my wonder wall

I tell bits and pieces of the story of what happened in the hospital days before I came home.

I was staring up the wall. It was all I could see.

Wall.

With the Christmas tinsel and a slice of the exit.

Help me.

I could see the people walking past, the ones that hadn’t been thrown into a chair in punishment for trying to escape.

Again.

Save me.

I could feel tears in my eyes.

The hopelessness and fear overwhelming.

Let me go.

I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to go home.

The weakness of my body and the frailty of my my mind could keep me there.

I felt my arm pressed under me.

I was so cold.

I was as important as a piece of furniture. Pushed out of the way so I wouldn’t bother anyone working.

I want it to end.

I wish this was the only incident like this.

I would keep trying to get out of there to no success.

The chair I was stuck in too many times to count.

It did finally end.

I got away from there and part of fiery determination I have is to never feel that way again.

I will never stare at that wall again.

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15 Responses to my wonder wall

  1. Susie March 29, 2011 at 9:07 PM #

    Fiery determination is a good thing! If anyone has it, you do, Anissa. Mahalo for being so humble to share some bits & pieces of your long hospital stay. It really just makes you that much more human.

    I know what you speak. My mom had a stroke and was in the hospital and then rehab. She told me of nurses that were angels and ones that were not. Especially cruel was when she had to “go” in the middle of the night, and had to ring the buzzer. She was especially scared of one nurse. But there were other nurses that were God sends and make up for that one bad one.

    Your determination to never feel that way again reminds me of a favorite quote by Maya
    Angelou:

    “You can forget what people say. You can forget what people do. You will never forget how they made you feel.”

    Now go get tomorrow, Anissa, like I know you will…

  2. Colleen March 24, 2011 at 8:52 AM #

    Anissa, my heart broke just a little bit after reading this post.

    28 years ago, my dad suffered a massive heart attack. His brain was deprived of oxygen for 15 minutes, but he was revived. His body survived, but we ‘lost’ our dad that night. He never returned home, was unable to walk, talk, eat or communicate with us after that night.

    I was 22 years old and very naive to the realities of life back then. I thought that we lived or died. If we lived, we got better. I had no comprehension of the many shades of ‘gray’ back then.

    Many of your posts have spoken to me, because I think back to my dad and wonder if he also had this consciousness and awareness within the ‘prison’ that he had been confined to after he survived. I remember looking into his eyes and feeling that he saw and heard me. I could not begin to comprehend what was going on within him.

    This post in particular reached out and grabbed me. Because my dad was often in ‘that chair’ when I went to visit him. To think that he could have been sitting and staring at that same ‘wall’ and able to think and feel as you did … makes my heart ache.

    I am beyond grateful for you, Anissa. Your family, friends and support systems rallied together and helped you fight the fight and you have returned home. Your life is certainly not without challenges and I am glad that you write about your new reality. I appreciate how far you have come as well as how far you strive to go.

    What I appreciate as much as anything is your honesty. Posts like this (and oh, so many other posts which have preceded this) help so many. You have opened my eyes and helped me see. I wish I would have known this 28 years ago …

    Thank you, Anissa. You are a gift.

    Colleen´s last post…Word Soup

    • Anissa Mayhew March 25, 2011 at 1:49 AM #

      Oh, Colleen

      Part of me just wishes I could take that post back and put it back inside.

      I know you said some lovely things but this post caused you doubt and pain and I’m forever sorry for that.

      Sometimes I don’t want to tell these memories FOR these reasons.

      I hope that someday when it time for another person to make this very hard decision, they’ll remember words they reads and it will stay with them.

      All my heart,

      • Colleen March 25, 2011 at 7:49 AM #

        Please don’t wish that, Anissa! Your words changed the course of my day yesterday … your words did not cause me doubt and pain. I heard “Listen to your instincts! You were right”.

        Ironically, my mom is facing a (very minor, in comparison) health challenge right now (this latest turn of events happened 28 years, minus a day to the day my dad had his heart attack). Getting back to my point, learning that I must simply trust my instincts has me returning to my mom’s (she lives 5 hours away) today with a bit of fight in me. I need to ‘fight’ to see if we can try and help her stay in her home. Which is what she desperately wants.

        I find it a bit of a miracle that you wrote that post exactly when you did. It was just what I needed to hear to help me face this next little battle for my mom.

        We do the best we can, with what we know. I didn’t know much 28 years ago … I know more now (in a great part due to your writing). When you know better, you do better. Thank you!!

        Please, please don’t censor your thoughts! You have helped me in ways that you will never know.

        Colleen´s last post…Word Soup

  3. Julia Roberts March 23, 2011 at 6:34 PM #

    Anissa, I heart you.

    And also? Effing wall, I’ll bet its ass for you.

    Julia Roberts´s last post…The Room to Talk

  4. Andrea March 23, 2011 at 5:41 PM #

    This just blew me away. It reminds me of my mother’s own time in a rehab, and the way she was treated. I’m so sorry this happened to you, and so glad you’re out of there.

  5. Penbleth March 23, 2011 at 4:39 AM #

    All that trying is what got you out and keeps you out,even if it seemed pointless at the time. You determination and strength is astounding.

    Penbleth´s last post…Where have you been hiding

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  6. Annie from Oregon March 23, 2011 at 1:10 AM #

    I hate this happened to you. I love your determination. And your openness. Your words are so clear, your thoughts were so clear. Startlingly so. Thank God you are healing not only in your body, but also in your memories. I am amazed at how firmly and steadily you are replacing “back then” with “right now and Next!”. Keep on Anissa. You are unbeatable!!

  7. Faiqa March 23, 2011 at 12:53 AM #

    You? So amazing.

    Faiqa´s last post…Getting Personal

  8. Kristin March 22, 2011 at 11:20 PM #

    You are amazing and I am so damned sorry you had to feel that way.

    Kristin´s last post…Monday MIscellany

  9. Sharon Heg March 22, 2011 at 11:05 PM #

    And ever since, every day or at least every week gets a little bit better…some way, somehow. Good.

    Sharon Heg´s last post…The 2011 New York Trip

  10. Dawn Tucker March 22, 2011 at 7:43 PM #

    I know you’ll do everything in your power to never see that wall again.
    You are THAT strong.
    But you’re even stronger with your family behind you.
    It’s incredible to see how you’ve all pulled together thro this.
    Love ya. xx

  11. Carrie March 22, 2011 at 7:05 PM #

    I have no doubt that your fiery determination will allow you to never return. Thank you for your perspective. You are my hero.

    Carrie´s last post…What it is

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  1. Anissa Mayhew, Part II | WomenOnTheFence.com - March 24, 2011

    [...] deal with a past of memories that haunt me. I’ve written about some of them, talking about my helplessness and hopelessness. When there was no light at end of my tunnel. I [...]

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