So...this is the letter I sent to my insurance company. I hope they change their minds.
On July 22, 2002, I volunteered to take my 12-year-old sister to her friend’s house in the next town. I imagine the day was beautiful, as most summer days in the country are―the rolling fields carpeted by lush, emerald vegetation; the sky, probably a cloudless and immaculate azure. I try to picture what Lauren looked like on that day―her face was most likely beaming, as it usually was. Her beautiful, long, chestnut hair shining as the sunlight danced across its strands. If only I had known that day would be the last I’d see my sister, I would have tried harder to keep those memories. Her laugh was contagious and I hope it was the last thing I heard before I was engulfed by the stifling darkness.
I awoke in a room of sterile white two weeks later. I don’t remember waking from the coma, nor do I remember about half of the time I spent in the hospital. I don’t recall what I felt or the words my mother used to tell me what had happened. All I have is what everyone else tells me: how I acted, things I said, what happened to me. In hindsight, I hate that I had to be told a part of my life by others. I despise feeling that I did not live that part of my life myself. I had to hear about my own experiences from secondhand sources, yet, needed to accept their words as my firsthand encounter.
I was told I had a car accident. I lost control of the vehicle and hit a tree on the driver’s side. My mom was actually a few cars behind me, but did not see what had happened. By the time she reached the scene, it was too late. She told me I was lying on the airbag, blood pouring from my mouth, nose and ears and was unconscious. On the passenger side, my sister was sitting in the seat, as if she had hardly moved. She, too, was unconscious.
Medical teams were able to open my sister’s door and drove her to the local hospital. The Jaws of Life were used to cut me free. Then, I was flown by Flight for Life to Froedtert Hospital in Wauwatosa. When my sister reached the hospital in my hometown, it was realized she was worse than was originally thought and was flown to Children’s Hospital, where she died a few hours later. I never said good-bye.
I can’t remember the day of my accident at all, not even the events leading up to it. My last memory is from the day before. I have tried to remember what caused the accident, but I cannot. When I think of that day, nothing comes to mind. I feel as though there is a block in my memory. I do not have any recollection of pain during the actual accident, only in the weeks after. My doctors have told me I will probably never remember what happened.
I went though eight surgeries during the month I spent in the hospital (but have had an additional two surgeries since). I had broken both of my legs; however my right leg was far worse. From mid-calf down, my right leg and ankle were completely shattered and my brain was bleeding. I now have 18 screws and two plates in that leg. My spleen and kidneys were bruised, my larynx is rotated several degrees and I have bilateral fourth nerve palsy in my left eye. Hitting my head also caused some memory damage. I could no longer distinguish between members of my family, tell time on an analog clock, or perform basic math functions (multiplication tables, etc.). I spent five months in a wheelchair and eventually needed to relearn how to walk. I no longer have cartilage in my right ankle and have severe arthritis as well. I am in chronic pain every day.
The accident disfigured my right leg. A scar about 12-inches long and three-inches wide wraps around my calf. Another scar, eight-inches wide and 14-inches long, is on my thigh, at the donation site for the skin grafting I needed on my calf. Several scars are strewn across the rest of my body, from either cuts or burns from the airbag. These scars are a constant reminder of the pain I’ve experienced for the past eight years, both physical and emotional.
I currently take meloxicam, Lyrica, hydrocodone, tramadol and lidocaine for the pain. I have blood drawn every six months to be sure my liver is functioning well with all the medicine I take to control my pain.
One of the many resulting side effects of the injuries I sustained in my car accident is peripheral neuropathy. I have tried several drug therapies for the neuralgia, including gabapentin, Lyrica, Lidoderm and lidocaine. I am at the point that I am no longer receiving relief from the pain by route of drug therapy and every day, experience very painful headaches (for which I take yet another prescription) as a side effect of needing an increase in the dosage of Lyrica. However, I take the maximum dosage. It was at this point that my pain management doctor suggested I try for the neurostimulator trial.
I fully understand that while I will still have physical limitations, this trial could free me from much of my day-to-day, chronic neuralgia. The neurostimulator trial may give me the chance to stop taking at least two, but possibly five drug therapies, which will make a world of difference for the overall health of my liver and other internal organs. I know that medicine is a tried-and-true way to manage illnesses and pain, but sometimes, there is a better way. I believe that in my case, the neurostimulator is the better way. I am asking that you please reconsider your decision.
Sincerely,
Christina Nelson
