Chapter 1
Before my car accident, all I can remember is being a confident, athletic, self-driven woman. But now, I'm not too sure who I am. My memories were gone, and with them, any version of myself to return to. While everyone else was achieving and growing, I was starting from scratch, in my late twenties, with no blueprint and a body that would never fully be the same.
I had to learn how to use my left hand for everything while my right hand heals. How do you hold a toothbrush? How do you grip a fork? Things that should be automatic were suddenly humiliating. I felt useless. I felt like a fool in my own body. And underneath all of it lived this darkness that never let up. Not sadness. Something heavier.
PT. Neurology. Pain management. Repeat. Somewhere inside that cycle I started asking questions nobody could answer. Will I ever regain full function on my right hand? Will I ever live a life without constant body pain? Who am I, really? I was a stranger to myself, trying to build an identity out of thin air while my body was still falling apart.
Chapter 2
I'm grateful I had a good support system during that time. But even with people in my corner, I still struggled. I was living alone, trying to piece my life together, constantly feeling behind. The stress was self-inflicted in a lot of ways, but that didn't make it any less real.
Not being able to work out like I used to took its own toll. I gained over 40 pounds and barely recognized myself. I honestly hated who I saw. But I kept going. I couldn't leave my animals behind. They needed me, and somewhere underneath all of it, I think I needed that reason to keep showing up.
I knew I had to learn how to accept this new version of myself. I just hadn't figured out how yet.
Regardless of how chaotic my life was, I still had my mind set on vet school. Becoming a veterinarian and specializing in animal behavior was still the goal. I tried to think about pivoting into something different, but my experience was so rooted in animal medicine that everything else felt out of reach. Like I was already behind, and starting over in a new field would only make it worse.
Chapter 3
A few months after my hand injury, I was diagnosed with CRPS. If you want to know what it actually feels like, imagine one of those joking pens that zaps you when someone tricks you into clicking it. Now imagine that feeling never stops. That constant stinging, buzzing, burning sensation just becomes your new normal. And then on top of that you get flare ups, and when those hit it feels like someone is crushing every joint in your fingers with a hammer. Barometric pressure changes, like before a storm rolls in, can make everything significantly worse, which means even the weather becomes something you start dreading.
I tried nerve blocks, physical therapy, and medication. None of it worked. The nerve blocks were a whole experience on their own because I would come out of them with full blown panic attacks every single time. Super fun, highly recommend. I eventually discontinued them since they weren't making any difference anyway. Between those and everything else, I got poked with so many needles that I actually developed a fear of them. Me. Someone who never had an issue before. Gone.
When nothing works and the pain just keeps going, it starts to mess with your head in ways that are really hard to explain. My mental health took a serious hit. There's something uniquely isolating about being in that much pain and feeling like you're running out of options.
Because my CRPS was so severe it ended up spreading from my right hand to my left. Both hands. And let me tell you, learning how to live with CRPS is not for the weak.
Chapter 4
Right before submitting my VMCAS application for vet school, I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, POTS. I had still been struggling with brain fog, constant fatigue, and occasional falls, so my doctor ordered a tilt table test. It came back positive. And honestly, I felt relieved. Finally having a name for what had been dragging me down for so long was its own kind of gift. My cardiologist prescribed medication to help manage the symptoms, and for the first time in a while I let myself think, maybe things are actually getting better now.
I was so tired of feeling exhausted all the time. Tired of brain fog making me feel slow at work. I just wanted to feel like myself again. Smart. Active. Present. Like the woman I vaguely remembered being.
And then, things actually did get better. I received vet school interviews and eventually got my first acceptance. I was ecstatic.