietnam veteran. Never saw real combat, but put my time in aboard the U.S.S Hornet during its last deployment to Nam. Therefore, I was transferred to the VA. At first, this was not a great situation. They put me in a room without a private shower, which didn’t work out very well, because I had to shower every day and have my dressings change. I still had some areas requiring treatment. The first day they took me to the community bathroom was very unpleasant; luckily, the nurses saw the potential for infection and the overall insanity of using this area with a patient so susceptible to infection and requested I get the room on the ward with a private bath. I was settled in at the VA hospital and this was good. More soon. Love you all, Rick

Continued recovery

I’m getting off my soapbox today. Frustration and loneliness are powerful motivators. Things in general were improving; I was allowed to have food brought in by family and friends. If you know anything about hospital food, you understand my exuberance about this change. The doctors also allowed me to have a couple of beers a day, which was nice until me and my friend got a little drunk one night by drinking a few more than two, causing the staff to keep a closer eye on me and what my friend brought in for me. Getting a little drunk after two plus months of hell, was a nice release and I’m grateful to my friend for it had been awhile since I was able to feel relaxed, and this was a nice change from my daily routine. I was still receiving some pain medication, but not enough to overcome my continuous pain. I was told I had to expect some discomfort, which was my future prospect in life, to hurt, but the doctor’s did not want to put me on what they referred to as a progressive drug treatment. A regime of pain medications that would always increase over time, and they didn’t want to be responsible for that type of prescription. When you are in constant pain, as I was, this is not something you want to hear, “just bite the bullet and deal with it.” This attitude by my doctors started me on a ten-year quest to find relief from pain, which was briefly interrupted by the VA hospital when I was there for rehabilitation. My insurance company, by their calculations determined I had recovered sufficiently to be discharged from the hospital. This was not true. You see they have all graphs that tell them when you are well again, so they can stop paying your medical bills. The name of this company will not be disclosed to protect the innocent. More about this tomorrow.

Relations

During the time, I was in the burn unit I wondered how women might react to me and my changed condition. My doctors and social workers told me that the majority of relationships ended or were changed considerably when one partner was disabled or physically changed with a deformity. I was hoping to experience compassion from women that I was attracted to, but so far, this has not been true. I need to clarify that as a young man, I was told I was attractive and I was always attracted to women who I percieved to be attractive. This is a state of mind that all of us experience. We know what we like and who we would like to be with. So let's just say at this point that I knew who I wanted to meet and be with, and in my mind my way of thinking wasn't going to change about who I was interested in, because of my injuries. Let's admit to ourselves, and be honest about how we are and how we think, because we have a tendency and decide early on who we would like to be with and who we become attracted to. I believe that physical attraction is the first thing that comes up when meeting somebody new and is a very important part of who we want to be with and fall in love with. Unfortunately, for me, my experiences and my attitude was shaped by to many negative experiences with women, who after they found out about my burn injuries rejected me. After that, I was influenced by bad results. When I discussed with others what happened to me and with women I was interested in, they all tried to be encouraging, but they had no idea what was going on. All saying that can't be true, women are compassionate and understanding. It's nice to be positive when you have no real understanding of reality and it doesn't affect you personally. The reaction from some women was bad enough and when they just totally backed off after knowing my situation, did hurt. I sincerely wish this wasn't so, but all the compassion and understanding I've heard women say they have has not translated into a good experience for me. I'm not really bitter about this, in fact I really understand having been turned off myself to someone who had an obvious disability, especially scarring or a physical ailment that makes a person unattractive. Therefore, I guess if I have been treated in the same fashion by others responses towards me, I should just accept this, this is very difficult to do. I'm working on changing my outlook and I hope maybe what I want in a relationship may happen one these days. Good luck and hang in there.

Improving recovery

As I advanced to the second month of recovery the really painful dressing changes stopped towards the end of the month. My immediate surgeries for skin grafts ended and I was being fitted for a pressure garment, which is an elastic material that applies pressure to your skin in an attempt to reduce the raised scarring. This all happened before I had the first elbow operation, so I could use my arms again. Consequently I needed help to wear the suit. Nurses helped me out of it and after a cleansing, helped me back into it, as they were still applying dressings to the wounds that had not completely healed. My pain medication was also reduced, which I didn’t much care for, but they wanted to slowly take off narcotic dependency. I was able to move around the ward and go outside for a short time. The whole time I was in the burn unit the hospital was building a new wing, which was going to have a state of the art burn unit. The ironworkers could see into my room, were always friendly, and waved to me, which was nice. It seems my timing was always a little off, because when the new burn unit was finished it offered much better overall treatment. However, such has been my luck! Things were starting to improve and my outlook to the future was feeling better.

