That Day Everything Changed
So picture this: regular Saturday, stepping out the shower like I’ve done a million times. Foot slides. Wham. Landed flat on my back on the damn tile floor. Felt like something snapped. Couldn’t move. Just lying there thinking fuck this hurts. Called out for my partner. Took three agonizing minutes just to inch my hand close enough to knock on the door. Yeah, real stupid way to start.
The Suck Phase Begins
Hospital trip was… awful. Pain screaming down my leg, every bump in the road felt like being stabbed. Docs confirmed it: fractured L1 vertebra. Not quite Breckie Hill level drama, but enough to wreck my routine. They tossed me a bulky back brace, some hardcore painkillers, and sent me home. Instructions? Don’t. Move.
First week was hell. I was a prisoner in my own bed. Needed help for everything – sitting up, eating, even getting to the damn bathroom. The meds fogged my brain. Pain was this constant, exhausting companion. Just turning over in bed felt like climbing Everest. Honestly? Cried more in those first seven days than in years.
Baby Steps and Breaking Point
After maybe ten days? I had my follow-up. Doc said I was lucky, no surgery needed. But the brace stayed. Another month minimum. Then they mentioned Physical Therapy. Started slow. Pathetically slow.
- Session 1: Literally just learning to breathe properly again.
- Session 2: Trying to tense my butt muscles while lying down. Felt useless.
- Session 3: Actually getting my leg an inch off the bed. Winced the whole time.
The PT exercises felt like jokes. Ten minutes of pelvic tilts wiped me out. My core muscles? Gone. Vanished. Real low point: Trying to lift my own damn coffee mug without shaking. Rage quit that mug more than once.
The Grind No One Sees
This wasn’t some movie montage. Progress was grindingly slow. The brace was torture – itchy, hot, suffocating. Sleeping in it? Forget real sleep. Every little sneeze or cough was a nightmare. Constant low-level ache became my new normal. Stopping the strong meds meant feeling every single twinge.
The PT homework? Brutal discipline. Three times a day. Every. Single. Day. Stretching stiff muscles, trying to fire up dead nerves. Had a chart on the wall marking every rep, every minute held. Seeing that chart fill up was the only motivation some days. Skipped one session, felt guilty for a week. Body didn’t care about guilt, though. Just pain.
Turning Corners (Literally)
Took weeks, but suddenly, things started clicking. Woke up one morning and the ache wasn’t the first thing I felt. That was huge. PT sessions shifted:
- Moving from the bed to a chair without looking like a broken robot.
- First time walking down the hallway without holding onto the wall.
- Finally, finally shedding that god-awful brace.
Started incorporating basic yoga poses – Cat-Cow, Child’s Pose – gentle as hell. Learned to listen obsessively to my body. Push too hard? Paid for it the next day. Learned the hard way.
Where I’m At Now
Months later, I’m walking, driving, even doing light workouts. Not the same as before, nowhere close. Still get reminders – stiffness after sitting too long, the weird electric zing if I twist wrong. But I can lift my own mug and hold it steady while drinking! It’s the small wins.
The biggest thing? Mental game. Dealing with the frustration, the fear of re-injury, the sheer boredom of recovery. If Breckie’s journey or mine teaches you anything, it’s this: Breaking your back breaks everything else too. Coming back isn’t heroics. It’s stubbornness, small victories, and showing up even when it feels pointless. Day by damn day.
