Sunday, October 13, 2013

A Providential Accident

175.00 USD
She can be purchased here.

This is me. This is me showing you all of my colors, showing you exactly who and what I am, and the result of who I've become based on one experience that would forever change my life. 

When I was 14 years old, I had just come home from summer camp. I have two brothers, but they were away, doing whatever it is that slightly older brothers did at that time. It was my two parents and me, driving along a winding road, a road that we drove along quite often. It was very close to our house and was a familiar route that we took to get almost anywhere we wanted to go. I was excited, because I had won a free coffee drink certificate at my week of summer camp (what I had done to win it, I'll never remember. Perhaps old friends who were there could remember for me. . . probably not). My parents were happy to have me home, and decided to take me to a pizza place for lunch called Pizzicato, a place I'm not sure if I had ever been to yet at the time, but a yummy place for pizza. I wasn't a big eater at the time, and I was quite picky, but I liked Hawaiian style pizza, with Canadian bacon and pineapple. I was excited. In retrospect, my father says he was going 5 miles over the speed limit, and he regrets this to this day. I could never blame him for this. It's a perfectly reasonable thing to do, which a very rare policeman would ever pull you over for in this city. I still find no fault in this detail. But, we lived in the suburbs, at the time, where many woody areas surrounded our home and the streets we frequented.

I was never a girl who was very aware of her surroundings, I lived in my own head most of the time, carrying those inward conversations with myself, which many (if not all) people do from time to time. I did this often. I was a romantic at heart, and loved to dream during the day. So, my account may not be accurate, but this is how I remember it.

My parents treated me very well, but I longed for something exciting and adventurous to happen. Little did I know that what would happen next would be the answer to that little dream.

Driving along, my parents mentioned that they saw a female deer in middle of the road. I don't recall if my father slowed down or not, but I remember it as though he had. I, with slightly failing vision at the time, couldn't make it out, but saw a rustic old truck barreling toward us. That was what I noticed. He seemed to have something cardboard colored in the bed of his truck, and this is what I was certain was the deer they proclaimed to see. I was even going to prove it. I turned my whole body around and glanced behind so I could see that there were, indeed, cardboard boxes flying out of his truck. But, I had not time to prove it, because, apparently this truck had spooked the deer (which, alas, was there after all), and said deer, came flying in the direction of our car. My father expertly maneuvered the car the best he could, but there was no stopping the inevitable, the deer flew into our car. Darkness shadowed the inside of the car (which I was sure was simply us passing under a thick tree), and eventually a deer had landed on my lap.

That was it. It had landed, there was a mass of deer hair in my mouth, which was quite uncomfortable, but this was not important at the time. Amazingly, the car still worked, and my father drove it into a nearby apartment's parking lot. My eyes were closed, and everything from here and onward was only sounds. I only know what happened based on what I could hear.

It was a beautiful, sunny day on the 3rd of August, in 1997, and there seemed to be at least a few people out and about. My father called to someone to please call 9-1-1. We were all a bit traumatized, but my father seemed to have the most level of heads, having been harmed only with a couple of scratches on his arm, which didn't even require stitches. My amazing father acted as any incredibly level headed person would act, and did what he could, to bring help to his wife and daughter. My mother was in shock (I'm quite sure) and quite injured, as well. As I was apparently also in shock, I felt my head was still working straight, and listened as my mother tried to call 9-1-1. She thought my father was talking to her. He wasn't, and I realized this. But, in 1997, we were quite technologically saavy, and actually had one of those alleged old "brick phones" which was in my mother's purse. She had pulled it out, and mentioned something like, "I'm trying, but I can't get through." Later, it was discovered that she had indeed dialed 9-1-1, but had not hit "send." I (at least thought) I had told my mother something like, "He's not talking to you, mother." Yes, I used to call my mom, "mother." I still do. I find it a rather endearing term.

Soon, someone had opened my door, in the back right seat, who had claimed to be a nurse! What luck. But, as all nurses and even regular folks are trained, pressure should be applied to a wound until emergency help can arrive. Little did she know that, pressure should not have been applied in this particular case, as pressure had been lost in my eye. What had happened, was that some sort of pressure from the windshield glass, and deer, or who knows what, had slammed itself into my right eye, tearing the retina in the back of it. I knew from the moment it had all happened that something was wrong with my eye. But, I didn't know what. I did know, somehow, that I would never again see out of that eye. It just felt wrong. Something was incredibly wrong with that eye.

Still keeping both of my eyes closed, I patiently waited for the ambulance, whose sirens I eventually heard coming. They were such a relief, as I felt so uncomfortable. 

I was expertly transported (it felt magically done, actually) onto a stretcher, and rolled into an ambulance. My clothes were cut off, and I was asked if I felt any other wounds. I was cold, very cold. It felt strange to feel so cold on a warm, summer day. But, there was extra coldness on my hand. So, mentioning such, they noticed that I had deep gashes there, as well.

This is me. This is the accident that changed my life. So many exciting things happened after this day. I had many doctor's visits, surgeries, questions asked, things that were just the way they were. 

This was all okay with me. Eventually, everything was made right. I had my eye removed, and an implant "installed." And while things are generally uncomfortable with this particular circumstance, it was just the way it was.

Well, over time, issues started arising and while it was that time, when a new prosthetic eye should be made, it was discovered that deterioration in the implant was constantly causing infections, for which I was frequently seeing my plastic surgeon about. 

A surgery, a doll. 

Another surgery was necessary. Fifteen years later, it is necessary to have yet another surgery. It is just the way it is. And I'm okay with it. It comes with the lot I've been given in life. I've never been one to begrudge this particular aspect of who I am. It is something I've lived with, and I came to terms with that from the very beginning. 

So. . . my art, being an expression of who I am, and what emotions I often have or see, it seemed only right, that I create a doll while I was healing from this most recent of "medically necessary cosmetic reconstructive surgeries." It went well. I still have a long way to go, what with healing, and more possible surgery, and more eye related "what have yous." 

Here, for your consideration is the process of creating a doll representing me in my current state of who I am, who I've become, and how I feel going through the experiences I am having. Please enjoy.

The doctor put a few stitches in my eyelid, to keep everything in, while it heals, and tissues were happily taken from my tummy to fill in all the empty space around the implant. Thus, the stitches at the tummy area.

Here, I hope I've created the way I looked and felt just out of surgery, not an hour later. See it compared to the real me, below it.

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