My Physical Scars Are Beautiful:: They Represent God's Answer to Prayer

Copyright © 2012 Sandy Blank

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-7433-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7434-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7432-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012921200

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/13/2012

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgements

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter VIIII

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Bible Verses

Preface

I picked up a daily devotional book the other day and the reading was, " Tell Your Story ". I thought, Was God trying to tell me something? I didn’t think my story would be any different than anyone else’s story that had been severely injured in a vehicle or a motorcycle accident. I prayed others would find similarities and comfort in my book, if I were to write one. I thought, if I were to share my experiences and struggles, others would be able to relate—to understand God has a purpose and a time for everything. Even the awful things that happen in our lives can be used for good.

I have never been a writer; but, I have felt compelled, by God, to write this book. I felt everyone who read my book would see how His plans have worked in my life and in my family’s lives. Some of what I have told you will be hard to believe, even harder to understand. From my perspective everything is true. Remember, I was pretty heavily medicated, especially in the beginning. However, I do have all of the haunting memories of things that went on around me, medicated or not. At times, I felt God and His Angels were all I had; even though I was surrounded by doctors, nurses, aides, housekeepers, church family, and my personal family. I felt alone with my thoughts and God.

Acknowledgements

I wish to thank so many people; I don’t know where to begin. Over the last six years, each and every person has contributed something to my life. People whose names I never knew, can’t remember, or have changed for the purpose of writing this book. And, I keep running into people out of the clear blue—who add bits and pieces to my story. That has been a beautiful thing.

My main doctor, Dr. Nabil Ebraheim, Orthopedic Doctor at TU Medical Center (Dr. Nabil Ebraheim, Personal Communication, August 11, 2011) was the doctor I was delivered to via helicopter. Probably a month into my situation, amputation of my left leg was still being considered. I asked the doctor if he was going to take my leg off, and he responded, I’m a fighter. His comment was all I needed to hear. The fight was on! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a fighter. After my book is published, I will bring you a copy.

I want to thank the crew of the Life-Flite helicopter that transported me to the hospital. A special thank you to the nurse on board, whose name I don’t know; but, is responsible for diverting the helicopter to the best hospital and the best doctor for my injuries. I owe many thanks to all the hospital staff, as well. They worked extremely hard keeping me alive and putting the pieces back together. I was like ‘Humpty Dumpty’ when I first arrived. I was told by an x-ray tech that I was one patient the staff was watching with considerable interest from May 2006 up to and including today. Many times I heard the word miracle.

I want to thank my husband, Wayne, for hanging around the last six years, and being there for me through all my ups and downs; and, believe me, there were many! It was a long haul and certainly was not easy. Wayne was at my bedside every day and waited, alone, though every operation. Over a four year period, I was either in the hospital or a nursing home; and, Wayne was busy volunteering. He got involved in politics, the NRA, Vets, Inc., AM Vets, American Legion, and the American Legion Riders. I love you.

I love my daughter, Aprell, and granddaughter, Brandi. They were at the accident scene; which was terribly traumatic for them. My youngest granddaughter, Brittany, I love you too. She was not at the accident scene nor was she allowed to visit me for a couple of months due to the nature of my injuries. Thank you all for your support, love, and the picture of my cat, Tigger. That picture hung on the walls and accompanied me to every nursing home.

My church was incredible. The congregation pulled together for us: the visits, cards, flowers, support, encouragement, dinners, and most of all the prayers. The many prayers were appreciated and will never be forgotten. I contribute the Prayers as to why I am still on this earth; and, God’s plan. Thank you.

My co-workers at the Probation/Parole Department in Monroe, MI were immensely supportive too. The Chief District Court Probation Officer drew up two get well posters for me. He asked many people at the Courthouse to sign each poster with their well wishes, and, mailed them to me. I hung the posters on the walls of the nursing homes. They were encouraging reminders that many people were thinking and praying for my recovery. Thank you.

In Christ,

Sandra L. Blank

Chapter I

Sunday, May 28, 2006—is a date engraved in my memory forever. My husband and I got up and went to Bible class, our usual Sunday morning ritual. After Sunday school, we went to lunch and then home, which was also our normal routine. On this particular day, though, we had time before the 6:00 p.m. service to go for a motorcycle ride. The day was sunny, hot, and beautiful without a cloud in the sky. It was a fantastic day for a ride. Wayne wanted to make one stop while we were out and about. I didn’t care. I was excited!

I was riding my own bike, a Yamaha 1100, all decked out with lots of chrome; it was a sparkly dark brown, so dark it looked black. I felt pretty footloose and fancy-free, even though I followed Wayne on every ride. I never knew for sure where he wanted to go, so he led and I followed—no controversy that way. On our way through town, a couple of our friends, who were sitting in a little coffee shop on the corner, saw us ride by. We stopped at a political call center (it was an election year) to help clean it so it could be opened. It was so hot! I couldn’t wait to get on the road! We were not dressed for being inside. It was just too hot! The wind from the motorcycle ride would cool us off some.

