Content warning: this blog entry contains description of nasty side effects of nerve damage. Leave now, and come back next week if you get grossed out easily.
When I was in grad school, I agreed to dye part of my hair bright pink before my friend Vanessa moved to Tanzania for a year. She was notorious for vibrant hair colors and had to choose a natural tone bore the year abroad, so I was taking up the neon charge. In the grand scheme of hair, it was a subtle choice as I didn’t have Amanda bleach my hair before putting in the pink. It faded out in a couple weeks, but I’d supposedly done something crazy and wild. The next semester, I chopped my long locks off in favor of a pixie cut I kept up for a year. This, too, was touted by some as outrageous behavior, but my hair has almost returned to it’s pre-chop length through slow and steady regrowth.
Some people make hair cuts or coloring into a big deal, and while it’s true that not everyone can rock the traffic cone orange hair color, it’s not exactly a life altering decision. It is, however, a decision.
Yesterday, I decided to let Ellie put purple dye in my hair.
I have control over the awesomeness (or occasional lack thereof) related to my hair, but there are still many things about my body which I lack control of. The purple hair in my photo lots of people could rock; the story behind the obscenely heavy bags under my eyes this morning is where the real bravery in my life comes in.
Nerve damage sucks. I already warned you to stop reading this if you’re easily queasy, and I wasn’t joking. Last night, I managed to fall asleep around eleven but woke up two hours later to discover my brain had been left out of the loop of activity happening amongst my intestines and sphincter. My clock just turned 1:00 as I turned on the light to see and smell the mess in my bed. I groggily looked around to see what I could cover my wheelchair seat with in order to heave my dirty body onto it and start cleaning myself up in the bathroom. It took me a couple minutes to sort out my strategy so that I didn’t spread anything around unnecessarily or leave some kind of disgusting trail, but I managed to sit myself on the toilet and start the baby wiping business.
Within seconds, I knew this was too much to just wipe off, so after about ten or fifteen minutes of preliminary cleaning, I got myself into the shower. I cried out to God from the depths of my soul as I watched the water runoff, first dirty brown as I rinsed my lower half, then tinged with lavender as I washed my hair for the first time post dye. I washed my whole body as best as I’m able, still trying to stay sleepy but be alert enough not to hurt myself. I dried off with an old towel I didn’t care about staining purple, and I gathered up my dirty clothes and put them in the laundry.
Next, I returned to the scene of the crime, my bed still covered in evidence. I used baby wipes again to gather and reduce the worst of the mess before pulling off my sheets and putting them in the washing machine as well. I started the load before putting clean sheets on and finally putting my head back on my pillow at almost exactly 2am. It took me a little while to drift back to sleep, and I woke up a couple more times still scared of another accident. My mattress protector was in the wash, so I didn’t know what I would do if I ruined my mattress with a second mess in one night.
Praise the Lord, I didn’t soil my sheets again, and I woke up with my alarm and got ready for church this morning as if nothing was the matter. I planned to hide the whole ordeal from the world; no one needs to know this nastiness. I hang my laundry where no one can see – no one needs to know this mess was lingering after a first wash. And yet my intestines had a different idea this morning. I was doubled over in pain minutes before my ride for church was due to arrive. I made the last minute decision to call them, but I felt compelled to clarify, “It’s paralysis stuff, it’s nerve stuff that’s keeping me home.”
I felt really dumb afterwards for needing to justify my sickness. I could have just been sick like a normal person, but nothing is normal with me anymore. Theoretically, I do just have a normal sickness, but based on the nerve damage, my body can’t take care of itself like a normal person.
So why did I decide to share this story on the internet where anyone can read it? Well, because this is my life, and it’s not my fault I can’t receive messages well from my lower half. I get a lot of really kind messages from people who say I’m an inspiration to them because of my positive attitude about not being able to walk, and that’s really nice, but the not walking part of paralysis is the easiest part of my post accident problems. If you’re going to be inspired by me, it should be by the fact that I woke up in a bed of my own mess and took care of the whole deal in an hour without anyone’s help. Be inspired by the fact that I knew my own limits today when I was doubled over in pain this morning and subsequently spent the better half of my Sunday curled up on my couch or in my bed with a heating pad trying to recoup from that power hour in the middle of the night. Be inspired by the fact that despite the pain and the lack of sleep, I managed this selfie where my hair looks awesome and my eyebrows are on fleek.
Go live your life and make good choices remembering that nerve damage is not for the faint of heart. Also, stay hydrated because I’m suspicious that contributed to exacerbating some of my problems this week. I plan to up my water intake this week and have less gross stories for next week’s blog post.