Learning to walk

The next month that I was in the hospital was very uneventful, except for learning to walk again. If you discount the continuous pain I experienced with all the dressing changes, things were improving. Lucky for me after sometime they reduced the changing of my dressing to one a day, so at least I only had to experience this ordeal once a day. They also started using this big bathtub to assist in loosing the dressing with water, before this procedure started, before it was all done while I was in bed. The use of the tub did make it easier and somewhat less painful. I became friendly with the nurse technician who worked the tub, who was also a baseball fan, so we had good times talking about the Giant's baseball team. This helped take some the edge off. Sometime during the second month the nurses made me get out of the bed and sit in a wheelchair and then making me learn how to walk again. Quite painful. This learning to walked again became quite an experience, because every time I had a surgery they would take skin from my legs to apply to other parts of my body, and I had to stay off my feet for appropriate amount of time for the donor sites to heal. This caused me to have to repeat the process of learning to walk again, because each time my muscles tightened up and they had to be loosened up again. Finally they stopped taking skin from my legs and I could start moving around the ward and learning to do normal things again.

I want to deviate from my normal dialogue about my recovery from burn injuries and talk about myself. Most people I've encountered in my life do not believe how shy I am. I cannot approach anyone I do not know, especially women, and strike up a conversation. This has plagued me all my life. I think early rejections and expectations contributed to this behavior. I really don't understand it. This has led me to living alone for a lot of my life, and after my injuries, it has created even more insecurity for me. I have thoughts about why no one would want to be with me. I perceive my scars to be a total turnoff to women I'm attracted to. I have heard women talk about being with someone who has been totally changed by being scarred from burns, and they said they could not be with a man so much changed in appearance after they were scarred in any manner. I was in a hospital elevator with two young girls who didn't realize I was a burn injury survivor, and their conversation was about a husband, and how this girl did not think she could ever be attracted to him again. This was a devastating conversation for me to hear. I was also told that 90% of relationships are over when one partner is disfigured in any way, an very unfortunate statistic. I had a relationship that had hit hard times, but my injuries sealed the deal for our separation. I'm 60 now and I think I still look attractive, but I completely unsure of my prospects regarding meeting someone I'm attracted to. I've been with many women in my life, and I always wanted the relationship to work out, but because of something about myself or the woman, things never worked out. Who knows what goes wrong, but I don't deny my independent inflexible attitude has had something to do with my lack of success in romance. I don't like being told how I should live or be. Maybe this attitude spells a lonely life for me, but is it so difficult to understand why I would want to be with someone who is not out to change me? I think that I am at a definite disadvantage now, but I also hold out the hope of still meeting a soul mate. The 18 to 22 year old women, who want to be my friend, please stop I'm not interested in your porn sites. My hope still remains the same, to meet someone I could never approach on my own. I need some help in this area. Thanks to anyone who reads this post and might relate.

More recovery

I started to think in terms of doing things for myself, like feeding myself and controlling what was happening to me. Only I wasn't very successful in attempting to do things for myself, other than being able to feed myself. I wanted to do other things, like being able to go to the bathroom by myself, but that was just one of many things I couldn't do at the time. When you can no longer clean yourself, because you are unable to do so, and because when the natural functions of a human are compromised they are lost when you can no longer take care of yourself. This is a very frustrating feeling. If you cannot accept your dilemma and when you understand that things are completely out of your control, then you are doomed to frustration. I just decided I could not do anything about what was going on with me, and by accepting my situation was the only positive thing I could do. Because I was trapped in a difficult situation, I had to accept the way things were. I hated this arrangement, but being trapped in a hospital bed left me with no other alternatives.

Early recovery

During the first month I don't remember much. At this time it was touch and go for me, and along with the heavy doses of drugs things were not very clear. I was in my bed with very little movement on my part. Then I developed calcium deposits in my elbows and I was told if I didn't move them there was the possibility I could lose the use of my arms to bend at the elbow and work normally. This condition develops in 50% of burn patients and it happened to me. It was just to painful to move my arms and I refused the physical therapy knowing Icould lose the use of my arms, which I did. My right arm froze up at 45 degrees and my left was straight with no bend. It was explained to me that surgery could correct the condition later on when I was healthier. I opted for this choice. After I had been in the hospital for about 45 days and when I became able to feed myself. The physical therapist made some tools for me. The physical therapists were two women who were very good and compassionate. They made me silverware with long handles so I could feed myself. This was a learning experience that took some time to learn, but hunger can be a great motivator. More tomorrow.

