As I promised myself I would be, I was ready to begin college the winter after my accident. I knew I couldn’t go all the way to Michigan, since I still needed to see my doctors frequently, and I feared that the snow and ice would be a real hazard for me. I had been admitted to UC Santa Barbara, and we decided that I should begin there and move to Michigan when my body felt ready.
I couldn’t wait to go, to be out of the guesthouse and back in the world of the living, and it felt like ages since I had spent time with people my own age. Lisa was at UC Santa Barbara, as well, and I was psyched to find out that we were in the same dorm. Without hesitation she welcomed me into her circle of friends, wonderful women whom I am close with to this day.
Every day my body felt a little bit stronger. My friends and I would go to the gym together, and I appreciated it—even the StairMaster—more than I could have previously imagined. My friend Sophie and I would listen to the radio on our Walkmen, and when a song came on that we both loved we would look at each other, and, even if we were across the room from one another, we would burst simultaneously into loud song. It felt so good to laugh and sing with friends, and, best of all, I could finally dance again. My friends and I would have impromptu dance parties, music blasting from our dorm rooms, caught up in the joy of our newfound independence. There is something about singing and dancing with my girlfriends that is totally irreplaceable; it gives me a feeling of such delight and freedom to be in the middle of a throng of joyful, dancing bodies. Even the stupidest keg party was made fun as soon as a great song came on and we could take over whatever space there was to get our groove on. We would sing and dance everywhere we went, and I loved it all the more for having not been able to do it for so long. Already, the sunshine and work and fun of college were helping the months of being immobile fade from my mind, though the scars, and the pain, would remain.
• • • •
Chronic pain is an insidious thing. While my accident was certainly an important lesson in patience and perseverance, the physical pain won’t ever be gone. My back, hand, and foot have never been the same, and while I have tried not to let it stop me from doing anything that I really want to, I struggle with it every day. Like my diminished vision and hearing, it is something that I will always have to live with. As with the tinnitus, I try to tune it out, and sometimes I can. It’s amazing what the body can get used to. I try to keep it to myself, because, as Grandma Faye would say, nobody wants to hear it. Complaining has never gotten me anywhere, so I try my best not to.