Friday the 9th

Friday the 9th, a day I want to push past, and let go, but the day still stings. I can't seem to forget.

Seeing to detail all the things that caused sting that day would be too much, but maybe I can exhale a little in hopes of a reset.

It started abruptly. I was at a hospital, told you had 30 minutes or the police would escort you. Imagine a place that is meant to aid?

I was scared and confused, as paramedics pat-slid me from bed, to the ambulance, then on a couch. I watched the nurses leave numb as I without any assistance, laid.

I had extra-restricted mobility from the trauma of the day before. A nurse yelled for me to get out of the wheelchair and walk, your mentally 'clear'. My body wasn't in a rhythm, so, of course, all it did was fall.

It's hard to look back on that day. I think there is a reason why it's blurred. However, it got me to a couch which left me reaching for my phone, the only thing I had, so I could call.

I remember reaching with my one functional body part, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor, paralysed, frantically trying, praying, someone would come and help me. 

The next part is vague, but by miracle, social workers were there knocking, and when they saw me and an emergency was quickly called, terror crept in, as that was who left me, even when my disability could see.

No speech, barely moving body parts. I could not advocate for myself, and was left to the mercy of the health system. God, please don't put me through this again. 

I found myself in Ed. Would it be different? Sadly, no more misguided and uneducated professionals, who knew not about my illness. I was told you want water? The toilet? Get up, the choice is yours for your mobility to regain 

I remember the need for water was weighted as this had been my experience for two days. I was desperately screaming at my body as I was told the movement I could choose.

Sitting in incontinence which had not been cleaned for more than a day, I was hot, unclean, body fluids everywhere. If you know my hygiene standards, you will know if it was a choice. This level of hygiene, for me, is only abuse. 

I distinctly remember a doctor. She was coarse as she, with no emotion, despite my present condition, stated" don't think you're getting admitted". We'll call a taxi, and when you decide, you'll walk and go. 

All I knew was that with the judgement and unease, if I had the ability, I would have gladly left, but from here, sadly, the unkindness and harshness was a constant flow.

I was told to hush as I tried so hard to move, to reach a source of nutrition as energy was depleted. I was called a fat, retarted f**k, only wasting taxpayers' money and government resources.

This is only a brief insight. The struggle to fight was real. I honestly don't know how I made it through that period. All I knew was if I could survive, I would make sure my voice was a force. 

So here I am 5 weeks later to this day, sitting in a hospital bed that I was told alongside, support and care would not be given, preparing for my new beginning. 

It's been a journey. I anxiously and eagerly await discharge, but I need this moment to reflect, as the mountain already climbed is huge. See, despite the pain, I'm actually already winning.

Even in the thick of it, stories that would horrify you that are real in our own health system, I prevailed, and eventually pushed through the predispositions, and my life I reclaimed. 

I didn't stay broken. I may be wheeling and not walking out here, but I am grateful, as, in the end, the care I got after was an upgrade, and here I sit, proud as I know, because I did my own hard work, and though I am physically restrained, the strength of my mental wellbeing, and fight I have gained.