Wanting to live

I don’t think in most situations people even give a conscious thought about living. I believe the act of living comes naturally to most of us. Really putting your mind into the thought process of wanting to live is something very different. Unless you are despondent with constant thoughts of death on your mind, then I think we take living for granted. I know I didn’t give life a second thought. Convincing yourself that you want to live doesn’t get much thought either, unless you experience something like I have. Having your whole perspective about life change and then given lots of time to think about it, because you are confined unable to move around normally and in a situation, that gives you no choice, but to think about yourself and your present circumstances.
I remember having some very deep thoughts about my mortality, which led to my wanting to die, but it also, with help it gave me time to analyze my life and think about what I wanted my life to be. I became angry over what had happened to me, making me want to get my life back as I remembered it or as close to it as I could. Anger can be incredibly motivating. Properly channeled it can accomplish amazing things in recovery. What I’m saying is, get mad, don’t accept what happened to you. Grab a hold of your existence and make it as good as you can despite what has happened you.

Wanting to die

Wanting to die
There comes a time after a traumatic injury, especially with disfiguring burn injuries when the injured person no longer has a desire to live. It was explained to me that at least 90% to 95% of burn patients feel this way and they cannot see any future for a good life. You are in your hospital bed unable too do much of anything and all I thought about was what my life was going to be like in the future. These thoughts were incredibly depressing, as I could not perceive a positive outcome to my surviving these injuries. All I could think about was who would want to be with me, all scarred as I would be, and I could no longer see any a positive future for myself. It took some time to work through these feelings. The influence that changed my thinking was instilled by my mother, who told me we don't quit, this family does not give up, which shocked me out of my negative thinking. She said, "We don't give up." This had a profound effective on me. I had never in my life thought that I would not want to live, but the situation I was in was the first time ever that I did not want to live. I feel very fortunate there were others who would not allow me to invest in this negative thinking. To this day, I'm very happy that I changed my mind about wanting to die.

Surgeries

When it was determined that I would survive, the doctors had to start doing skin grafts. As I mentioned previously I was not supposed to live more than five days, and the reasons for that were, because seriously burned individuals usually develop pneumonia or their wounds become infected, and if that happens your chances of survival really drop. When it was determined I was strong enough to tolerate anesthesia and an operation the doctor started doing skin grafts on the really serious burn areas on my body. This required finding good skin, which I had very little of, in fact the first operation they used pigskin to stabilize a badly burned area on my body. I had seventeen operations involving skin grafts and most of the skin they used came from my head, which they used three times. My head was the only area of my body that had skin they could use, so every time the skin grew back on my head, they used it on the other parts of my body. When they take skin from another area of your body, it's called a donor site, which I found out could be more painful than actual area they use the skin on. In fact that's the way it was, because what they were doing was peeling the skin off and if you can imagine how painful that would be, then you can understand what I was feeling.

Visitors and cards

I had no idea how many friends and acquaintances I had. Within a week I had an entire wall in my room covered with cards and best wishes. In the beginning of my recovery many people stopped by to to see how I was doing, unfortunately I don't remember much about what they might have said to me. I remember my dad telling me about a woman, a friend of my Aunt who wanted to perform a ritual of some kind over me. To this day, I'm not sure what that was going to be, but I think it was to be some chant with the waving of arms and praying over me. My father said he could only imagine me waking up and seeing this woman waving her arms and chanting something over me and how I might react to that and told her that would not be a good idea. I thanked him for his insight and I can only imagine what I might have thought upon waking up and opening my eyes, and seeing this woman doing whatever she had a mind to do. I'm glad I missed the ritual.

Daily activity.

When becoming somewhat coherent in the hospital, I was indoctrinated to the daily routine of my daily treatment. This involved two dressing changes a day. This was no fun. My burns covered most of my body and had to be treated each time I had a dressing change. This was a very painful procedure and being confined to a hospital bed with no where to go, you don’t look forward to this dressing change procedure. I was given what was called a supplement pain medication. These were shots of I don’t know what, but were supposed to control the pain for short periods. I could only get so many of these and it seemed they were never enough. Removing my bandages caused great pain and was not something I looked forward to. I can only describe this procedure and the resulting pain, as one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. The result is screaming in pain until you pass out. I wish for my sake if was different, but that is the truth of it.