CHAPTER 34

The Big Shift

It took two and a half years, but the day finally arrived: My friend and I talked about anything but the accident. In a group setting there were so many laughs, and in private we had them, too. But there was a long stretch of time during the media blitz when not one phone call or online chat or get-together transpired without her saying she was sorry that this had happened. Think about that: I saw or spoke to her hundreds of times, and every single time she was sorry, and every time I swore to her it was okay. And then, suddenly, we turned this amazing corner, and we were just girlfriends again. Even after the shift, of course I knew the accident would always be there, but I finally felt like she looked at me and didn’t just see the accident, but me again. We had finally recovered something that we used to have.

Someone once asked me if I’d rather bear her burden or mine. I gave that a lot of thought over the years. I think she suffered far more than I ever did in the beginning. The accident, fooling around by the pool—it changed her as a person. She eventually gained her footing and came back down to earth, but before that it was something that was constantly in her head. She could never escape her guilt. For someone in my situation, there were support groups, resources, and sports. I had so many people to turn to for help to guide me through my life. There wasn’t exactly an “I accidentally hurt my friend” support group. So when I thought of that question, I knew it was a lonely feeling for her, realizing that there might be no one out there who could relate to how she felt. I guess the only difference was that it was also easier for her to hide from her situation and demons than it was for me. When she was able to shut herself off from anything that reminded her of the accident, she operated fine.

Physically, she was still able to do things, whereas physical limitations were always going to be a part of my life. She probably didn’t pass a day without thinking about the accident. But I hoped it didn’t bleed into every aspect of her life like it did mine. At least it would be possible for her to have normal days, and I would never have another “normal” day, not my old normal anyway. I never resented her for that, even though I knew it was hard for her to be around me, even though I had to be her support group and we both knew I was the only one who could help ease her pain. Unfortunately, it was a double-edged sword, because she had to see me and remember why I was in my wheelchair. Every day was like reopening a wound. That’s why when our friendship turned a corner, I was ecstatic. It was no longer all about that night. The impact evened out, but we suffered differently, and we accepted that finally.

I think about how the roles could have been reversed and wonder how I’d handle her situation, because honestly, it could have been any one of us pushed in the pool that night. It was so innocent and playful and random. But when I imagine suffering through my pain or her pain, I honestly think that in the end, I would choose my own situation—maybe because I know only what these shoes feel like.

It’s not new or scary for her or me anymore. I think that makes it easier for her. One time I was sitting on the bed, and she could see I was hurting a bit and uncomfortable. I tried never to let her see this side of things. But this time I was dizzy, so there was no hiding it. I could hardly move. I could see the look on her face, and I said, “I know this looks bad, but it’s really not.”

We erupted into laughter. It actually was bad—I was feeling awful and struggling. But by just saying it, I guess it finally became okay to laugh about it with her. Humor had been one of the main things that had helped us endure this ordeal. Then we returned to talking about girl stuff. And the elephant in the room just disappeared.

Neither of us thinks it will ever be gone from our lives completely; that’s naive. But just to have days when we’re together and it’s not part of the equation, or stuck in the back of either of our heads, is a huge step forward. Even actually being able to talk about that night at all, without it being scary or sad, is a relief. Things are just more logical now.

I don’t want to suggest that her healing didn’t come from inside, because it did. It had to. You can’t get past this kind of horrific event without your own strength, but I feel proud that I played a part in saving her and protecting her. I know what revealing her identity would do to her, and I want to protect her forever. Her secret is forever. She shouldn’t even have to hide it as a secret. She did nothing wrong. But people can be cruel, so we have all decided that no one else needs to know. This unbreakable friendship, it’s a real thing between us all.

There’s no doubt that we all survived because we worked as a team, worked together to stay strong and hold each other up. We all had moments of weakness, sure. But we had to weave our way through the jungle—the night, the hospital, the media, Oprah, the cruel comments. Beating those experiences was a team effort.

In the early days after the accident, I could feel her pain without her saying a word. I began to notice a shift in her aura finally. She just looked happier, and I noticed it without her telling me. She’d shed a skin almost. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive herself completely, and if she could go back, she’d change it all in a heartbeat. At least she learned and finally believed she didn’t do anything wrong; it was an accident, and we’re able to laugh again. The laughter has replaced the angst.

Something else happened, too—something really significant with her, and it had to do with the press. People were saying that I had shared my financial struggles with the public to gain sympathy and get donations. Of course, that was ridiculous. For starters, it was part of my story. It was part of the discussion. Being in need of different medical attentions meant I was very familiar with the shortcomings of healthcare, and those shortcomings are usually about money. I was grateful for all that people had done—remodeling my house, giving me the equipment and training I needed to drive again—but accepting these wonderful things didn’t make me a bad person. Neither did enjoying a dream wedding and honeymoon; I was happy with the ceremony I had originally planned and would have had it in my backyard if need be. Plus, I had no idea any of this would happen. How could I? It happened quickly, and I didn’t seek out the attention at all. People were just kindhearted and helped. I would have done the same if the tables were turned and I was able.

But all of that aside, I’m not the only person suffering or living with this financial problem. I shared my shortcomings in relation to healthcare and insurance to shine a spotlight on a critical issue. I was fighting the fight and hoped my efforts and the attention I received helped others, too. My accident and recovery made me no more special than anyone else with a disability.

Shortly before the three-year anniversary of my accident, I was doing a catch-up session with the online discussion site Reddit in a section called “Ask Me Anything.” I received more than a thousand questions. Today did a follow-up online in response, titling the post “Bride Stays Positive in Spite of Financial Struggles.” People of course piled on and judged me based on that. There were so many mean comments. I called my friend who had once been haunted by these kinds of words. I couldn’t hide how upset I was, and I told her what had happened.

“You’ve done so many positive things from this injury. Ignore the haters!” she said. She was giving me the same advice I’d given her so many times before. I had slipped. I was allowing myself to be emotionally affected by the ignorance of these people, all for my honesty. It made me so angry. It didn’t make me feel bad about myself, but I felt bad for society. People were judging me for no reason. She stood up for me. She supported me. The tables had turned. I had felt comfortable enough to share, and she had become strong enough to help. It was a powerful moment.