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She had a 10-month old baby and was recently wed, but little did Tracy know how much her life was about to change. During a trip with her former husband, Tracy undid her seatbelt and climbed to the back of the car to change her son’s diaper.
When the car in front of them ground to a sudden halt, it resulted in a series of actions that would lead to Tracy having to adjust to life in a whole new way.
In a previous interview with W24, Tracy reveals how she lost not only the use of her arms and legs, but that she also lost everything else that she held dear, including her independence, her career and her marriage.
It’s been a long journey for her, but Tracy has not only gone on to become a hugely successful motivational speaker, she’s also since found love and remarried (check out our wedding feature of the lovebirds here).
WATCH: Tracy and her husband Roy dancing at their wedding
But, best of all, she’s written a book which details her incredible journey.
Read an excerpt from her book, Brave Lotus Flower Rides the Dragon. This specific piece deals with the aftermath of her accident and provides us with an in-depth look of her first few weeks in hospital:
In the morning, I was fitted with a corset-type, upper-body support and a hard, plastic neckbrace to stabilise my spinal column. I was eager to get up. Two nurses, one with dark hair and the other blonde, lifted me into an oversized hospital wheelchair.
I didn’t care that the wheelchair was too big because I trusted that I wouldn’t need it for long. I believed that it was only a minor part of the process involved in getting me healed and back to normal.
Almost immediately, I passed out.
When I came round I was still in the wheelchair, but it had been tilted backwards so that I was almost horizontal. The blonde nurse had my feet in the air, her eyes fixed on mine. My stomach was queasy and I closed my eyes to shut out the black stars orbiting the bright light above. I could hear voices, but they sounded far away. Slowly, the tide of nausea retreated.
Once I was feeling a little better, they restored the wheelchair to an upright position. I swallowed. The taste of bile in my mouth made me gag. My head was throbbing and I felt dizzy. It was unbearable.
Moments later I fainted again.
This happened a number of times.
The fainting spells only lasted a couple of minutes each time, but their frequency was alarming. The nurses, however, didn’t seem fazed.
The nurse holding on to the back of the wheelchair peered over my shoulder each time, her long dark hair casting a shadow over me, a temporary reprieve from the bright lights overhead. Once I’d recovered enough to try again, I was met with warm smiles and encouragement from both of them.
After trying for more than an hour, Magda, the head of the unit, told them to put me back to bed and try again the following day. I was overwhelmed with disappointment. I felt as if I’d failed, unable to cope with even the simple everyday act of sitting.
I didn’t understand why this was happening. I wanted to beg them to try one more time, but there were many other patients waiting to be lifted into their wheelchairs. I lay in bed and sobbed.
We tried again the following morning, and again I fainted repeatedly.
The nausea surged as my head was lifted, making my stomach roll. But I was determined to sit up, terrified of the prospect of spending the rest of my life lying supine in bed. In addition to the queasiness, I had absolutely no capacity to balance myself, which surprised me.
I expected to be able to sit up like before, except in a chair on wheels, but it seemed impossible. I realised then that I had no real understanding of the implications of being paralysed from the neck down.
Eventually a nylon strap, much like a seat belt, was fastened around my upper torso, securing me to the backrest of the wheelchair.
Pillows were shoved under my elbows and arms to support me. Maggie stood by, patting my shoulder, as she chatted to Kenny and Marion. Kenny was always the first visitor to arrive, leaving only when Paul got there in the evenings.
Marion continued to wave her arms about as if she were chasing flies. I learned that she had an anxiety disorder which caused her to thrash her arms around. Kenny told me it was caused by the shock of the accident. Secretly, I was envious of her ability to move her arms, even if she couldn’t help herself.
Maggie tapped my shoulder again.
I felt like an old woman who needed to be reminded to stay awake. I clenched my teeth, refusing to pass out again. I felt ill, but I willed myself to stay conscious.
I forced myself to listen to the chit-chat around me to distract me from the nausea rising from my stomach. I fought for as long as possible, but I was relieved when Maggie called for help to put me back into bed.
Maggie checked the watch on her bosom. “Ten minutes.”
My jaw dropped. “Is that all?”
It had felt like an hour. At least.
“You’ll get better at it,” she said as she rubbed my shoulder.
The morning routine in the Spinal Unit was a slow process. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays it took even longer because it started with the bowel routine. The bowel routine is one of the most undignified and degrading things I’ve had to come to terms with.
One morning, Magda gave me a mild laxative which resembled chocolate hundreds-and-thousands. It was to speed up the digestion process, she said. It took me nearly ten minutes to swallow the little brown grains.
They swirled round and round in my mouth and I gagged repeatedly as I tried to swallow them. Eyes watering, I eventually managed to get them down with the help of lots of water and some yoghurt.
Magda described how they would empty my bowels the next morning. I didn’t sleep that night as I lay worrying about the pending humiliation. It was bad enough having a permanent in-dwelling catheter attached to a long tube and a drainage bag for my bladder to be emptied.
Paralysis is the loss of control over voluntary movement and the muscles of the body. It also results in the loss of sensation and reflex function below the point of injury, including autonomic activity like breathing and other activities such as bowel and bladder control.
Nurse aides came in early to assist the nurses in getting the patients out of bed and ready for the day.
My heart sank as a young nurse aide who I knew from past experience to be quite rough, came bounding up to my bed.
She rolled me over on to my side so that I was facing the wall. I heard the snap of the latex rubber gloves as she stretched them on to her hands. She inserted her fingers into my rectum to retrieve the faeces and I closed my eyes and bit my lip, trying to fight back an overwhelming sense of shame.
I wanted to die as the awful smell engulfed us and I heard the faeces dropping onto the plastic linen-saver covering the bed.
When it was over, she cleaned me and continued with my morning routine, babbling away about her boyfriend and other mundane matters. She also explained that once I was strong enough to sit up on the commode without fainting, my bowels would be emptied in a different way.
I wondered if it would be less dehumanising.
To read more, you can purchase a copy of the book from Raru.co.za.
