Day 1: Admission

When I was on my way to the hospital, I made a few attempts to move my fingers again. Every attempt was filled with mixed emotions. On one hand I wanted to try to see if I have regained hand movements; on the other hand, I did not want to know if I had lost my movements. I was in denial. I did not want to know I was paralysed. In conclusion, all my attempts ended with my worst fear. The hospitals didn’t seem to help when Sir Charles Hospital rejected my entry as they view my accident as a “trauma” case rather than “spinal” and hence, I had to take a 10 minutes detour towards royal perth hospital (RPH). Every time i was transferred from one stretcher to another bed/stretcher, the pain in my neck increased. The adrenaline was fading and i was in more pain. I took deeper breaths, grit my teeth and embraced the pain (something im really good at doing).

 

As I was transferred around RPH, being rushed from one room to the other, I felt like a piece of meat. I am so useless, I am so worthless. All achievements meant nothing at this point in time, when you are a freaking paralysed piece of meat! Doctors rushed in to give injections, nurses were asking me questions over and over again, doctors were changed a couple of times till the right one was found for my injury. Explaining the bike accident over and over again made me frustrated but that obviously did not help the situation. 

Next, I had the first sensation in “hours”. 

Both my arms started burning. They became hyper-sensitive: the weight of the blanket felt like a truck crashing my arms; the sliding of IV drips/wires across my arms felt like knife slitting me open; and touches from nurses and doctors felt like my arms being broken into pieces. When the nurse asked me to rate the pain on the scale of 0-10, 10 being pain so great like I have never experienced before, I shouted 20! I was screaming, shouting every time something touched/brushed my hands. Doctors had no choice but to pump me with morphine. 

Morphine. My goodness. What a way to start experimenting with drugs. No harm trying. Might as well die a happy man if I must. Give it to me…

After the morphine had settled in, I was sent for my CT scan. Although everything became more vague and “happy”, I was always brought back to reality when someone, some cloth, some wires made contact with my hands. The pain was truly the worst ever.

During my CT scan, I remembered reading off somewhere that the first 48 hours after an accident is most crucial in recovery. Although the movements are lacking, one should continue to think of the movement as the EMG will continue to fire. In addition, we might “forget” how to move our body after some days of inactivity, hence we have keep the neuro-pathways active and remember how to move the body. With that in mind, I removed all negative thoughts that I had regarding beg paralysed and I focused on getting the EMG and neuro-pathways working. I practiced and practiced. I tried over and over again till I finally have a slight movement in my right thumb. 

It worked! I have gotten back my right thumb! (well, sorta). 

So I started to focus on my right toe, practicing as hard as I could. At the end of the CT scan, I could wriggle (slightly) my right thumb and right toe. 

I was then sent back to the doctors and was told that I had to do a catheter to empty my bladder. 

Zac: Is the catheter the thing whereby you put a tube up my dingdong?

Nurse: Yes

Z: WHAT?! No. I am refusing it.

N: … give me a sec

Doctor: Zac, you will need to do the catheter, you have no choice.

Z: but..

D: you are now a spinal patient. You will not be able to relief yourself for now. So, you will have to do the catheter.

Z: ….. alright …

#fyi, a standard urinary catheter is 40cm.

 

And so, the procedure carried on. I drifted in and out of “dreamland” thanks to the morphine. One of the distinctive visits I remembered was from Steph and Travis. The other was from Pete and Kym. I didn’t really recall what the conversations were about though. (I vaguely remember me talking to Kym and Pete regarding school work though) In fact, I’m not certain if the visits were on the first or second day of my accident. What I knew for sure was that my girlfriend, Shina, called me later that evening when my morphine was low. I knew this because I had been repeatedly tortured by the careless nurses who continued to touch my arms. I swear I thought my arms are falling off.

Shina: are you alright

Z: … no..

S: what can I do for you?

Z: Call Bryan (my band mate) and tell him I need him here.. asap.

S:Don’t worry, everything will be alright

Z: …

#Seriously.. I have no idea. I can only try to fight another day. I dare not answer. I don’t dare to look past today.

At that point in time, I had resigned to fate that I am paralysed. I didn’t want my parents to worry. I didn’t want them to see their son in this pathetic, motionless, paralysed manner. I didn’t want Shina to come because I wasn’t sure she could handle all these. I wanted someone who I am 100% certain who could take care of himself and me. I knew I had to rely on someone for survival. I needed someone to keep me sane. I needed someone to encourage me, to “carry” me. 

I want to survive. I want to recover. I WILL RECOVER. I needed someone, because I had not given up. My Lord, do not forsake me just yet.

The pain never went away. In fact, it worsened. It became so significant and unbearable that doctors had to put me on catecholamine IV drip (synthesis dopamine – better known as happy effect) along with my steady dose of morphine and other mixture of pain killers being injected into me at constant time intervals. Even with all these drugs, the pain is still immense, constantly a 30/10. I didn’t get to eat or drink for the rest of the day because I had not done my MRI scan. Doctors saw no fracture in the CT scans but they had no idea what was wrong with me. So, that was a bad conclusion. Anything unknown to science is "no good". I was in no mood to eat, but I knew I needed fuel to fight this battle. I need to prepare myself for the biggest, toughest fight of my life. I must do everything within my control to increase my chances if recovery. Even if it was 0.0001% chance.

Day 1: Drugs 1 – Zac 0

I had no real idea what else happened during my admission phase. Subconsciously, I must have worked my brain real hard: thinking of movement patterns because that very night, I dreamt of myself running. 
That feeling of freedom, that perfect running rhythm.. 
The wind in my hair...
And. 
I woke up tearing. . 
I have never missed running more. I have never missed the wind in my face so much, the strong headwind around the 300m bend at McGillivary more. 
I want to run.
I want to race again. 

Dear Lord, please let me run again. Please let me race again. I promise never ever to hold back ever again.

I want to run again…

To be continued..

I remember Tex saying then that these pictures will be good way for me to tell my story. True enough.