It has been two months since I was hit on my motorcycle.
Two months without the use of my left leg.
Two months of reliving the impact, the collision, the trauma.
Two months of consistently lying on my back 22 of the 24 hours in a day.
Two months of barely sleeping, my leg elevated, on my back, afraid to move throughout the night.
Two months of cleaning my wound and pins meticulously everyday. Two months of watching my muscles atrophy, trying desperately to use parts of my body I cannot.
Two months of staring at this nightmare attached to my leg and wondering when, or if, it will ever be removed.
Two months of surgeries, doctor’s visits, physical therapy, and follow ups.
Two months of showering with my leg outside of the tub trying not to get the pins wet.
Two months of peeing sitting down…that’s right.
Two months of killing time throughout the day anyway I can; creating websites, writing blogs, editing old photos, surfing the web, playing xbox, reading books, magazines and watching anything Netflix has to offer.
Two months of thinking positively, trying to keep my spirits up.
Two months of relying on the kindness of friends and family to drive me wherever I needed to go.
During the day I usually lie on my couch in the living room. My truck sits less than ten feet from me in the driveway, but since it is manual I cannot drive it until I regain the use of my left leg. It’s like being in a prison cell and the keys are dangling in plain sight, but just out of arm’s reach.
1440 hours…but who’s counting?