Climbing the Mountain - Nia's Journey to the Top Part I of III

I made a promise to myself in 2022.  I promised that I would no longer let my health get in the way of this journey called life.  I would no longer let a physical disability define me and determine how I could or would go about my days. 

I believe that sometimes we are faced with a choice.  A choice that can either leave us laying on the couch wondering how/where things went wrong, or one that will allow us to continue to thrive and push through despite all the struggles and challenges that appear to be in the way. We can choose to step away from darkness and embrace life. I am in no way saying that this is everyone's experience, nor am I insinuating that every single individual has this option.

This is my personal journey and experiences. This is my story.

I do not dwell on my physical limitations, in fact, I don’t even consider them limitations because I choose not to allow them to limit me. Due to legal reasons, I cannot discuss the nature of my injury, but I can say it was an extremely rare disorder that a lot of individuals sadly do not survive. I became completely paralyzed from the neck down on September 12, 2020.

You’ll never walk again, and if you do, you’ll need to wear leg braces.  You will need assistance tying your shoes.  You will need to walk with a walking aide.  You will need to have an ADA specialist come to your home in order to make your home ADA assessable.  These are all the things that I was told while laying completely paralyzed in a hospital bed for months after suffering a rare neurological disorder.  I remember hearing these words over and over. 

Despite being admitted to the neurological unit for months and being transferred to a multitude of different hospitals in the Portland metro area, every doctor told me the same thing.  You may never walk again. I remember exactly which hospital I was admitted to the first time those words “You may never walk again” were said to me.  I can even tell you the doctor’s name, the smell of the hospital, who my nurse was, everything.  I remember it all because it was so pronounced it felt like it couldn’t be real, and I was trying to take in everything around me.  When the neurologist delivered that news, I remember thinking one thing.  You are wrong. I will absolutely walk again.

How are you always smiling?  How can you be so positive? These are some of the questions I was asked by hospital staff almost every day while I was laying in the hospital bed.  I would tell them the same thing, I choose to be happy and I refuse to let this get the best of me.  I don’t think the nurses understood what they were really asking me.  “How can you be so positive” in my mind translated to how can you lay here and smile when you’ve been told you will never walk again? Why are you not screaming obscenities at us and demanding more medicine?  I chose not to do those things.  Did I want to scream and give up? Heck yes, I did. I wanted to give up so many times I can’t even count.  When I would look down at my hands and feet and will them to move and nothing would happen. I absolutely did.  But that voice would come back into my head like a drum.  It would start banging in my ears and I would hear the doctor say, “You may never walk again” and I would recall how it made me feel and it fueled me to keep pushing forward. I chose to trust that God had a plan for me, and I knew He had my back.

After months of grueling therapies I made to a point where I was able to go home.  I was living in a split level home and I realized that it would be a struggle for me to maintain such a large home, not to mention navigating the stairs daily.  I elected to sell the home I lived in for 15 years and I downsized to a townhome that better suited my needs.  Don’t hear what I am not saying though.  I did not give up on my dream home, it was time to say goodbye and move into a home that would allow me to continue to heal, to be able to navigate the city and get to appointments, and to relieve some of the stresses that comes with living on a large piece of land and maintaining a large home by myself.

I think that as women, we often hold on to things because we feel like if we have to say goodbye or let go, we are giving up.  That is simply not true. Sometimes we have to give something up so we can see what is on the other side. We must take big uncomfortable steps so we can continue to stride forward and do not become stagnant. I knew staying in that home was not the best choice for me in my condition and I wanted to set myself up for success.  I said goodbye to the home I raised my kids in and turned the page to a new chapter.  I embraced the change for the greater good and ensured that I transitioned to a space that would allow me to thrive.

After months of therapy, my doctor cleared me to drive short distances. Another huge milestone in my recovery.  I started thinking about driving. Yes, I could drive to the store now and that was fantastic, but I don’t want to just go shopping.  What about the mountains?  What about the beach?  How was I going to navigate the rugged terrain when I still have trouble walking without tripping, etc? I knew that there had to be a way.  I started researching vehicles that were narrow enough to go on a trail, and I knew I needed to purchase a vehicle that was known for being reliable.  The last thing I wanted was to get stuck at the top of said mountain and not be able to get back safely. That added another complicated layer I knew I’d have to slice. 

All these thoughts were rushing at me about getting outside and not being able to navigate the elements. What would happen if I got up to the top of a trail and it was snowing?  What if I needed to change a tire and I was alone?  Never mind my disability, what would I do if I came across wildlife? I started to doubt myself.  I started to think maybe I should just be content with my little city SUV.  I should just be thankful I’m not in the hospital and stay in my lane so to speak.  That lasted about 2.9 seconds before I found the truck that was going to help me figure out how to get back on the mountain.  My Toyota.

Stand By for Part II - May 1, 2024