First weeks of injury

The two best words that can describe my first weeks of injury: confusion and pain.

I don't know if this is just coming across the wrong people. After crossing the border with Malaysia, I went straight to the General Practitioner who sent me right away to hospital emergencies.

They started their tests. One of the male nurses (or doctors, I can't remember) was asking me questions about the accident, and he mentioned I might need some micro surgery. Right away he checked for my sensitivity on the C5 and C6 sensory areas. He explained to me I had a brachial plexus injury, and that I could google it to get more details (seriously). He gave me meds and set up an appointment to see a hand specialist a few weeks later. He gave me a specific medication for the arm pain. I mentioned I did't have any pain in the arm. You will - he predicted. Then I was on my way home.

Fuck yes I had pain the next day. It was like someone was stabbing me with an electrified knife all around the arm. At 5 am I woke up to that sensation, and at 7 am I was in the hospital emergency room. They shot in something good that made the pain go away. A few days later the situation repeated itself, went back to the hospital but this time the doctor said he couldn't give me a shot - in exchange, they gave me Tramadol, but a dosage equivalent for someone a quarter of my body weight. Didn't help much.

So my journey trough pain began. Hypersensitivity over the arm, stinging shocks inside it. Raining season was already there, which make it a whole lot worse - the humidity of rainy days would make the pain go bananas.

I started trying things for pain management. I learned a few easy tricks, which will be detailed in a separate post.

I started researching about my injury at home, as the doctor "prescribed". I was terrified by what I was reading. A Pull with just axon damage would mean full recovery expected. If surgery was necessary, there was no guarantees. Just statistics and levels of recovery. I tried to convince myself this would be a pull, since I still had sensitivity over the arm. That was my daily routine for the next few months, research and more research on the injury.

Just staying at home had its own set of challenges, getting trough the day was not like before. I live alone. All my family lives in Spain and I'm too independent to ask friends for help. About this last part, maybe was just my experience, but I have learned that when you are most in need, some of your close friends will become acquaintances. On the other hand, some not so close friends may be there for you in formidable ways.

So there I was, learning to do everything again: brushing my teeth, shaving and eating with my left hand, putting on clothes with just one arm, cleaning and cooking while having the right arm on a sling. Man, cutting your first onion with your lefty makes you feel like Mr. Bean.

I was blessed tho, I could still play PS4 since my right arm's fingers where working fine. The thumb was very hypersensitive at the beginning, so for the first month I couldn't play much since it was too painful. But I made up for lost gaming time soon after.

My medical leave was for an entire month, but I went back to work after a few days. Mainly because I was going crazy at home with all of the situation running in my head.

For the first few weeks I would arrive to the office with my coffee, a bit later than clocking time to avoid crowds in the public transport to minimize any possible bump in the arm with bypassers. I'd go to a quiet corner to drink it. I would occasionally cry while sipping it.

I cried more than I would like to admit. Perhaps some of you might think I'm a pussy, that's OK. Some of the things I enjoy the most in life are riding motorcycles and sports, and they both were taken away from me. Everyone takes it differently. I would just keep wandering "why me?".

One month and a half later, I was still on denial. I can beat this, I used to tell myself, discarding the opinion of new doctors I was consulting with. Even after the MRI clearly showed what was to come.

I don't know why it happened like this. It was a Tuesday morning of January. I woke up, and then it was clear to me. I was not going to recover. I needed surgery. No more full recovery expectations, but just a "let's see how it goes".

I whimpered the whole day, and for most of the week. From that very day until the surgery date, I would wake up feeling sick, having diarrhea and no appetite. Every single day. I believe this was partially fueled by the very bad expectations my first hand specialist doctor gave me in case surgery was needed.

It was then when I decided to find the best specialist I could afford. My journey brought me around Singapore, Malaysia, Spain and eventually Thailand. I feel really lucky to have crossed roads in Malaysia with one of the most honest doctors I've ever met, who instead of trying to get me to be his patient, he sent me away with a list containing the names of the best doctors there are for this injury in my area. I remember the excitement I had in me when I left his office. I was on my way to recovery.

Those initial weeks were dark. Luckily, some people really stepped up to make it easier for me. I couldn't give enough credit to Tina, without her I don't know how I could have endured not just the initial weeks, but the whole journey. Or Patrick, who was constantly checking and cheering me up. Last but not least, my sister Isabel, who would support me from the distance and make me laugh telling me I couldn't stop a Taxi anymore. She even came to Singapore to help with the surgery preparations, despite of Covid-19 starting to be around.

Tina

My sister

Patrick