I want to be here.

16 thoughts on “I want to be here.”

  1. So I started reading your blog after you won the award in the Planet. Anyways, girl you’re lucky to be alive and I am glad you are because I enjoy reading what you have to write; you’re a very funny and insightful lady. So the other point of this comment, I am a nurse and as a nurse I HATE to hear from people that when they were hurt and scared that the medical staff they encountered didn’t help make them feel safe and cared for. You should forward this post on to the hospital in Missoula. When a woman comes in with a facial injury you would expect a plastic surgeon to be compassionate! Lidocaine to the face hurts! The hospital should know that your pain wasn’t controlled (which from someone as healthy as you should have been done) and your doc was a jerk; maybe they’ll make a change so no one else has to go through what you did. I am sorry you had to go through this.

  2. Hi Ray Ray-
    I love you and I love this post. Also, I agree with Christine. Never, ever should you have been ignored when you are crying in pain, flinching with pain, and especially when you verbalize that you are in pain. You are such a tough gal and I am sorry you had to endure such horrific treatment. You should send this to the Missoula hospital, stories like this are looked at very seriously.
    You’re the best and thanks for being here in this world and in my life. I am so glad you’re here!

  3. Rachel,
    Your expressed your feelings and memories of the accident so, so poignantly. You’ve been through a lot in the last week and you’re not the only one who is thankful you’re here to see the stars. Why must bad things happen for us to truly remind ourselves how precious our lives are?

    Love ya gurrrll,

  4. My sweet child, what is the name of that doctor? I have some words to share with him and the Bozeman Hospital. I am heart-broken by his cruelty towards you. I am so sorry you had to endure such a thing.

  5. christine: thank you! yeah, i’ve thought a bit about contacting them [p.s. it was the hospital in bozeman]. apparently, this guys has a bit of a reputation for being a robot.

    liz: yeah, it was a rough go. but i’m okay and my money maker is intact! i’m glad you’re here and i’m so glad we’ll both be diving and dancing at the lake house this summer!

    colleen: thank you thank you, lovely. i feel very lucky and have a buzz of energy constantly whispering, “you’re here… what are you gonna do now?” something i wish i would’ve had all the time. [p.s. bout to listen to your show! p.p.s. i’ll never be able to discipline myself when it comes to editing.]

    momma: oh, momma. please don’t be heart-broken! i promise that i am grateful for this whole experience – i’ve learned SO much. and i’m the one who wants to remember that pain… realizing now that maybe i shouldn’t have shared it with the world and especially my sweet mother. know that i am thankful for his beautiful work and steady hands… but if we ever meet in a dark alley, he’ll have to figure out how to give himself stitches in the face.

    i love you all so so! [even christine who i’ve never met. thank you so for your sweet concern and voice.]

    and i will say that i encountered about 20 care-takers that day and 2 made the situation more difficult. [i feel like these statistics apply to the people you encounter in normal life.] most everyone was amazing and even though it was a ridiculously traumatic event, i still chalk up my experience as a good one. it’s incredible to see teams of people rooting for you and caring for you in ways that you never thought you’d need. i am very thankful.

  6. The day you wrote your blog was the day after my two-year-old daughter was bitten in the face by my 12 year-old black lab (from Missoula). We live in Chicago and her story is not nearly as epic, but she literally faced some of the same music that you did. We were able to go straight to the plastic surgeon’s office and avoided the hospital. She had to endure the pain of the pain medicine and she didn’t move when she was told to stay still, even though it obviously hurt and made her lip involuntarily twitch. We were able to be there and hold her, my husband and I. I have had my fair shaire of callous doctors and surgeries, and complications. I had a good idea of what she was battling and I was just glad we could be there to be the ones to hold her.

    That was true until the doctors and nurses took our girl from us to another room to sew her up. A 2-year-old, scared and scarring, forced to leave us and go with strangers to face needles and scissors and pain on her own. She did it with strength. She wouldn’t let anyone hold her hand to walk down the hall; she walked herself and got onto the table.

    She screamed when they put in the needle for more pain meds. She told them she was fine and that they didn’t need to cut her with the scissors. They explained the scissors were only to cut the stitches, not her. She made them let her watch and she refused to have her eyes covered. Thank goodness she is a tough girl.

    Thank goodness we were all in the same world with her through it all. There are many times, Rachel, that I look at the stars and remember that all my lost loved ones and most of my friends are under those same stars. I miss many of them and those stars are also what keeps me wanting to be here. Thank you for your story and for inspiring my friend, Melissa, who shared this link with me. I can’t believe that you and my daughter were both getting facial stitches within a week of each other. May you apply much vitamin E to the scars and may you keep growing from the whole experience. My own ski accident scars continue to inform me in my life. Bless you. Namaste.

  7. oh, meg. i think your daughter is braver than me. wow.

    i hate that i failed to mention, through all of this [aside from the plane ride], my amazing partner was with me holding my hand, encouraging me with words like, “you’re doing great, rach.”

    i’ll never forget those comforting words and hands. and I will forever be grateful for his love, as I’m sure your daughter will.

  8. Wow, I just stumbled upon your blog. This post really gets me thinking. It’s interesting enough for me to post a comment because I was just pondering this kind of thing last night. I want to be successful at life and by that I mean doing what I ought to do and caring for those in my care. The biggest thing holding me back is how soft I can be with myself.

    So I was thinking last night that I want to find someone who will push me to be better and won’t be my friend. I don’t want them to be soft on me or give in to my complaints. (This is maybe a very masculine sentiment) I want them to see what I can be and push me to it regardless of how I feel about it.

    Now your situation is different, and harrowing – but even though you wished the doctor would connect with you, perhaps the doctor performs better by not connecting, by focussing on results. Really that’s what you want when you go into surgery. You want results, not a friend. (A smart hospital would pair up this guy with a compassionate nurse though, methinks) 😉

    I hope none of that comes across as judgement or statements of facts, just some thoughts. Great writing. Wow!

  9. hey chris!
    [sorry to take a hot second to get back to you.]

    the nurse for my plastic surgeon for follow-up appointments is amazingly sweet and nice and she said she used to be this guy’s nurse… so, I think the hospitals are on that. [and she also gave me assurance that it wasn’t just me who was taken aback by his attitude.]

    I guess I’m thankful for people who can live their lives like this… I mean, would he be able to do his job as well if he became emotionally involved? unclear.

    I think the fact that you’re paying attention to how your are towards yourself is indicative to how you treat others… it’s hard to stop caring and I can’t say that I want to wish you luck on that.

    thanks so much for stopping by and contributing!

  10. Pingback: TWO. | wull hay.
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