It’s been a while since I wrote for Odyssey: two months, to be exact. Now, this wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t just decide to up and walk away. There’s a story to this, I promise.

About two months ago, on May 14, I got into a traumatic accident, which resulted in several severe bruises, a broken femur, and a broken knee. Ouch, right? The only blood that came from it was the blood from my hands, parts of my fingertips completely scraped off from the fall. I still have some slight nerve damage on two of them. Whenever I place pressure on either of those two fingers, all I receive is a shock of pain. They’re two tiny scars in comparison to the four on my leg. Since the accident, I now have a tiny scar at the top of my thigh from who knows what incision — maybe the rod poked out. I have two on the side of my knee, most likely from the wiring they did to my knee, and a large scar that goes from the top of my knee to the bottom in one straight, now pale, line.

The first couple days of recovery were the worst, even though I don’t remember any of it. I was asleep from the moment I got into the trauma room to the moment the surgeons were done operating. The physical therapist kept trying to get me to walk, to move, to use the bathroom, anything, but I just had no energy at first. I had no will. I wanted to give up. Everything felt like it was crumbling right under me.

My accident happened right before finals, literally two days before, and right before summer vacation, the time I was hoping to work through and make some extra cash. I went from being able to do everything to being able to do nothing. I had bills to pay, things planned, and everything went down the drain.

I felt stuck. I felt lost. I felt defeated.

But an accident doesn’t have to change everything — it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. I started physical therapy within the first two weeks of my accident. Let me tell you, physical therapy is absolutely no joke. They give you so much to do at home that you might as well stay at home doing therapy all day long. Without that therapy, though, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

Within two months, I’m now hobbling along with my cane, walking better, bending more and doing things I thought would take much more time to accomplish. I’m going out, hopping on buses, visiting friends, working on my photography, getting closer to my family members and learning more about myself. I’m reading more, writing more and just growing as a person. I also learned I’m allergic to surgical glue, but hey, you learn something new every day.

All I’m saying is that an accident doesn’t have to be the end of the world, and you certainly can bounce back from it. Instead of moping around about the giant scar on my knee, I decided to name it King Bob. Instead of sitting in a wheelchair, I decided to hobble along in my walker, then worked my way to a crutch, and now I’m using a cane! Granted, people triple my age are still walking faster than me, but hey, I’m getting there. Instead of constantly complaining about my aches and pains, I decided to feel like a professional escape artist whenever I accomplish something I didn’t think I could, like properly sitting on a toilet without a knee immobilizer. (Those things suck.)

My accident, my stupid, dumb, accident, has helped me more than hindered me. Yeah, not walking sucks, but it isn’t the end of everything.