The saga continued

Being in the hospital as a new amputee was tough. I had to learn so much again--even how to sit up. You have no idea how important a foot and lower leg is to overall balance until suddenly one's not there. And of course there was all of the other pain associated with being hit broadside by a car and crashing into it's windshield enroute to the pavement. There wasn't a part of me that didn't ache, and I was on heavy meds--initailly a demand pump that would let me hit myself with the drugs but no more than once every ten minutes. And I was wearing that button out the first few days. The first day that a therapist came in and worked with me, all we did was sit up and put my legs over the edge of the bed. Doing that and laying back down was enough to have me shaking and wringing with sweat and I know that they heard me well down the hall. But the next day I did something new and the stuff that had nearly killed me the day before wasn't as hard to repeat.

When not surrounded by visitors or asleep from the drugs, I had time to contemplate and my thoughts turned to why this happened, what could have happened, and what was going to happen from here on. I realized that God had kept me from being killed instantly in what I knew should have been a fatality accident. I'd seen the results of enough accidents like mine as a police officer and former paramedic to know that. The fact that I was still alive told me that God had some use for me yet--a reason for keeping me alive. I have no idea what, but there's got to be a reason. And I prayed and told Him that I understood this and I asked Him to guide me in the right direction when I got out of the hospital. And my faith in God's watchfulness and His plan for me really kept me from getting depressed and losing myself in self-pity. It was a comfort even there in the hospital to know that He was there. Some of you might find this crazy, but others who know God will know what I'm talking about.

Aside from family and cops, I had a couple of visitors who really helped me out. The first was a Marine named Adam. A year ago he'd been badly injured in Iraq by a roadside bomb, resulting in the loss of his foot similar to my own, serious damage to his other leg, and the loss of his arm at the shoulder. Now here it was a year later and he was moving around great on a prosthetic foot--just back from a waterskiing trip and having another foot made for downhill skiing. His was the first prosthetic I'd ever really had a chance to see and he made it look so simple to put on and use. And he told me that compared to losing the arm, the foot was nothing. It really helped put things in perspective, and it was good for me to hear how well I could expect to come back from another amputee. Until this time, everyone who had been telling me about how well I'd walk with a new floor were people who had two real feet.

I also had a visit from Bill, a former local cop who'd lost his leg above the knee while on duty. He'd not only returned to his job but made it back onto the SWAT team in 7 months. This really bouyed my, but not as much as hearing how he'd retired from the police department later and become a minister at a DC church. His faith was strong and it suggested that I was on the right track with my own. The visits from both of these guys did wonders for me.