Chapter 1 - Just What Is Well?
by Margie Williams
Although I never gave it much thought, I guess I've always been preoccupied with the need to be well. As I look back on my life, it seems to be an underlying theme. Well, however, meant being what I defined as normal, or without any physical complaints. It meant the day-to-day feeling of "okayness". The usual childhood illnesses had come to call, as they do with most kids, and through the years I'd had my share of colds and flu. The process of pregnancy and childbirth had been an adventure for me; it was normal, a part of being well. In regard to health, I'd never experienced anything beyond the ordinary.
After the accident, however, all of that would change. In addition to the physical injury, frustration, denial and depression, a whole different life-style presented itself, and I felt I had no choice but to tolerate it. Life, as I had always known it, appeared to have gone away with little promise of returning. The getting-well-again process moved like the hands of a clock, so slowly. Well was for now out of reach. But I felt - I just knew - that someday I'd have it again. For me, however, well still had only one definition.
Originally, although I knew my injuries were more than slight, I thought I'd be up and around in a month or so. That is, I'd be normal. At that time, well meant completely, totally normal.
And normal was just the way I was when I got up that July morning and headed for the airport with Kent.
This attitude, however unrealistic, was necessary - even helpful - to me at the time. I could never have accepted the seriousness of my condition, the effort that would be required of me, nor the eventual, unavoidable redefinition of well. The snail's pace of recovery gave me the time I needed to become aware and somewhat accepting. It wasn't, in fact, until I'd been transferred to the second of three hospitals that I'd even begun to realize the reality of the accident itself. That was six weeks after the crash!
Even so, I believed I was repairable. Hang in there just a little more time, I thought. Doctors do miracles; they were certainly performing one for me. I'd be well. You know - well. Surely, I'd be okay again soon.
Gradually, it began to dawn on me that the meaning of the word might be relative. Over the first year or more I discovered that well is defined uniquely by everyone - most certainly anyone who has ever experienced a serious recovery process. Not only is it different for each person, but more than that, the definition varies with time and experience.
Nonetheless, this embryonic philosophical awareness did not supplant my urgent need to regain what had been so suddenly and unfairly taken from my life. I wasn't yet willing to redefine well for myself, even though others did. For an awfully long time, it was as though my life could never be happy, productive - or even tolerable - again. However, even though I was still unaware, the process had indeed begun.
When I was at Valley Medical Center, a therapist tried to assure me things would indeed be normal again, but "normal" life might be different than it had been before the accident. I didn't really accept her statement at the time - I couldn't. Instead, my hope was always to have everything exactly as before. However, life isn't that way even without crisis, so expecting it after such a major crisis was unrealistic. It's a lesson I hope I never forget.
As my recovery progressed I got a little stronger, and with increased strength came a growing awareness that certain "normal" things were less important to me than others - well began progressively to mean something different to me. It seemed no longer possible, or required, to conform to my earlier mold. It probably never would again.
While I was still in the hospital and for almost two years after I was released, I fought nausea on a daily basis, and for that time period well came to mean simply feeling better. On many occasions I told Kent I could live with being handicapped but I could not live with being nauseated every day! So, in a trade with God, I told Him/Her I'd accept the handicapped life if the nausea dissipated. The answer did come; however, it wasn't quick enough for me.
Finally, after asking every doctor I saw for some relief and receiving none, I found a female doctor and she simply changed my pain medication. Overnight, the nausea mercifully subsided! I was well enough, for a time.
Repeatedly, I have changed my definition of well, associating it more and more with improved abilities while still allowing, all along, room for the wheelchair and a fair amount of dependency.
For some time I linked being well with therapy. There were things that would improve only with time and a great deal of therapy - and that meant hard work. I hated it! Of course one would have to be crazy to like it, but the results, I had to admit, were pretty nice. Maybe I was getting... well?
As the years passed and my appetite gradually increased, so did my energy level. My posture also improved. Did you ever notice you can sit much taller when you're feeling better? I finally appreciated the lumbar support in my wheelchair. I was able to do more, or should I say I spent more time doing what I wanted because therapy didn't take all my energy. Well, then, meant increased energy and activity.
I still had a long way to go. If I was given a realistic prognosis early in my recovery, I didn't hear it. I was not then prepared for the lengthy process, nor for the difficulties I would face. If I had known, I might have given up. I'm so glad I didn't.
It has indeed been hard work - five years of it! And it will continue to be tedious for a number of years more. Progress is painfully slow, so slow that those who are close to me (myself included) are unable to see the progress each day or even each week. I rely, instead, on people I see less often to tell me how well I'm doing. And those folks, thankfully, always comment on how much better I am. They notice little things, like the improved way I use my once-worthless arms and hands, or my expressiveness, or the way I hold a spoon.
Expecting to return to my original definition of well had given me some priceless security for a long while. The bursting of this "security" bubble was ultimately necessary, of course, but it was not something I approached eagerly. I fought the inevitable changes at every turn, being unaware, for the most part, that they were occurring. I now realize that this redefinition of wellness has been a valuable and liberating experience; finally I am able to accept its gifts, and smile.
The universe is not, apparently, finished with me. The process still continues; changing levels of okayness - without any warning at all - still pop up for yet another examination. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
The past five years have introduced me to new and ever-changing ways of living. "Living" is definitely the key word for me, as acceptance of and satisfaction with each new level of wellness are based on my quality of life. My challenge has been much more than acceptance; it has meant the dynamic creating of a full, rewarding life while dealing with my remaining handicaps and cautiously rejoicing over the incremental blessings I receive in the form of physical, spiritual and mental growth. This is the story of my journey.
Margie's book was released to the SCI community on May 15, 1997. For more information about the book or to place an order, contact Margie
Contribute to SCI awareness.
