I was not born an amputee. I became an amputee at 43 years old as the result of being hit by a truck driven by a distracted driver. Of all the things, I thought could have happened to me in my life, becoming an amputee was not on the list. And after a year of retrospect, I can’t help but think about how far I have come, both physically and emotionally. It is said that time is the ultimate healer, but it is indeed a slow healer. It has taken me months to accept the fact that I now have to live the rest of my life as a person with limb loss. I have finally come to terms with that and have chosen to look forward with a sense of optimism. However, from time to time I look back as a reminder of how I got here and to plot my course for the future.

During my recovery, I kept a journal to help deal with the anxiety I was feeling about my new life. It was my way of getting those feelings out instead of letting them fester on the inside. I got to the point where I looked forward to my journaling time as it forced me to deal with my feelings and track my experiences from day to day. Here is my very first journal entry, just a few days after my accident:

“June 5, 2016- Reflecting on the past 2 weeks, I must say that I have not had to go through anything like this before and I pray to God that I don’t have to again. I have been asked several times if I remember what happened and my answer is always, unfortunately yes, I was conscience for the whole thing.

I can still see the white F-150 approaching the intersection, pulling the trailer. I can still see him slowing down as if he was going to stop and I can still feel that surprised feeling when I realized he was not stopping and accelerating through the intersection. I can still hear the sound of the impact. I can remember thinking about my girls as I was thrown from the bike but had not yet hit the ground. I can still remember the immense pain I was in when I hit the ground and immediately thinking that I was in trouble because I could not feel my left leg below my knee. I can still remember the kind gentleman that stopped and got down on the ground with me and held my hand and calmed me down. He stayed with me the entire time, along with his son, holding my hand and accessing my situation. He was my guardian angel that day. I can remember telling him to call my wife and praying that she would not get there before I was taken away because I did not want her or Gia to see me that way. Luckily the gentleman that was giving her directions told her the incorrect road and she was unable to find the scene, thank goodness.

I can still remember the EMT’s (David, Anderson, and a young lady with piercings) that handled me so professionally. I can remember the ride to the Gainesville, as I tried to keep my mind occupied by listening to David ask Anderson, who was apparently in training, a bunch of questions. I also tried to figure out the route to Gainesville and tried to track in my mind where we were on the road. Again, trying to not think of the pain. I still remember getting to the ER and once transferred to the gurney, looking up and seeing a female doctor with a mask who said, “I’m Dr. Graham, like graham cracker, and we are going to take care of you”. I still remember being asked a series of questions, the same questions I had been asked before, “what’s your name, date of birth, do you know what happened, do you know where you are, etc”. I still remember one of the doctors saying to the personnel in the ER, “if you are squeamish, you don’t want to be in here.” My mind started to wonder at that point but during the entire ordeal, I did not look down, but I still knew I was in trouble. I still remember being asked several times if I was related to Don Thornton, one of the trauma nurses there and me saying no, I am not sure who that it. (I actually know Don, at the time, it was not registering). I still remember a young nurse talking to me about his dad, Jack, who worked in Starke at the motorcycle shop and me telling him that Jack was the one that did a lot of work on my bike. I can remember Kristine coming back to see me briefly and me apologizing for going for a ride. I still remember a lady, a couple of bays down from me, literally screaming because she was in so much pain. I thought, man I hope I don’t get like that, only to be moaning loudly in pain myself a few minutes later. I still remember that same young nurse telling me that I had every right to moan because of my injury and to hang in there for 30 more minutes until he could give me more pain meds, longest 30 minutes of my life.

I still remember Dr. Grey speaking to me about how they were going to do everything they could to save my leg but they were not going to make any promises. I still remember having to sign paperwork while lying in the ER and thinking, “this is a little weird, I have no idea what I am signing,” even though it had been explained to me. Pain and pain meds take your mind to a different place. I still remember being taken into surgery and wondering if I would have a leg when I woke up. I remember waking up in the hospital the next day with my leg in a device to keep it together. I could see my foot, which did not look that bad. I could move a couple of my toes, just a little bit, so I was encouraged. The vascular team came in and found a little bit of blood flow to my foot, now my encouragement moved to optimism.

I still remember when I was brought back down to earth by a man they call Dr. S. Dr. S showed me pictures of my injury, explained to me how there was too much damage and there was only one blood vessel supplying blood to my lower leg. He told me the nerves had been severed and that I would never have full feeling in my lower leg again. He said I would be susceptible to infection and months of pain if we tried to save it. He said plainly, “we can try to save it, put you through months of pain and have to amputate your leg 18 months from now, or we amputate now, and you are up and walking and thriving in 18 months. What do you think?” Well when its put to you that way, is it really a choice? However, the more he spoke, the more I trusted him. He made too much sense and after seeing my leg, I thought how in the world could that be put back together. Do I remember what happened you ask? Absolutely.”