Finally, Wayne said we should go. Upon leaving the call center, Wayne suggested we ride to Ida, MI and get an ice cream. I was all for that! The ice-cream parlor was extremely busy, which was no wonder because it was so hot! After we parked and went inside, we waited awhile before we got our order, and then we had to stand to eat it. I spotted a young lady I knew from the courthouse, so we ate and talked. It was turning out to be a pleasant day. Then it was time to head for church. The ice cream had hit the spot, and I was a happy camper!

We started our bikes, left the parking lot, and turned south on Lewis Avenue and then right onto Albain Road—a back road that was bumpy and arched high in the middle with potholes or filled holes on the berm. We came upon a curve, and I slowed down, as I always do. Vehicles don’t always slow for curves, though, especially on those back roads, so I checked my rearview mirror and saw what appeared to be a pickup truck behind me. He seemed to be following rather closely, and we all know "Objects in the mirrors are closer than they appear." I was hoping he would slow down when I did. Up ahead of me, Wayne was already into the curve. I will never forget the image of his back and his black leather vest.

What … what’s happening? I heard voices in my head! I don’t see anything…What’s going on? I was peering at a blank canvas. There wasn’t anything—just blackness. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard voices. I felt as if I was out-of-body or something. The voices were talking about how this was a good place for an accident. An accident!? The voice from my left told me, Go right off the road! I thought, No! No! Not good! Not good at all! However, I wasn’t included in the conversation. I was on the outside looking in-not in control. My head seemed to be in between the two voices.

I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear what was being argued about. I felt like there was a little person on my left shoulder, encouraging an accident, and another little person on my right shoulder, desperately trying to stop such a thing—like in the cartoons, where the little devil is on the left and the little angel is on the right. Only, this is not funny! This is not a cartoon! This is happening! And it’s happening to me! I wasn’t in control. Something was definitely not right.

I could still hear the voices, arguing back and forth. Then, all of a sudden, I was awake and was looking down at my bike. What the …? The bike is wobbling badly! What’s going on? How do I stop it? Someone tell me what to do! And then—poof—I was out of it again. I was there physically, but mentally, I felt as if I was in a trance or something. I didn’t pass out, as some think. I didn’t feel faint or sick to my stomach, nor was I sweating from the heat. In my head, I heard the voice on my right say, "No! Sandy! No! Don’t! Oh—sigh-—too late." That was it—nothing else. It was as if someone turned the lights out—complete darkness.

I don’t remember hearing anything, seeing anything, or feeling anything. It was as if I were in a deep sleep. You know the kind: you go to sleep and the next thing you know, you’re awake—nothing in between. I don’t have a clue what went on after the lights went out or even how much time actually passed. It seemed time stood still.

A couple years later, I talked to a lady at church who had basically the same experience when she had her car accident. The people inside the first car she hit said she came at them like she was in a trance. She didn’t see them; she just dropped her head to her chest and hit them. That is exactly what witnesses said about me—that I dropped my head to my chest and hit the vehicle. I didn’t see the vehicle coming at me. I didn’t panic, I wasn’t sleepy, I wasn’t nauseated, I felt no fear, nor did I feel pain. I believe God had a plan that day and He let Satan take control.

Later, I heard Wayne yelling, Save her! Save her! Do whatever it takes! Save her! I thought He does love me. But what happened? What’s going on? Where am I? Why did Wayne say that? I thought I was lying down and then I was being carried. On my left, I thought there was a figure next to my head. In my mind, Wayne was somewhere near the top of my head, slowly running toward me, like in the movies when two people run toward each other in slow motion. Then he stopped. The visions in my head were of hospital-like surroundings, and I heard nurses talking. Again, I felt like I was physically there, but I couldn’t talk or move. I thought I was lying quiet, but for how long, I don’t remember.

When I came to later, I had the impression that I was in a wheelchair and that Wayne was pushing me. He stopped; someone was talking to him. I couldn’t believe how groggy I felt. I looked up at what appeared to be an elevator door. It was cold, and the walls were gray, institutional or hospital looking. I heard a woman’s voice tell me, Wait. I’ll be right with you, and I nodded. I heard other voices too, but I don’t know what was said. The elevator opened, and I was pushed into a small metallic room. Then the lights went out again.

At that point, I was not totally conscious; but, I believe, I walked (staggered was more like it) around inside a big building. I could hear people all around me, but no one was paying any attention to the fact that I was not steady on my feet and looked terribly lost. I wandered between partitions, curtains, chairs, and tables or beds. Finally, a lady told me to sit or lie down. When she asked me my name, I told her, Sandy. She told me to wait a minute and she would be back.

I wondered where Wayne had gone. I didn’t see anyone I knew; even the surroundings were unfamiliar. I guessed I would sit for a minute on the table, behind a curtain; then, a few minutes later, I had to lie down. The lady came back to check on me and then left again. There was so much confusion in my head.

Wait! I think I hear familiar voices. Can’t be, can it? A woman I worked with, a probation officer. I struggled to get up far enough to peek through the curtain. I wanted to make sure the people talking were the people I thought they were. It is! What’s going on? I didn’t want them to see me for some reason. I thought she was having a conversation with a man. I peeked through the curtain again. It was her husband, a police officer. They were talking about using their daughter as a decoy in a sting operation of some