When I woke up I really did not remember what had happened, but I knew that it had been really bad when I looked at where I was and the shape that I was in. In fact I was pretty doped up right then and I did not realize how beat up I was. When the doctors came in they started to talk about physical therapy and mobility aids. It took awhile before that last part sank in, especially given that I was still in a haze. At any rate I panicked when it did and I began to try to move my legs, feet and toes. I could do this, but it hurt a lot and it was obvious that I was really not able to function properly. They really got mad when I tried to get out of the bed, which would have been a really bad idea if I had been able to do it. For about two weeks they never let my feet touch the ground, at first they took me and the bed every place I went and I never got out of it. After that they pushed me around in a wheelchair.
I needed a walker when they decided to let me try to walk and by then I had started to get used to the look of my legs. The left one has about six sizeable scars on it, some of them from the accident and some of them from the doctors doing a series of operations trying to repair all of the damage. It was really unpleasant getting back to where I could get around, some of the other patients had really nasty nicknames for the physical therapists. Of course the pain is part of the deal and I wanted to get back on my feet.