You Can't Stop This Dancer
My life was not so different from that of anyone else in the arts. I am a dancer/actress who dreamed of performing on Broadway. So in 2005, I graduated from the University of Southern Mississippi with a major in theater and a minor in dance. By 2007, I had saved up enough money to make my move from Jackson, Mississippi to the Big Apple, NEW YORK CITY! New York was everything I dreamed it would be: fast, exciting, and full of auditions. I’d been living in NYC for nearly 9 months when one fateful day, after I’d had my most promising audition yet, I returned home to relax and enjoy my success. Only when I got back, I discovered that I was locked out of my apartment.
I’ve always considered myself somewhat of a daredevil…so, I decided I’d try to find a way into my apartment from the roof, fire escape, or near by air shaft. I lived on the top floor, so my roommates and I always left the windows unlocked. Once I realized that there was no safety net below the escape, nor the air shaft, I decided right then and there that this was a terrible idea, and I should walk away immediately.
And that’s exactly what happened. I woke up in my apartment, somehow I had made it inside. Everything was normal until I went to sleep. I was plagued with a recurring dream of being in the hospital. Slowly I got that this was no dream…I was awake, and this WAS my reality. My doctors speculated that when I attempted to steadily get back onto the roof, I must have lost my footing. I had fallen 6 stories. Thankfully, I have no recollection of the fall. Now knowing that I actually was in the hospital, my immediate thought was, “I told myself that this was a bad idea! I even walked away from the situation!” Then came the details… I had been found at the bottom of the air shaft by my superintendent. I’d been laying on the ground for 8 hours on a broken glass bottle. Luckily, the cut was not too deep, but I had lost a lot of blood. I had broken my neck, my back and my pelvis. My ribs were broken on the right side, I had a punctured/collapsed lung, and my prognosis for survival? Very unlikely. I was moved from Harlem Hospital (which was right across the street from my apartment building–a plus) to New York Presbyterian’s ICU. All my friends in New York came to visit me and my family. Although I was pretty doped-up in the hospital, seeing familiar faces catapulted me towards recovery. Despite all the support around me, things weren’t looking good. In ICU, I coded 4 times (think four mini-strokes) and also suffered pneumonia. All the while, I had a breathing tube down my throat, leaving me unable to speak or even react when they told me that I would probably never be able to walk or dance again.
…this only fed my stubbornness.
My next thought was, “obviously, these people don’t know me, and I’ve got to get out of here. These four walls are starting to get boring.” After many operations, new titanium rods were attached in my neck and lower back, it was time to hop on the gravy train to ” Get-Betterland.” I spent a month in New York Presbyterian’s ICU before I could finally take the next step towards my recovery and fly home via-air ambulance. Contrary to popular belief, one of the top 15 rehabilitation facilities in the country is located right here in good old Jackson, Mississippi. Imagine that! (Here’s a tip: don’t judge a book by its cover!)
I was extremely blessed. I was surrounded by my own personal cheerleading squad, full of friends and family, and the support of folks that I had never even met before through Caring Bridge:
Caring Bridge.
For the next four months, I was in and out of hospitals. I saw old friends and made new ones. I had a team of therapists who believed in me as much as I did. Each therapist saw the determination that I had to (1) get better, and (2)prove that my capabilities would exceed my prognoses. They did.
I had lost all of my muscle mass in the hospital, so my recovery had to start from scratch; it was like being an infant again. First, I was in a wheelchair ( learning to crawl), then I stepped up to the support of a walker (being 26, 7, and 89 years old all at the same time is, well, interesting). From the walker, I graduated to a cane. Lo and behold, I am now walking with the assistance of nothing other than my two legs–that’s it. Like I said, I’m extremely stubborn! Now, don’t get me wrong, I still need help here and there, and my recovery still continues, but I have hope in my heart and a smile on my face. When I was in the hospital, we came up with the motto: “You Can’t Stop This Dancer,” which is becoming my way of life. I haven’t stopped yet, and I don’t think I ever will.
To follow my continued recovery, please visit my blog or follow me on Twitter.
– Nicole
