Stop Means Go

Rediscovering my identity

I stared into the beveled-edge mirror intently. I held my gaze. 

I brought my hands to my face. Cupping my cheeks the way my grandmother once had. They felt full again. 

My apple-like cheeks had always been my signature. They were what people noticed about me. The genetic attribute I had gotten from my Norwegian father. 

I previously despised this facial feature of mine. Now I was grateful that it was back. That I looked like me again. That I was starting to resemble the woman I had been before the accident. 

I reached for the bottles of pain medications and muscle relaxers. I pushed down on the white caps and twisted. They revealed another month's supply of potent pills. 

I watched as the chalk-like pain pills fell from the container into my toilet. My finger met the silver handle. I watched as the pills began to swirl clockwise in the water and get sucked down. I let out a sigh of relief. 

I turned and shuffled my feet in my purple slippers. Slowly made my way to the front door. I reached for the door knob with a childlike sense of wonder, ready to see the light of day. 

My fingers gripped the door knob tightly, then turned and pushed. The front door opened. I was met with the fragrances of water colored flowers. 

The emerald green lawn. Sun-casted shadows projecting from the trees. Laughter from neighborhood children.

I reconnected to the part of me I had lost over the last couple of months. I listened to the sounds of life echoing. This time outside of my four walls. 

I peeled back the sticky surfaces on my tens unit, an electrical muscle stimulator that eased my spasms. I placed them on my spine, and turned the knob to maximum strength. 

I turned my body to face the sun. I closed my eyes. I smiled. 

I stood on the pavement of my street. Still wearing my purple fuzzy slippers. Dressed in a nightgown now too big for my petite frame. 

I remained at the foot of my driveway. Eyes closed. Smiling wholeheartedly. I was a mix of oversized sleepwear and an emotional high. 

Neighbors gawked in my direction. But I barely noticed.

I began another dialogue in the privacy of my mind. 'I'm grateful' I said. 'I'm grateful for this moment. I'm grateful for this life. This life is a gift'. 

I opened my eyes. I could see the vibrant red stop sign in the distance. It became my target. 

I felt my slippers scuff against the asphalt. I moved at a glacial pace down my street. Rapid, micro steps to reach my destination. 

Each step symbolized progress. An advancement in my road to recovery. 

I took my time. I reached the stop sign after a 20 minute effort. I leaned my fragile body against it. ‘Stop means go’ I muttered. 

I felt liberated. I knew I had a long road ahead, but this was the start of something new. 

A small step in the right direction. A milestone. Finally, something to celebrate.

Hi, I’m Shayna! Four years ago, I was in a car crash that left me with five herniated discs. They told me by age 30 I wouldn’t be able to walk one mile without a cane and pain pills. I proved them wrong!

This is part 5 of my story. Catch up below:

• Ch. 1: Rag Doll

• Ch. 2: Eating Chalk

• Ch. 3: Kaleidoscope Eyes

• Ch. 4: Reunited